The stranger grunts, and Father leans in. He’s close enough that I can still make out the stranger’s blue eyes over the top of Father’s head, his height alarming compared to the former king. “Do not speak of my daughter, peasant.”
Over his head, the stranger’s eyes latch onto me. I can’t keep myself hidden any longer, not with curiosity and horror warring inside me. Those oceanic eyes fixate on mine, and despite all the things my parents have said, he doesn’t appear very monstrous.
There’s no rage in those blue eyes.
Clearing my throat, I decide to take matters into my own hands. Watching this unfold is making my stomach roll, and, even if my parents keep going, this doesn’t seem to be going anywhere fast. I have to tear my gaze from the stranger before I speak. “Daddy?”
King Emeritus Andor whips his head around, gray eyes going wide as he takes me in. It causes the icicle to rip free from the man, who groans in pain. “Neve–Queen Neve. What are you doing down here?”
“A queen does not see to the interrogations herself,” Mother says disdainfully, shooting me a look I can’t quite gauge. Father is worried about me being here, but Mother seems angry. “As the King Emeritus and Queen Dowager, let us deal with this technicality for you. Be on your way, Neve.”
Is she really trying to dismiss me?
Eyes widening, I glance toward the man. He’s breathing heavily, but that seems to be the extent of his pain despite the bleeding wounds. Even the spot Father ripped the icicle from isn’t gushing blood. I just don’t understand it. Pressing my lipstogether, I decide to make a jab at Mother too since she doesn’t have much more business here than I do.
“It’s not really the place for a Queen Dowager, either,” I reply, darting my gaze between the three of them. To my surprise, the man’s wounds seem a little less vicious, even with the lines of blood running down his naked torso. If I didn’t know any better, I would think he’s somehow healing himself. The spot where Father stabbed him with the icicle doesn’t seem to be bleeding, and the slash from the poker seems more prominent than that.
He’s surprisingly focused on me. After clearing my throat, I focus on Father instead. “Who is he?”
“He is no one,” Mother snaps, glaring harder at me when I turn. “Just a peasant the moon mistook for someone else.”
There’s that nonsense about the moon again, something I’ve never heard my parents mutter about until now. I want to ask who she’s referring to, but Father is now gesturing for me to leave. “My queen, to your rooms. We’ll discuss this later once we have answers. You should not be down here, and unescorted! Where are your guards? The Queen must never travel unaccompanied.”
I don’t bother explaining that I slipped away from them outside my rooms, and as queen, no one can command me to do anything anymore. “No. This will be another mystery of yours! Neither of you speaks to me like a true queen. Your reign is supposed to be over, yet I know so little of how to rule! What of this man? His great mistake is dying and earning the blessing of the moon?”
“It was not his blessing to take!” Mother seethes. Her white hair, almost the same shade as her skin and dress, all seem to glow as she pivots toward me. Even that movement is stiff, her hand closing into a fist. I nearly forgot about the needle the stranger mentioned, yet it still seems to be in her hand. “Heinterfered with my request! His death aligns with my plea to the moon to rid me of this curse.”
“For this freeze to never keep, one must forgive the frozen sleep,” the man says, and I don’t know who to focus on.
If this isn’t something he claimed to want, how would he know a riddle like that? It sounds almost like a spell, and that’s what got Mother stuck this way to begin with.
“The frozen sleep?” I echo, tightening my hands. My parents have had me study lessons on an assortment of things, and Mother’s curse is one of the topics we basically skated over. I haven’t had much time to think about it since learning I would be crowned. Part of the reason for the shift is to preserve Mother’s life. “Maybe you should tell me more about that instead of torturing a man who may or may not be able to help you.”
“He will be able to help!” Mother screams, her voice shrill. Empty, devoid eyes stare at me, the lightest of grays filling her iris. As the curse takes hold, she's turning to ice faster than ever. “Leave, Neve. You only cause problems for us.”
Father tenses at the jab. “I know this puts you in a difficult position as the new queen–”
“All of this is a difficult position!”
As we argue, my parents' focus remains on me. I’ve noticed the man fiddling in his restraints, but the chains and bars are all crafted out of ice magic. No mere mortal can break them.
But he isn’t a normal human, it seems.
With my parents distracted, he twists his hand until he manages to hit the chains with a blast of magic. I realize too late he’s using ice magic, the kind of blessing reserved for the Royal Family of the Frostlands and cursed on Mother’s behalf. As the chain snaps and breaks, he manages to rip one hand free.
I lift my hands before I can help myself, Father immediately turning the poker in his hand to ice before trying tostrike the man. His magic is weaker than mine or Mother’s, but he still has some left from his lineage. I make a flurry of snow appear before me, determined that if the stranger tries to hurt either of my parents, I’ll make sure his blows don’t hit.
Guards be damned. I can defend myself. I made it all the way into the dungeons and down many paths without seeing anyone. I don’t think my parents brought backup either.
“No!” Mother screeches, sending a jet of ice at the man. Instead of deflecting it, he brings his arm up and the limb turns solid, catching the blow Father attempts to deliver with the poker and stopping Mother’s icy daggers at the same time.
He literally turned his body to ice. A few seconds later, as he throws Father’s attack off, it reverts back to flesh. I take a step back as he uses his magic to freeze and shatter the other chain.
I don’t have control of my magic like that, and I’m certain my parents don’t, either.
“Do not let him escape!” Mother hisses, and I pivot to keep my gaze on her. “We need his gift!”
Father attempts to use the icicle like a dagger this time, launching it at the man. He grunts and dodges the throw, barely, and the remaining chain on his other arm clangs loudly in the dungeons.
