I’d had a brief thought about my visions earlier, while King Theron was inside my head, but it was so fleeting, and he was so surprised that I could read his thoughts too, that he seemed to miss the detail entirely.
Thank the gods.
Upon his return, if he asks about the visions, I’m not sure what I’ll say. I’ll have to try to block him out. Or lie to him, if that’s even possible.
The scent of smoke becomes stronger, and it’s definitely not coming from the hearth. Dread curls inside me as I glance at thebalcony doors. I force myself to my feet and approach the doors, then slip outside into the cold, starry night.
Snow flurries drift down to land on my nose.
Wait. Not snow flurries.
Ashes.
I suck in a quick breath, and my eyes search the nighttime landscape of Braemar. I’m relieved when I don’t spot any buildings on fire within the city, but my unease deepens when I notice a glow in the distance beyond the gates and the parapet.
The tents, I realize with a gasp. Most of the Winter Court army is residing in large white tents that were erected outside the city. Though I can’t see the actual flames from my current position, I can see the glow of the fire, and the smoke is burning my throat. Ashes keep drifting down from the sky.
My gaze flicks up when I glimpse dozens of highborn fae in the air above, flying toward the fire. Their massive forms cut across the starry night and obscure the moon. The rapid flapping of wings reaches me, a thunderous echo that joins with the terrifying chorus of distant screams. Do the screams belong to humans or to the fae foot soldiers who were sleeping in the tents?
More highborn fae zoom through the sky, too many to count, perhaps even hundreds of them. I vaguely recall hearing that the Winter Court army has over four hundred highborn fae in its ranks. Whoever attacked the faefolk in the tents was foolish indeed. Surely it was a group of humans bent on revenge. I pray that only the guilty are slaughtered.
To my surprise, I also find myself hoping that none of the faefolk were injured.
Not for the first time, I feel like a traitor to my people. The Winter Court army conquered Braemar and killed thousands of humans. Shouldn’t I want as many fae as possible to meet a fiery end?
Suddenly, there’s a cold wind.
Colder than I’ve ever felt before.
It pierces straight to my bones. Then, snow. Lots of it. Thick, whirling snow with an edge of brutal violence. It descends from the sky rapidly, blocking out my view of the distant glow of the fire and the highborn fae in the sky.
Gasping, I rush back inside and shut the balcony doors behind me. I shake the snow from my hair and clothing.
Tremors wrack my body. I rush to the hearth, as quickly as I can on shaky legs, and sink down in front of the crackling fire. As the waves of heat gradually warm my body, I cast a glance toward the balcony windows. The snow is still falling hard. Any humans who can’t seek shelter immediately will probably perish in the sudden storm, the storm that is King Theron.
Though I’m still worried about the people of Braemar, my thoughts soon return to my frightening predicament.
I’m the Winter King’s captive.
He says he’ll never let me go.
We can hear one another’s thoughts.
And I’ve had visions that suggest a possible connection to Elssandra.
It sounds too fantastic to be real, but there’s no denying how real the visions felt. As though I witnessed events from Elssandra’s point of view. Events that happened hundreds of years ago.
There’s also the fierce, inexplicable attraction I feel toward King Theron, and the flashes of familiarity that often crash over me when our eyes meet.
Mama’s stories…
The loneliness and guilt I often felt while married to Harry, as though I was still searching for something… orsomeone.
My lifelong adoration for winter weather…
My utter excitement at the promise of snow…
What if...
