Frost (Frost and Nectar #1)(16)

Shalini snatched the phone from my hands, frowning down at it. “No.”

“No, what?”

“I’m not having you mope over this loser when we’re in Faerie.” Her jaw was set tight, and she hung on to my phone.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m doing you a favor.” With a slight scowl, she handed the phone back to me. “No more texts or photos of Andrew. And no more texts to stare at.”

“Shalini!” I shouted.

She pointed at the glass. “Look out the window, Ava. You’re missing it. And he’s not worth it.”

Shalini’s breath clouded the glass as she looked outside. “I mean, I’d always heard it was amazing, but I never expected it to look this beautiful.”

The thing about heartbreak was that I knew how to cover it up so I didn’t bring everyone down with me. I plastered a smile on my face and stared outside. “It really is amazing. We’re so lucky to be here.”

Shalini leaned in, whispering, “I overheard what Torin said…about Faerie dying? It seems hard to believe.”

My chest felt tight. “I guess that with a queen on the throne, the snow will melt, and spring will return once more.” I shrugged. “And then I return to the human world, where I will get takeout every night and cappuccinos in the morning.”

She stared at me, frowning. “Fifty million dollars, and the best thing you can think of is takeout and coffee?”

“It’s gotten very expensive. Anyway, I don’t really know what to do with all that money.”

“Darling, you’re going on a vacation. The Maldives, or—”

Shalini stopped short as the carriage began to slow. We’d turned off the lane onto a private drive.

Enormous trees loomed on either side, and their dark trunks towered far above us.

Between the trunks, I could just make out vast snow-covered fields and the white-capped peaks of a distant mountain range. I hugged myself, teeth chattering in the cold. I’d dressed in running gear appropriate for seventy-degree weather, and the chill bit at my skin.

When I turned to look out the front, my breath caught at the sight of a castle on a hill. The place seemed to exude a malign presence—formed of dark stone and sharply peaked towers, with gothic windows that glittered under the winter sun. My breath misted around my head as I stared at it. Had I seen this place before?

We rolled closer, and my heart started beating faster. Was it possible the king was actually bringing me here for a public execution for the crime of insolence? Treason? The castle loomed over us as we approached.

We pulled up slowly, gravel crunching under the carriage wheels. One of the horses whinnied as we finally came to a stop. Outside my window, fae guards in immaculate white uniforms approached.

One of them hurried to the door.

As the footmen opened the door for us, his eyes widened with surprise—likely because I was showing up to a gothic castle in a wintry kingdom dressed in a tank top and running shorts, with the hairstyle of someone who’d given up on life long ago.

The frigid air slid down to my bones when I stepped outside.

Shalini wasn’t dressed any better in a baggy T-shirt, a pair of men’s boxer shorts, and sandals with socks. Still, her smile was gorgeous enough to pull attention away from her attire.

“Miss?” the footman said.

“Ava,” I said quickly. “Ava Jones.”

“All right, Ms. Jones. I can help you down.”

I took his hand, feeling unnecessarily awkward, since I was in sneakers and didn’t really need the help.

As I stepped down, I caught sight of King Torin. The magic of this place had changed his outfit, too. Now, he was dressed like some sort of medieval warrior in black leather armor studded with metal. A dark cloak hung over his shoulders, and there was a rapier at his waist with an obsidian hilt.

He did not look anything like Chad from Hitched and Stitched right now. He looked like some sort of warrior god, more intimidating than ever. Hard not to think of him bluntly telling me that he didn’t like me at all.

When his preternaturally bright eyes met mine, gleaming like a deadly blade, a shiver ran through me. I hugged myself as I shivered in the icy wind. This had seemed like a great idea an hour ago, but now I felt completely vulnerable.

I wrenched my eyes away from him, forcing myself to take in my surroundings. A large stone awning stretched over head—a porte cochère, I was pretty sure it was called, though I had no idea how to actually pronounce it. Gargoyles leered from above.

“We wait here,” he commanded. “I need to speak to someone about your addition to the tournament.”

Footmen lined the wide castle steps, which led to a pair of wooden doors inset with dark metal spikes. With a groan, they swung open to reveal a hall of stunning stonework. Pointed arches soared above us, and candles flickered in high iron chandeliers. Skilled stonemasons had carved wicked-looking creatures beneath the arches—demons and dragons hewn from the rock in such a way that in the dancing candlelight, they almost seemed to be moving. But the most unsettling thing in this place was a set of ivory stag antlers jutting above the entryway, gleaming with ice. I couldn’t explain why, but as soon as my eyes landed on them, a sense of dread slid over me. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I knew the castle didn’t want me here.

Here, I was an abomination. I tugged my gaze away, wondering if that was the hangover speaking.