Kael Frost's Arc

Chapter 2 of 4

The chamber doors shut and the noise of the palace fell away. Kael let go of Elara's wrist. She stepped back from him and looked at him plainly, the way she always did when they were alone. No court. No envoy counting. Just the two of them and the cold light through the tall windows. A fire already burned in the ice hearth. A servant had lit the candles too, small pale towers grouped on the table by the bed. Kael hated that someone had prepared the room for this. It made the act feel like a task on a ledger. Elara saw his face. She crossed to the hearth and pinched out two of the candles herself. "Not like that," she said. "Not for them." "They'll know either way." "Let them know later." She turned to him. "Tonight I want you to forget the envoy. Forget the passes. Look at me." He looked at her. He had looked at her a thousand times, in council, in the hall, across the long table at supper. He had never let himself look the way he looked now. Her hair had come loose again. The silver at her throat caught the firelight. She was not a womb. She was his wife. He crossed the room and took her face in both hands. His palms were cold. Hers were warm. He kissed her once, carefully, and then again, not carefully. "I don't know how to do this without an order in it," he said. "Then don't order me. Ask." He asked. She answered. He led her to the carved bed. The sheets were turned down. He pulled the fur over them both and put out the last of the candles himself. In the dark he found that his hands shook. He had not known that about himself. She held his wrist until they stopped. He fell in love with her that night. He knew it the way he knew weather. It happened between one breath and the next and could not be taken back. When she slept against his shoulder afterward, he lay awake and understood he had made a mistake far worse than any the South could plan for. He had given them something real to take. At dawn Elara sat up slowly. She pressed a hand flat to her stomach and held it there. She did not speak. She did not need to. He had watched animals and women both, and he knew the stillness of a body listening to itself. "You're sure," he said. "I'm sure." He pulled her back down against him and held her too tight. The prophecy had a crack in it now. So did he. Somewhere south of his passes, a queen was waiting for news, and the news she would get was the one thing she could not allow.