Frostblood (Frostblood Saga #1)(63)
“Your betrothal,” I prompted.
“I was to marry his brother, King Arelius. It was a match arranged by our fathers when we were very young. We grew up knowing we would wed someday. When King Akur died and Arelius was crowned king, the wedding date was set. A king needs a strong queen, in our tradition. He is the source of power, she the bridge between the king and his people. Or so my father always tells me. In any case, before the wedding could take place, Arelius was assassinated.”
“I’m sorry,” I said sincerely, knowing what she didn’t say, that it was a Fireblood who’d murdered him. It was a wonder she didn’t hate me along with the rest of them. “Did your father arrange another betrothal?”
Her lips tilted in a self-deprecating smile. “He has tried. But King Rasmus insists he will choose his own bride when he’s ready. My father has tried to foist me on him so many times Rasmus can barely stand the sight of me. Luckily, our family ranks highly in Frostblood nobility, with a multitude of connections and allies, so the king doesn’t dare cause offense. That’s why I accompany him during formal occasions, such as the arena fights. A placeholder for the queen who will one day sit at his side.”
“But if your family is that important, why can’t you stand up to the king? Or organize some resistance against him?”
“Careful,” she said softly. “The walls may be stone, but they are paper-thin when it comes to treason. And the king is far more powerful than you realize.”
“Only because of the throne.”
Her eyes flared with surprise, and a hint of satisfaction, holding mine for a moment before she looked away.
When she had covered my face with a dusting of powder, she nodded in approval and motioned me to stand before the full-length mirror. The gown was full-skirted and magnificent. It set off the flush that had bloomed on my cheeks and warmed my amber eyes to burnished gold. It was the finest thing I’d ever worn.
I hated it and this stranger in the mirror. This wasn’t part of the plan.
“Is it really necessary to fancy me up like a visiting princess?” I tried to yank the bodice higher. “The king is likely to kill me over dinner.”
“He won’t kill you. You’re one of his champions now. Prove to him that you’re worthy of the name. Don’t show weakness and don’t let your temper run away with you. He wants to watch you in the arena again. I could tell.”
My stomach turned at the idea that he had been pleased at making me into a murderer. But if playing his brutal games was the only way to stay alive and have a chance at destroying the throne, I would do it.
Before she left, Marella warned me not to tell anyone about our chat. I wondered at her trust in me, but then again, she knew I had no reason to betray her. I’d be a fool to lose my only ally. And I couldn’t help but admire her bold honesty. I even liked her a little.
Still, she reminded me of something I’d seen in Mother’s book of exotic flora: a beautiful flower, harmless if you leave the petals alone, but deadly if disturbed. She kept her secrets tightly furled inside, but when she bloomed, what sweet-smelling poison would be released?
A few minutes later, I was escorted by two guards down a series of hallways. My heart thumped in my ears as we came to a set of huge double doors carved with two dragons facing each other and clutching ice arrows in their talons. White-gloved servants pulled the shiny handles, and a blast of glacial air burst from the opening doors.
The room was vast and intensely cold, with frostbitten walls and a few tapestries woven in cool, muffled tones. The floor tiles were glassy blue and shining white. Candles shivered in sconces on the walls. From the vaulted ceiling, a crystal chandelier laden with icicles threw prismatic slivers of color over the room.
In the center was a table made of sharply cut glass and clear chairs covered in white animal skins. Several of the seats were occupied by elegant ladies in bright dresses and men in somber vests. The hum of conversation died as their eyes fixed on me.
I swallowed and forced my slipper-clad feet slowly toward the table. A tall figure with pale hair stood, and the rest of the men followed suit. He gestured to a chair, not at the far end of the table as I had hoped, but at his right hand.
At the sight of the king, my muscles clenched, ready to defend myself, ready to fight. The cold intensified as I neared him, swirling in unseen currents that brushed against my neck, my face, and the exposed skin above the collar of the dress. It wasn’t so much a breeze as a sensation of his power making itself known, testing my heat. I kept my face blank, determined not to show the slightest bit of weakness, but it was like walking in a blizzard. By the time I reached the seat, my breathing had quickened.
I put my hand to the table for support and drew it back quickly. The table wasn’t glass but a slab of clear ice.
I smoothed my skirts and sat on the soft white fur of the chair, my hands trembling with fear I couldn’t quite master. No animal skin covered the king’s chair, as if he reveled in the cold. The table was set with silver plates, goblets, and cutlery on white napkins. My plate reflected the crystals that hung over my head like tiny swords about to fall.
Chin held high, I glanced around the table. A few people looked away, while others stared openly.
“You must forgive my guests for staring,” said the king. “You are somewhat of a curiosity. The first Fireblood champion.”