“That no matter what you feel right now, or how intenseyour need becomes going forward, I will not take what isn’t offered freely.”
I didn’t think it was possible, but his hands tighten even further around me. “Free of sound. Free of magic. Free of coercion, including the desperation that comes with needing to survive. I will not coax you to me or portray myself as anything other than what I am.”
I search his pale eyes for answers. “And what is that?”
“A man capable of atrocities far crueler than any horrors the Iron King could ever have committed even in his worst blood rage.”
I reassess the chill in Stellen’s voice. The shadows in his eyes.
A flicker of darkness that chills me to my bones.
My throat is tight. “Worse than a vampyr’s blood rage?”
He pins me with his cold gaze. “Yes.”
Releasing me, he pushes himself backward, angling lithely through the gap in the silver material.
Scooping up his tunic and swords, he leaves me perched on the edge of the bench.
My feet touch the cold ground. The silver threads have remained partially under my bottom, but otherwise, they continue to float like a fine sheet of silver around me curving inward now like a shield, most certainly concealing my body from his view.
Pausing, only half-turned back to me, he says, “I have no feeling in my heart, Thyra. The organ in my chest is ice-cold by choice. But your heart—” He stops. Shakes himself. “Your heart beats with life. You must be truly free before you can know what your heart really wants.”
Making it to the open door, he stops again, but only for long enough to say, “I will sleep outside tonight. Snowstorms cool my thoughts. I prefer them. I’ll ensure food is brought to you.In the morning, come to the door. Be ready to start combat training. Once your training has progressed far enough, we will begin to deal with the curse.”
With that, he disappears along the hallway, leaving me to grip the edge of the bench with hands that would have willingly explored his body—and a heart threatening to bruise.
Chapter Forty-Five
Stellen
Ineed a slap of cold air.
I need clarity.
I need to exhale the power of Thyra’s moans.
Stopping only to drop my torn tunic into the basket of clothing intended for me and quickly retrieve a fresh one, I make it to the front door, wrench it open, and hurry outside, closing the door firmly but quietly behind me.
My heart is ice, but…fuck…the sharp pain jabbing through my chest feels like I’m being stabbed, over and over, except that the weapon is every soft sigh Thyra uttered. Every exhaled breath that twisted through my soul.
Nara’s head rises when I appear, her growl questioning. She has remained dutifully beside the doorstep, waiting for me to emerge.
I have no answer for whatever questions might be going through her wolfish mind.
After pulling on the new tunic and fitting my harnesses back in place, I tip my head back, allowingsnowflakes to land on my cheeks.
I welcome the chill.
Out here, I know who I am.
I’m the fucking Frost King. Heartless. Cruel. Strategic.
Killer of kings.
I grit my teeth.
Fuck the past.
