Or provoking a waterwielder and getting himself killed.
“Be careful with my betrothed, little brother,” Faramir purrs. “I want her in pristine condition.” He takes a deep swig of wine, wiping his mouth before muttering to himself, “What do princesses taste like? Better than…?” He trails off, lost in his dark thoughts.
A brief flash of pity flits through my chest for his betrothed. It’s a bleak future for her—though if she’s anything like the vapid, power-hungry noblewomen in Arbinj, perhaps she’d tolerate anything to be queen.
And she’s a Tundrayni princess.
Tormik’s daughter.
Maybe she deserves someone like Faramir.
Chapter Three
Thejourneyhasbeenbrutal. Even accustomed to the frigid climate, the face-numbing cold deep within Tundrayn chills the very marrow in my bones. Outside the small window set into the carriage door, the landscape hasn’t changed for days—bleak, white snow, framed by snowcapped pine trees. No sign of civilization.
Luckily, no sign of rebels either.
Now, the Tundrayni palace looms ahead, and despite myself, my mouth parts in surprise. It’s a work of art. Ice gleams in the sunlight like shimmering glass, reflecting off crystal turrets and frosted towers. Sculptures of snowbeasts—polar bears, wolves, reindeer—are carved into the walls at evenly spaced intervals, so life-like they appear ready to open their eyes and roar.
Guess waterwielders are good for more than just killing.
Our party dismounts, carriages lined up neatly in the icy courtyard—three large royal carriages and a smaller one that I specifically requested. A massive fountain sits in the center, adorned with an ice sculpture in the shape of a snarling wolf standing on its hind legs.
Tension brackets my shoulders as a large group of fur-clad warriors approaches, pale faces pinched with disdain. I’m sure a similar expression is reflected on mine. My soldiers tighten their grips on their pommels. I was able to pull only fifty men from their posts for this trek—we’re far outnumbered within Tundrayn’s icy capital.
“Commander Zevayr,” one man bites out, teeth bared in a snarl fiercer than the wolf sculpture. His breath mists in the frigid air. “We weren’t expectingyou.” Cold hatred frosts his icy blue gaze.
Perhaps I’ve faced him in battle.
Or killed someone he loved.
Or both.
It might be the result of a paranoid imagination since we’re deep in enemy territory, but Iswearphantom shards of ice rise up beneath the soles of my boots, tilting me off balance. I shift my weight and—crunch.
Fuck.
Definitely not my imagination. I need to retrieve the princess and leave. Immediately.
The man sneers and crosses his arms, beaded braids clinking. My fingers twitch with the urge to strangle him with them.
Reaching deep, deep,deepinside myself for a shred of diplomacy, I plaster a smile that I hope looks friendly. “My brother was unable to attend. I am here in his stead.”
The man regards me silently for what feels like minutes, then grunts and waves us forward. My boots sink into the pristine snow as we trek through the courtyard, the large ice doors swinging open soundlessly. My hand doesn’t stray from my sword. Alliance or not, there is enough bad blood between our kingdoms to paint the tundra red.
We pass through carved ice hallways with vaulted ceilings, and as much as I want to admire the fascinating architecture, I don’tlet my eyes stray from the warriors flanking us. Our group halts outside two doors made of solid ice. A servant pulls them open to reveal a large, circular hall.
Let’s get this over with.
I march in, back ramrod straight. Chairs and sofas line the room, spilling over with what I assume to be Tundrayni nobility. Curious glances quickly morph into open animosity when they realize who I am.
The Dark Commander, they call me. Even the muffled whispers are choked with hostility.
In the center of the room, two ice thrones sit on a large dais. In one of them sits Tormik. I’ve never seen him before, but arrogance settles across his shoulders like a well-worn cloak—much like my father. A king is a king in any land, I suppose.
Beside him is his daughter. Princess Mayah.
Beautifulis the only word that comes to mind. Pale, creamy skin and bright blue eyes like sunlit ocean waves. Dark hair frames her face, loose curls brushing her shoulders. Her rouged lips curve down in a fierce scowl as she watches me.
