When I face him, I find genuine interest in his expression. A normal interaction between husband and wife. It’s unanticipated, yes, but… not entirely unwanted. I feel such gaping loneliness here that there have been times when I’ve wished for conversation from anyone, even the king.
“I’m not sure. It was about a god who gave humans the gift of fire, and for that, he was punished. He foresaw that he would be saved.” I glance up. For whatever reason, I feel as though the king might lift his hand, cup my jaw and cheek. “But he wasn’t saved. The end came: lightning and wind.”
A furrow mars the smooth plane of his forehead. “He is not saved—yet. But there will come a day when a man with divine blood frees him from his bonds.”
“How can you know?” I ask, searching his face. “It’s just a story.”
“Do stories not reveal some underlying truth?”
Admittedly, he’s right. Is that not why I read? To be taken elsewhere, and to learn truths about myself?
“So you’ve seen that play before?”
The way he studies me now is not how he studied me weeks ago. Now, it is as if he no longer searches for reasons to turn away, but instead looks for reasons to stay, to extend this conversation. “There was a theater where I lived prior to my banishment. I attended when I could.” He briefly drops his gaze. “I enjoy stories. I enjoy coming to know characters and their journeys, the choices they make.”
This might be the most honest thing I’ve heard from him. Something personal he has shared with me.
And of course, I have to ruin it. “So youdoknow how to enjoy yourself, when not dooming people to eternal suffering.”
The Frost King narrows his blue eyes at me. A question, though he does not speak it aloud.
“I overheard the Judgment, earlier,” I explain.
“Then you know it was fair.”
“How could it be fair if you did not hear the man’s reasoning for his choice?”
His upper lip twitches. “I do not need to know his reasoning. I judge souls by their actions. That is all.”
The narrow-minded words of a narrow-minded god. “What did the man do? What was so terrible that you sentenced him to Neumovos?” And will I see this man’s face around the citadel, now that he is forced to serve the king?
“He stole coin from his brother, who was not able to purchase medicine when his wife grew sick the following week. The illness took her quickly. She was dead three nights later.”
An unfortunate mistake, to be certain. “He couldn’t have known his brother’s wife would take ill. Didn’t he say his father was dying?”
“So he is justified in saving his father at the cost of his sister-in-law’s life?”
“Of course not,” I snap. “But a person’s reasoning is a good indicator ofwhothey are—their heart.”
“I cannot concern myself with people’s hearts. It could take years to dissect their motives.”
“What is a few years when you live forever?”
He shakes his head. “I did not come here for a debate. I simply wanted to make sure you had not collapsed in a wine-induced coma. Now that I have my answer, I will take my leave.” His eyes flit across my face. “Good night.”
I incline my head. Better than flicking a dagger in his eye. “And you as well.”
Hours later, I still cannot sleep.
As I lie in my bed with its ridiculous mountain of pillows, I grab the romance novel from my bedside table and open it to the chapter I left off at. It tells the story of a woman who dresses as a man and boards a ship heading for distant lands. She begins to fall in love with the captain of the ship, who remains ignorant of her sex—until she saves his life, that is.
A thread of longing wends through me. It is clear the captain cares for, maybe even loves, the heroine. I hate it. I hate this weakness, this cruel emotion—
A low hiss draws my attention to the entryway, and I still. “Hello?”
A shadow moves in the crack beneath the door.
Setting the book on my nightstand, I slide out of bed and approach the door with caution, moving quietly. Gripping the handle, I press my ear to the cool wood.
