The Frost King stands before us.
I gaze up at him, panting, my heart not quite steady. His throat dips, and then those long, leather-clad fingers curl around mine as he says, “Dance with me.”
18
MAN AND WOMAN, GOD ANDmortal, we stare at one another, bound by duty, obligation, and deceit.
“Husband.”
The Frost King’s eyes darken. Nudging my lower back, he guides me a step closer, the distance between us reduced to the barest wisp of air. “Wife.”
My breasts brush his chest as I inhale. I hold his gaze despite my sudden desire to flee, fast and far.
“People are staring,” I mutter.
His mouth dips to my ear. Warm, fluttering air teases the shell, and my body goes taut.The wine, I think dazedly. The wine is to blame. “Then let’s give them something to stare at.”
I jerk my head back, searching his face. “Who are you?” I demand. “What have you done with the Frost King?” Because the dark god who rules the Deadlands would not wish to draw attention to himself. He prefers the shadows, the solitude.
“I’m right here,” he says, holding my gaze. “Dance,” he goads me, and my foolish, stubborn pride cannot ignore the challenge.
Our hands lift, press together, palm to palm. His left hand smooths up my back, then drops, settling against the curve above my backside. Mine rests over the unyielding muscle of his shoulder. He draws me into a sweeping arc through the square, forcing the crowd into retreat.For a man who moves with such grace, his nimble feet come as no surprise, as though the wind itself gives aid to his motions.
Ma taught Elora and I to dance at a young age, but the king has perfect form. It pushes me to give my all.One-two-three,one-two-three. On the next round of twirls, my head begins to spin. I am perched on a cliff’s edge, and the drop below sings the most beguiling melody.
“Slow down,” I manage breathlessly.
“Why?” He peers down at me, and I struggle to remember my train of thought. What madness is this, that I am both repulsed and compelled by the man who has wronged me?
“Because,” I say through gritted teeth, purposefully overextending one of my steps so he stumbles, “you’re making me dizzy.”
His heel smashes the toes of my right foot. “You’re saying you can’t keep up?”
“You did that on purpose.”
His eyes, they dance and they dance. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He spins me, and I nearly topple sideways as my boot catches on one of the cracks in the stone, but the hand at my waist stabilizes me. Yet another spin. I’m breathless, reeling. I grab the front of his cloak to keep my balance. The fabric, warmed from his body, scrunches in my clammy fist. “Damn it, slow down.”
“I warned you about the wine.” He directs us across the square, yet slows at my request. The crowd parts and knits closed at our backs.
“You should know by now how little I take your opinion into consideration.”
He huffs. I’m not quite convinced it’s laughter, but it does suggest humor on his part. “I’m well aware.” The hand at my back slides to my hip and settles there, shaping the curve defined by this blasted corset. “If you have to vomit,” he remarks blandly, “please do not do so on my boots.”
I doubt I’d survive that humiliation.
“You dance well.” It takes something from me to admit it.
His mouth twitches. I find myself awaiting the moment a smile breaks free, but it never does. “And this surprises you.”
“Yes.” He spins me out before luring me back to his side, and I go willingly, too ensnared by the motion to understand my guard has lowered.
“There were many celebrations such as this one back in my homeland. The City of Gods, it is named. My brothers and I were loved, worshipped, adored. It was a happy life, if an empty one.”
The bitterness in his tone reveals some deeper emotion. “Why was it empty?”
He stares at a point over my shoulder, though does not appear to see anything at all. “People love you for what you can give them,” he says. “Had I or my brothers not controlled the changing seasons, would people still have desired our company?”
