The Frost Queen's Blade (The Iceblood Duet, #1)

by Meg Smitherman

“I don’t like this,” he said at last, a muscle working in his jaw. “There is something rotten here.” “Your murderous countryman, perhaps?” She expected him to snipe back, but he only shook his head. “If another assassin were coming to kill you, I would have… should have known about it.”

He had sharpened in her vision as if everything around her was only a dream, and he was the only thing that mattered. As if he were a sun and she were a pale flower in early spring. As if she were a snowfall and he, the mountaintop she yearned to fall on. I’m going mad, she thought, saying nothing. Instead, she raised her eyebrows expectantly.

“If you think I’m the best that my kingdom has to offer, you’re terribly mistaken.” Elma raised her chin, fixing Rune with a deadly gaze. “It is not up to you. You are mine. I am the queen. And as such, when I tell you to escort me to my chambers,” she said, enunciating slowly and clearly as if speaking to a foolish child, “you obey. And when I tell you to bring me a head on a platter, you obey. Is that clear?” A storm continued to rage behind Rune’s eyes. But at last, he said stiffly, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Perhaps it was the familiarity of a constant shadow, someone Elma was not afraid to speak her mind to and who was not afraid to speak his in return.

Rune had become something different. Something more. No pane of royal glass hung between them. They had cut one another, hated one another. They yearned to bathe in each other’s blood.

“I can’t just sit here and wait,” Elma burst out, finally ceasing her endless pacing and turning to Cora. “I didn’t realize… I don’t like waiting, Cora. My bodyguard wanders the halls alone; what if he needs assistance? What if Luca and the others… I don’t like not knowing. There are more lives at stake than just the taster’s. I didn’t even know his name, and he died for me.” She looked about wildly as if for some answer, some escape. How had her father lived like this? He may have been carved of ice, but Elma was flesh and bone. “Cora, the walls are closing in around me.”

She would find her bodyguard and stay by his side. He would not die without her permission.

And why? Because she had feared for Rune. This ruthless killer, her enemy, her father’s enemy. A man who stood by her side only under duress. And while their bargain had felt true to her, and she believed that Rune had every reason to stand by it… here, in a swaying tower with the sound of phantom monsters bellowing in the wind, Elma doubted everything.

his hair.” “Look at it,” Rune said, disgust in his words. “It’s been dyed, the color bleached out. And don’t worry, I took the liberty of checking the hair between his legs before I turned his body over to your men. It didn’t match.” “You mean you have white—” Elma said, then bit her tongue. “Yes,” Rune said impatiently. “I’ll show you later, you depraved thing.

“As I said before, when you so frustratingly refused to listen,” he took a step toward her, “Something is wrong here. All of your men, even Lord Godwin, saw this creature and his lank, dreary hair and said, that's a man of Slödava.”

“If I die, so do you. And best of luck to your darling kingdom when the might of Rothen is at its doorstep.” “Mmm, so you say.” Rune tilted his head and ran his gaze languidly from her feet to her face. “You can stop looking so uncomfortable, Majesty,” he said. “Yes, your nightgown is very thin, but I’ve already seen everything. Relax.”

“The coronation is days away. Your men are grasping. No one in Rothen could possibly best me in a fight. Your safety is all but secured.” Then why does my throat constrict? Why can’t I breathe? Elma wondered desperately. She stepped back, putting much-needed distance between herself and the assassin. He was becoming a sickly drug, a strong one, and the sooner he was gone, the better.

“It would be a shame,” Rune said, almost crooning in her ear, “to mar your lovely neck. Let’s say I’ve won and leave it there.” “A Slödavan, reluctant to draw blood?” Elma said, keenly aware of how close she was to Rune, noting every breath he took, every place where their bodies touched. She felt him as bright as a star, a fire burning through winter’s chill. His breath ruffled her hair.

“I’d prefer not to explain myself to your men when you greet them with a bandaged neck. But I urge you to remember, Queen of Rothen, that you are alive only because I allow it.”

To trust wholly is to embrace weakness. But how could a person function, live day to day, let alone rule a kingdom, without trust?

Elma crumpled to the floor, holding the paper in shaking hands. Wear your heart like armor, they had said. Grow a craggy, hard shell. Open up for no one. You are loved. You are ready. You are Queen of Rothen. A hot tear ran down her face. She didn’t want any of that. She ached to be soft again. She yearned to open up like a bloom, to trust, to be vulnerable.

He makes me laugh, she thought, unlacing the sides of her overdress before pulling it over her head. No one else makes me laugh.

“I said, enough.” “It’s not your call to make,” said Edvin. “Not anymore.” His gaze was locked on Elma’s.

I’ll never have a chance to be a good queen. A single tear welled in her eye, ran down her cheek. “Oh, Edvin,” came Rune’s voice from so far away. “I wish you hadn’t said that.”

“Are you hurt?” She let out a small, frightened sob. That was Rune’s voice. Were those his hands? Or Edvin’s, ready to strangle the life out of her for good? The hands left her face, moving down her neck, shoulders, arms. They were seeking but gentle, roving over the whole of her body with quick efficiency. “Elma, are you hurt,” came the voice again. “If he hurt you…”

Rune was kneeling over her, lit by the dying fire, his face half in shadow. But even in shadow, his crumpled expression opened a chasm in her chest. She had never seen him look like that. Frightened. His hands found her face again, rough but warm. “Elma,” he murmured, “You’re safe. You’re safe.” It sounded as much a reassurance as a prayer on his lips.

Suddenly aching to see him, the man who’d saved her life yet again, Elma drew herself up to her elbows until her nose was only inches away from Rune’s. His blue eyes were bright like a fresh lake freeze, his lips slightly parted. In that breathless moment, she almost felt like his heart was beating in tandem with hers.

For a moment they were frozen in time, gazing at one another in mirrored wonder, as if discovering each other at long last. And then they collided.

Rune was real, solid, and true. Elma had accepted death, yet here was this beautiful, deadly creature returning her to life. He offered the release that Elma desperately needed. And with every sweep of his tongue, every frantic bite at her lips, he began to fill a deep, dry well within her.

“Or is it the danger that you like?” he asked, nuzzling the inside of her thigh. “The brush with death that makes you wet?” Both, she thought, or said aloud — she couldn’t tell. She needed…

“God, you’re soaking,” he murmured, dragging his teeth along her thigh where he’d kissed her. “Sweet, depraved creature. I’ve never met anyone with such bloodlust.”

“I ordered you to make me come,” she said, surprising herself by how steady her voice sounded, even with three fingers deep inside her. “Not tease me.” Please. “The danger and the blood, then,” he breathed, easing his fingers in slowly, deeper, then out again. So softly it was tantamount to a breath of air, Rune’s thumb brushed her clit.

“With your mouth.” Rune seemed unable to contain the groan he let loose. “Elma,” he said, his breath hot on her thigh. He stayed there for a moment, breathing hard. At last, he said, “I want… But you nearly died. If I hadn’t been… And tomorrow, you… There’s blood every… I—”

He looked absolutely wrecked, his cheek pressed to the inside of her leg, his expression both desperate and so full of want that it nearly overwhelmed her.

Elma rocked her hips against his mouth, the ache ever building in her belly. She couldn’t believe that this insistent mouth of Rune’s, unspeakably intimate, belonged to her assassin. Her protector. Her enemy. Hers.

He cocked an eyebrow. “Say anything about what? How good you taste? The sound you make when you come? How much I want to kill whoever’s outside your door and lay you out on the bed just so I can hear that sound again?” He smiled serenely. “I won’t say a word.”

“Where’s your blasted assassin?” he spat, his expression dark. “We heard you might be in trouble. Cora came to warn us of a disturbance.”

“It’s always war with you!” Elma roared; all that pent-up pain of betrayal, the fear of her crown, rising in her like a gale. Her throat was raw with the force of her words. “Godwin, Luca. Get out of my room. Bring the body with you. And if either of you bring up war with Slödava again, I will take your eyes out.” Rune watched her with something like lustful awe, his mouth falling open slightly.

There had been so much death. So much blood, for so many years. And soon, the only person who seemed to see her as she was… would be gone.

Elma peered up at him through the snowflakes trapped in her eyelashes. He looked like a dream, a creature of the winter. Had he ever been real? Been solid? Would Rune the man ever make sense to her? Or would he disappear without explanation when the crown was on her head, such a force in her life, but for only a breath?

“You’re going to be Queen of Rothen tomorrow. You can’t very well freeze to death moments before the coronation. And I hate to admit it, but I’m not particularly fond of the idea of you dying so soon. Though I suppose you’ve guessed as much, considering Edvin’s current state.”

“I meant what I said. I don’t like the idea of you leaving me so soon, not yet. And I suppose, if you must die, I’d prefer to be the one to kill you.”

“I hate you.” “As you should.” Rune moved toward her, and the air between them seemed to electrify. “But strangely, I don’t hate you. Isn’t that interesting?”

“I wish I hated you,” he said softly. “It would be easier. But… you’re not like your father. You’ve made that painfully clear. And even if you were, I…” he paused, shaking his head. Then he reached out and took her chin in his fingers, delicately, as if he were about to kiss her. “You don’t take your impending rule lightly. I see it in you. Only a dedicated woman would go and lie in the snow like this.”

“You could be loved, Elma Volta. You could grow a garden.” Any remaining animosity she had toward Rune, stubbornly as she wanted to cling to it, evaporated. Before her, just for that moment, stood an ally, a man who would see her be a great ruler. And if she could live up to the hope that shone in his eyes, perhaps she would be a worthy queen after all.

“If that’s what my bloodthirsty queen so desires.” She glanced at Rune sidelong. “I am anything but yours.” He grinned, but something tugged on the corners of it, weighing it down. “If it makes you feel any better, Majesty, I am nothing if not yours.”

“You can go,” she said, spitting the words even though it hurt. “You’re pardoned. I’ll uphold my end, sign the papers. I’ll make peace with Slödava.” Rune tilted his head. “That’s not why I’m hovering at your shoulder if that’s what you’re wondering. I can’t leave you here alone yet, a ripe fruit ready to be plucked from the tree.”

“I know what it’s like,” he said, running one hand down the soft, furred edge of the coronation robe. He was half-turned away from her, his face obscured behind a fall of white hair. “To be overwhelmed by one’s duty. To wish for something different.”

“Rune…” she spoke his name softly, that single syllable laden heavy with a question. “Come here,” he growled and pulled her into him. She bent to him like an aspen in a gale. He was eager, forceful, rough. Exactly what she needed in that moment. To give way, succumb, to melt into pleasure. Rune seemed all too ready to please her without being asked.

He took her mouth in his, the taste of her blood on his tongue, and she felt so acutely that she had never wanted anything as much as she wanted him. As much as she needed him. But she couldn’t have him. He was going to leave her when all she wanted to do was cling to him and beg him not to. Suddenly, horribly, she found she couldn’t remember a time when she had felt so strikingly alone.

Elma bit her lip to bring her back to herself. She wasn’t alone. Rune was still here. She had an entire kingdom laid out before her. Yet, not a soul could she claim as a true friend, an equal.

“No,” he murmured, taking her head in his hand, his fingers curling in her hair. “I’ll be a thorn in your side, Queen Elma, until I have every reason to believe that Rothen will not invade my kingdom. Until the enemies in your midst are dealt with, until I decide I’m good and ready, I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

Her hatred had curdled into something else. Something terrifying and dangerous, if Elma let it thrive. Something that might get her killed, or worse — heartbroken.

A thousand replies came to her. Of course, that wasn’t all. She couldn’t kill him, nor could she let him go. She was stringing him along, making use of him when he ought to have been removed from the equation. Because she couldn’t bear to be without him.

“I don’t think that’s it,” he said, circling her as he spoke. “I know you. You thirst for blood, just like every other Volta. My blood, in particular. So why aren’t you taking the first opportunity to have me arrested and executed? First me, then your advisors. It would be so easy. You have us in the palm of your hand.”