House of Burning Frost (The Kingdom of Crows, #5)

by Olivia Wildenstein

“You’re in luck, Matsi.” Ilya stands and grins at his mother. “Konstantin has just appointed me Master of Jubilesque Accommodations.” Izolda snort-grins, while the corners of my mouth flick up a fraction. Milana, on the other hand, doesn’t look amused. “This revel isn’t some debaucherous gathering, Ilyusha.” My kid brother’s smile only widens. “Perhaps it should be. Make love, not war, and all that.”

“I didn’t poison her, period. It was an accident. I was trying to heal her.” I dig out the jar. “She took ill all of a sudden yesterday, and⁠—” “How convenient.” “—I brewed her a— What do you mean, convenient?” Behati moves over to Shoshair’s supine form and prods her stomach with her cane. I streak between them and bat away the gold stick. “What do you mean convenient, Behati?” “Your parents don’t want you to go to Glace because of the prophecy.”

She glances at the label. “Fungi Alaramis: induces inflammation of the gut.” Where the corners of her mouth quirk after she reads it out loud, mine plummet. I spin the jar. The cursive letters begin to shiver, to shake, but not before I make out the first syllable of the word after the mushroom’s name: in. In-fucking-duces! Not re-duces.

Brushing aside my snarled hair, I split my finger on my spiky hoop, then adorn the skylight with the circle fitted through with a cross, which I’ve perfected thanks to it being a symmetrical design. My palm sinks through the glass. I try to morph into my shadows, but my shifter magic fails me, and I hurtle into the bedroom below with all the grace of a potato. Ugh, Lach. You could’ve warned me the palace was warded.

Your bruise wouldn’t have anything to do with the Faerie King’s various injuries, now, would it? I pop out a hopefully very convincing, “Nope.” The way my father’s lids squeeze has me thinking he isn’t convinced. If he touched a hair on your body, so help me, Mórrígan, I will⁠— “It was an unfortunate run-in with a ship mast,” I say. “Entirely accidental. You know how distracted I can get when I fly.” My mother suddenly gasps. “What happened to your face, Konstantin?” “Slipped in his steam bath,” my father replies, barely separating his lips. “All these inanimate objects besting supernaturals today.”

When a cushion of air presses against my nose and forehead, I turn my attention back to the Glacin. “I won’t leap in.” He doesn’t rein back his air-magic. I straighten and pop one hand on my hip. “Even if I did, I’m a Crow, not a Serpent, so I doubt they’d enjoy my taste. Not to mention, I’m essentially unkillable.” “Perhaps, but I’m Fae and—in spite of my amulet—very killable.”

“I’m here to have a drink,” I lie. For obvious reasons, I don’t tell him the true reason for journeying to this specific establishment. “You’re here because you eavesdropped on the conversation about rattling Serpent cocks I was having with the friendly bartender.” His cheeks—which are not his but some Lucin human’s I once met—pinken beneath the scraggly beard I coaxed out of his jaw. “It wasn’t the rattling cock bit that arrested me.”

“Are your ass cheeks freezing?” Konstantin coughs. “What?” Cough. “My—” Cough. “What?” I smirk at his discomfiture. “Didn’t your pants rip when you sat down earlier?” “Oh.” The corners of his mouth hook up ever so slightly. “I do believe it’s the first time anyone has enquired after my ass. Much less worried about it being cold.” “I’m considerate like that.”

“You had one too many of those delicious mead cocktails to make chatting with all your fans tolerable?” The corners of his mouth twitch. “All my fans?” I shrug. “Sofiya Patchenkov’s a fan.” “A fan of my status.” “Obviously. Who in their right mind would be a fan of your personality?” That wins me a smile. A full-blow one. Dare I say I find the Ice King not so icy after all?

“My mother has only ever been with one man, and that man was my father,” Konstantin snaps. I tilt my head. “And you know this how, exactly…? Did she sit you down one day and walk you through her sexual history?”

“We’ll need to handhold often.” “Can’t we just walk arm in arm?” I shoot him a look that makes his lips roll. “You had no trouble holding my hand yesterday.” “Fine,” he says. To set limits—and maybe, to fluster him a little—I say, “There will be no fondling of breasts.” Sure enough, a wash of color rises up his neck and tinges his jaw. Quite enjoying his discomfiture, I take it a step farther. “Perhaps an ass squeeze, if the moment calls for it, but hand-jobs whilst sitting on one’s throne are off the table.”

Shadows drape over the stairs then. One remains dark, while the other brightens into a woman gloved in a blush-colored gown. The ring box in my pocket seems to gain a full pound…ten.

This is a ruse. Only a ruse. Thank fuck she doesn’t find me attractive. It’ll make the forthcoming months easier, for if my sister truly birthed a vengeful niece, then I need my wits about me and not inside Isla’s underthings.

take a long inhale, readying myself to ask a question I know he’ll loathe even more than the last. “What does your cock look like?” He chokes on air, his expression teetering somewhere between absolute horror and extreme annoyance. “It’s the sort of detail I’d know. If you prefer to show me rather than describe it…” His complexion becomes such a fiery-red that even the whites of his eyes appear pink. I realize it will probably incense him further, but I cannot help the grin that overtakes my lips. “Would you prefer I feel you above your trousers?” I didn’t think more blood could converge into his face but I’m wrong. “I can flash you my boobs to even out the playing field, but you already saw them in your steam bath. And just in case you thought they were Behati’s, they weren’t.”

He rolls his eyes to the ceiling and counts to ten, then rubs a hand down his flaming face. “It’s proportional to my figure.” “So, long and thin?” He balks. “Thin?” He spits the adjective out as though it were the gravest insult to his person. “My cock is not thin.” I smirk, which only serves to strengthen his scowl. “Since you’re Fae, I assume you’re not circumcised?” Even the tips of his ears glow now. “No.” I keep smiling. “Noted. Do you want to see my breasts again?” He squeezes the bridge of his nose. “No.” “Don’t look so nauseated. You’re going to give me a complex.” My comment is met with another unintelligible mutter. “Just in case you missed it, I have a birthmark on my pubic⁠—” “I didn’t.”

“Any birthmarks I should be aware of?” His color is still high, like his irritation. “None.” “Any tattoos?” “Didn’t get a good look at my body the first night we met?” “I was a little busy handing you your ass. Besides, your towel—unlike mine—stayed put. So? Any ink decorations?” “Are you truly asking if I have a snowflake tattooed on my buttocks.” I grin. “Yes.” Though he still scowls, though his neck is still corded, his timbre mollifies when he says, “I do not.”

“A spark is too small a thing for what happens when we collide.” His knees fall open a little wider as though inviting me to step closer. “You, Isla Ríhbiadh, have set fire to my kingdom of ice and torched your way into my frozen heart.”

When she’d asked me what my favorite color was earlier, I’d almost blurted, “Your eyes. Your eyes are my favorite color.” Thankfully, my tongue had reined back the preposterous revelation.

“You’re the most precious gift I’ve ever had the pleasure of unwrapping.” “Admit it. You secretly meet with Izolda’s favorite author—the Countess of Smut—and feed her the lines spoken by her male heroes.” “You got me.” Her jest causes my mind to stir as she kisses me. I feel like I’m missing something.

“It’s possible I’m not—” He swallows. “That I’m not the one for you.” I lean back—well, as far back as his hold will allow—then imprison the harsh angles of his face between my palms. “You feel too much like the one not to be the one.”

“Still willing to give me your heart, Vizosh?” “I never took it back.” He bumps my nose with his. Right before kissing me, he adds, “Even if you hadn’t wanted it, Miss Ríhbiadh, it will never belong to anyone else.”

“However much I appreciate having you at my side, the burden of the worst isn’t yours to bear.” “We might not have exchanged any vows, but that doesn’t make me any less your ally and friend.” “Ally and friend, huh?” I smile. “With benefits.”

“It’s a ticket.” “A…ticket?” “For a voyage. Through Glace.” He holds out the paper that gleams with neat silver letters. I can make out my name and that of his kingdom, but all the other letters are too slanted, too squashed, too small. And they wobble to the drumbeat of my heart. “By train,” he adds. “Activities include reindeer spotting, ice fishing, skating, a visit to the greenhouses, a soak in the hot springs, and anything else you’d like to do.” I lift my wide eyes to his, trying to make sense of his words, since they are nothing like what I expected to find within that parchment. “I wanted to show you my kingdom. I know you have wings, but I don’t. Obviously, you have no need for a ticket to board any of my trains, but I thought…” He crinkles the paper in his fist. “I’m not sure what I thought.” His lids twitch. “The other is a more useful gift.” I clasp the back of his neck and tow his head down to mine. “I love my present. I cannot wait to see and experience all that your kingdom has to offer.”

The tendons stand erect in his neck. “You will be the death of me…” I’m about to chide him for reiterating the loathed phrase, when he adds, “…xhina.” My protest withers as the term sinks deep and consumes me, making both my heart and stomach writhe.

Get yourself together, Isla. The carnival of horror has just started spinning.

The instant I reach Isla, I draw her tremulous fingers off her mouth, lace our hands together, and bend over to kiss her. I love you, Konstantin Korol. I freeze. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you, she chants. I pull back just to make sure that her lips aren’t moving. Though how could they, pressed as they were against mine? Say something else.

There’s little my mate and I like better than justice, and there’s much justice to be doled out.” “By justice, we mean revenge,” Imogen clarifies. The Serpent tows his Crow mate infinitesimally closer. “I think he twigged that, ah’khar

I didn’t come here because of the Mestyla-prophecy. I came here because of the mate-one. I came here because Behati told me that if I didn’t cross paths with my mate at the Jubilee, then he would die. I didn’t want to lose him, she tells me as she peels herself from her father to hug her hulking grandfather. I didn’t want to lose you

Our kingdom. All that is mine is yours. All that I am is yours. All that I will ever be is yours.

The Cauldron transformed you into a…a…a yeti?” He cocks a black eyebrow. “A yeti?” Phoeppa coughs a chuckle into his fist that wins him Zia Syb’s elbow in the ribs and a hissed, “This is a solemn moment.” Instead of quieting him, his head falls back on booming laughter that Lachlano and Agrippina reciprocate. “Just so we’re clear”—Konstantin spins on himself to make eye contact with all—“I am not a yeti. I am a literal Ice King. I can now freeze someone’s internal organs and carve them up—no chisel required. I can also stream through the air for as long as I wish in flurry-form