The Prince and the Ice King by Amanda Meuwissen

Chapter 11

“LIAR!” REARDONkicked the gate leading out to the Mystic Valley.

He had bathed and dressed and carefully removed the bandages protecting wounds that potions had already healed to smooth scar tissue, but every monotonous act only fueled his rage.

“Witch!” he cried, because this was the Fairy Queen’s fault! She cast the curse without following her own rules! “Why are you doing this to him?” He kicked the gate again, and then grabbed its bars and shook them in his fury, nearly upsetting the frozen-over latch.

“My, you have a temper.”

Reardon reared back with a gasp, instinct bringing his hands to his hilts, as he looked up—upon a radiant figure perched on the castle wall.

Reardon had heard stories of the power and beauty of the queen of elves—beauty that could swindle and corrupt, for the tales painted all elves and anyone with magic as sinister and vile. He hadn’t believed it, but his anger at her now made him wonder if those stories were true.

She certainly was beautiful. Dark skin and eyes, her hair in lovely long waves pinned even more intricately than Shayla’s and twisted into a thick braid over one shoulder. Within her hair were flowers and delicate vines, as well as a crown of golden antlers that could easily have been mistaken for demon horns. Her gown was made of such rich shades of violet, indigo, and blue that the silk flowing from her skirts and sleeves did indeed make her look more like a fairy than an elf.

She had no wings, however, just her pointed ears, adorned in cuffs of glittering gold that matched her crown. She looked as much like a goddess of the wood as a high queen. The only exception was her dainty feet, bare beneath her skirts as she dangled them from her spot on the wall. She was smiling, but Reardon held his guard. He had never believed his angry ranting would actually reach her.

“You mean to mock me?” He clenched his jaw to keep from stuttering, hands still on the hilts of his swords, even if a swipe of steel might mean nothing against her magic.

“I mean to talk to you, Emerald Prince. It hasn’t been often enough that you’ve come this close to my gate.”

“As if you’d need such formality, Majesty.”

She clicked her tongue at him, leaning back on the wall, as if she weren’t an ethereal vision, but a simple peasant girl enjoying a nice day outdoors. “Such venom. No need to call me that, or ‘Fairy Queen.’ Those are just titles. May I call you Reardon? Because please, call me Mavis.”

The tension in Reardon’s stance faltered. It was said that true names could be powerful among those who wielded magic. Had she given him hers?

But then, Reardon had no magic himself, only science, and only his swords and dagger on him now.

“You wish to talk to me? Why?”

“It seemed you wished to talk to me.”

Reardon fidgeted in the snow. “I thought you had long since moved from these lands, but the king implied you were still out there. It all looks empty.” He glanced through the bars of the gate.

A thud drew his attention back to her, where she stood in the snow, having leapt from the wall, her bare feet hidden by her gown. Being so close to a figure he had thought mythical only a few weeks prior reminded him of when he first met the Ice King.

With her glowing smile, she opened her arms, gesturing him to her. He hesitated but figured he had nothing to lose.

Her hands were warm as one curled around his back to lead him forward, the other taking one of his hands to wrap around a single bar of the gate. As soon as his fingers closed, it was like being thrown through the castle wall, hurtling blindingly fast down the hill and into the valley below.

Reardon knew his feet hadn’t left the castle grounds, but he saw it all as if he had, like a soaring eagle. Reaching the edge of the valley that indeed looked abandoned like the Frozen Kingdom’s adjoining city and villages, ripples appeared in front of Reardon. The ripples parted like the sheer drapes of the king’s bedchamber, revealing so much beyond the veil that he could hardly take it all in.

Cities and towns stretched there too, but bustling ones, both outside the forest edges and within. The woods there were lush and magical, far removed from the Shadow Lands on the other side of the king’s hill, with all sorts of dazzling sights in every direction.

There were humans, elves, half-elves. Reardon thought he even saw fairies—real fairies—dancing in the wind. He realized, however, that among all the people he saw, no one ever drew close to the veil. He assumed it was so that they wouldn’t be seen by those outside it, but realization grew within him that they were in fact trapped. Happy with their lot but unable to leave.

His vision zoomed forward again to a glittering castle, then inside, where he saw the Fairy Queen’s throne. She sat upon it, eyes closed, as if to show Reardon that the real her was there, and the one with him was a phantom.

Beside her throne was a smaller one with a human man in equal finery to hers but with a smaller antlered crown. He was handsome, gazing adoringly up at her, blond and blue-eyed, but clean-shaven and far more sweet-faced than Oliver or Liam. If that was her husband, Prince Consort to her kingdom, then Reardon understood why a younger Jack had tried to court him.

“You too, hm?”

All at once, Reardon returned to himself, staring at his hand on the bars.

“I think he’s quite handsome too,” she said, “but he is taken.”

Reardon pulled back, shrinking away from her and turning to look upon her form once more. “You’re not real?”

“I’m real. Think of it as a long-distance conversation with a nicer view.”

“Why can’t you leave the valley?”

“I can’t tell you that, I’m afraid.” She cringed. “Magic has its rules. But I can tell you to not give up. This kingdom, yours, and mine all have something to gain. King John told you the words of the curse?”

Reardon’s heart was still racing from the rush of all he had seen, and he was skeptical that he could trust the source of all this misery. “Yes. I don’t remember exactly, but… I know he said you told the others that when his heart melts and he is a true king, the spell will be broken.” He felt his anger resurface at the memory and spat back at her, “Is loving me not enough to prove his heart has melted?”

“Toward you?” she said, soft and compassionate. “Toward his people, his family, and friends? Of course. But a true king sees value in himself too.”

“He… he loves me, and he is a good king, but he doesn’t believe he’s worthy of either. I should have known. The ice that remains is because he has yet to forgive himself.”

“Yes.”

“Then I will continue to prove to him that he is wrong.” Reardon squared his shoulders before the Fairy Queen—Mavis. “But that does not absolve you. This curse is cruel and unfair.”

She tilted her head, a sad smile upon her lips. “You keep looking for a hero in this story. We simply all made choices, and I do not regret mine.”

“Then hero or no hero, you are the villain,” Reardon snarled. “Jack is a good king, but you trapped him in a life he never wanted.”

“He had to accept responsibility. After his father died, as the new king of these lands, he could have changed anything he wanted. He could have taken a prince, if that was his desire, changed the laws to pass his kingdom to his sister, renounced the throne for another leader to take his place. Instead, he chose to be carousing, irresponsible, and apathetic, and he has paid for it.”

“And his sister and friends and far too many others paid for it too!”

Still, she did not rise to Reardon’s challenge, her voice calm. “Are they so miserable, or have they each found their own happiness?”

“That isn’t enough. What of those who died unjustly? The accidents? What of all the years lost? What about my kingdom? All this only perpetuated a fear of magic and the idea that people are disposable.”

“Those choices are the responsibility of those who made them, but not everything is as it seems, Emerald Prince. This was never meant to have gone on for so long.” Again, she looked sad, even though she said she wasn’t regretful. “My magic is not infallible. I cannot explain everything, but I came to tell you that the curse can be lifted. You must do what the Sapphire King could not and trust—”

“Reardon!”

Reardon’s attention snapped away from her toward Oliver, racing from the castle, followed by a dozen of the strongest fighters Reardon knew, all armed, with Barclay trailing behind in a hurry.

They must have seen—

He startled when he turned back to Mavis, because she was gone, and he somehow knew that if he told the others about his audience with the Fairy Queen, none would say they had seen any sign she had been there.

Trust? Trust what?

Trust who?

“What’s happened?” Reardon asked of the others when they joined him at the west gate.

“Emerald banners,” Oliver said with a hard edge, bow in hand. “There is a platoon approaching the castle.”

“It’s Lombard,” Barclay panted. “He’s leading them. The soldier must have told Lombard the truth, or he didn’t believe him.”

Reardon had known it was only a matter of time, but he hadn’t believed Lombard would bring fifty men to counter the initial two.

“If they try to get in, we’ll have to open fire,” Oliver said. “They won’t understand. They expect monsters here, and honestly, we need them to believe that. If they find only a hundred simple people trying to live their lives, and five poor cursed souls, they’ll wipe us all out as easily as they sent us here as sacrifices.”

They would. They would assume everyone here was bewitched, the elves and half-elves worthy of death simply for what they were. Reardon had only been thinking of Barclay when he came here, but he had stayed for selfish reasons, and now, disaster was at the gates.

“I’ll talk to them.”

“You can’t.” Oliver grabbed Reardon’s arm before he could move past them. “I promised the king I would never let anything else happen to you.”

The earnest admission made Reardon smile. He had been lucky; the only reason he hadn’t frozen on the spot the other morning was because the king hadn’t been fully transformed when he pulled away. If it hadn’t been for Oliver and Caitlin, and Zephyr who fetched them, Reardon still might have died from the shock or been far worse off than merely scarred. Then Oliver had saved Reardon again when he carried him from the edge of the wood after being stabbed.

“You won’t fail that promise,” Reardon swore to him, gripping his forearm in kind. “Lombard would never hurt me.”

“Reardon, wait.” Barclay grabbed after him, not gasping at the contact but taking in a deep breath as a new vision appeared to wash through him.

No, not new, Reardon realized. The resignation on Barclay’s face said it was one he had seen before.

“I don’t know what it means, or how to prevent it, but what I saw yesterday, and what I just saw again… was everyone in this castle dead.” Barclay let the weight of that sink in, twisting Reardon’s insides with nausea. “It was carnage, everything completely razed, but you… you had a shadow over you, like the future is not yet set. I saw your father, Lombard, and Master Wells. Wells was making a potion….”

“The counter potion?” Reardon pressed. The High Alchemist was gifted. Perhaps, with his help, Reardon could finally succeed in solving his mother’s death.

Barclay didn’t answer, seeming unsure, but Reardon felt more resolute than ever.

“That’s why I have to go.” He pulled Barclay in tight against him, embracing his friend like he had the last time he saw him in Emerald before the guards took Barclay away. “If I don’t, they’ll storm in and prove that vision true, but I can stop it.”

“Open the gates!” Lombard’s voice rang from the castle entrance. “We know you have our prince! You were given your allotted sacrifice! Now, release the prince at once!”

“You see?” Reardon squeezed Barclay once more before pulling away. “It’ll be all right. Lombard thinks I’ve been kidnapped. He’ll see reason if I go out there. I was always going to have to go home to explain, to change my father’s mind. Please, don’t stop me.” Reardon gazed imploringly at Barclay, and then at Oliver.

Oliver nodded.

“Wait,” Barclay said again, but when Reardon readied a protest, all his friend did was push a piece of parchment into his hands. “Take this. It’s my notes on the last version of the potion. It’s not finished. We know we’re still missing something, but if you don’t come back….”

“I will come back,” Reardon promised but still took the parchment, tucking it into his cloak.

He looked up at the castle. Much as he longed to see a familiar hulking form, he knew it would be foolish for the king to be up on the ramparts. There was the brief blur of movement anyway, but that was others staying hidden while readying bows on Oliver’s orders, no doubt. The king was nowhere to be seen.

Reardon hoped Jack understood.

With his swords, dagger, and cloak, Reardon didn’t need to return to his room, and there wasn’t time if he’d wanted to. He believed, however, as he finally made for the gates, that someday soon, he would return.

STAYING OUTof sight when strangers were within eyeline of the castle was one of the Frozen Kingdom’s most important tenets. Let all who would look upon their prison from afar think it a mystery too terrifying to breach.

Jack followed that rule now, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t watching from his throne room, remaining carefully in the shadows, as Reardon marched to the castle entrance.

Jack hadn’t slept at all the other night, just cleaned what he could of his chambers and turned his bed into kindling, so that now he had nothing in that spot anymore where a bed had once been. He didn’t need sleep, after all, and he hoped he never dreamed again.

“Zephyr,” Jack said low beneath his breath, “carry their words to me.”

Without turning to see Zephyr appear or obey, Jack felt the rush of a bitter breeze, and with it came the distant voices of those at the gates.

Reardon was a smart prince, ensuring the entrance closed behind him quickly so that none of the soldiers outside could catch too much of a glimpse of the castle grounds—though the ice sculptures were difficult to miss.

Jack saw many of the men shift uneasily on their horses.

“General Lombard!” Reardon called to the armored man at the front, who wore a full helmet that obscured his face.

Lombard.

“There’s no need to go any farther. I am not a prisoner, and I will return with you. We shall retreat now, for I have much to discuss with my father.”

The soldiers shifted once more, only Lombard holding firm as he looked down on Reardon from his horse.

“This place is known for dark magic,” Lombard said, “and you have been gone for weeks. Prove you are our prince.”

Not a fool, Jack thought, and Reardon wisely nodded, understanding Lombard’s cynicism.

At first raising his hands to show he held no weapons, Reardon slowly reached down to retrieve his dagger and held it aloft. “When you gave me this on my eighteenth birthday, you told me to keep it close, always. I may have misplaced it a time or two, Bardy, but I did not fail you.”

There was a long pause, yet Lombard must have deemed the dagger and Reardon’s words enough, for he dismounted, removed his helmet to set it on his saddle, and approached Reardon.

He was handsome, about Reardon’s same height, like Jack, and built similarly too. He was older, a few years older than Jack had been before the curse, but proud and dashing.

As Lombard neared Reardon, Jack was ready to leap from the window and launch an icy attack if this was a trick, but all the man did was loose his hands from the hilts of his weapons and embrace Reardon boldly.

“I have missed you, my prince.”

Reardon hugged him back just as tightly. “I missed you too. Let’s go home.”

A stinging chill pierced Jack’s chest like the first rays of dawn.

Lombard led Reardon to his horse, replaced his helmet, and helped Reardon into the saddle behind him. Reardon was leaving without a fuss—without saying goodbye.

“Majesty!”

Jack turned slowly to the entrance of his throne room. It was Oliver, and Jack expected to see Zephyr, but Josie and the rest of the court had arrived too.

“Barclay had a vision,” Oliver said. “The prince believes he must return to the Emerald Kingdom to prevent a war. I have my men on the ramparts, awaiting orders. What should we do?”

War?Maybe that was true, but Reardon would have had to go eventually anyway. “There is no need to fire on them or pursue. The prince is going of his own accord. Now leave me.” Jack turned back to the window to watch the retreating horses.

Not once did Reardon turn back, but held on to Lombard’s waist.

Jack could no longer hear them, and the eerie silence dug the ice in his chest deeper.

“It’s a ruse,” Zephyr said. “To bide time and speak with his father.”

“We didn’t finish the potion,” Liam announced. “He has to come back.”

“Of course he’s coming back,” Branwen growled.

Jack didn’t say anything.

“Jack?” Josie spoke more softly than the others.

Still Jack said nothing, staring after the emerald banners until they were but specks in the distance. He heard the others start to leave and finally turned his head again.

“Oliver,” Jack called, halting the fletcher’s leave. “Accompany me to the library to replace the book on the pedestal.” He nodded to Pillars of Virtue lying closed but with its page marked with ribbon on the steps leading up to his throne. “I would like to read today.”

“Of course, Majesty,” Oliver said. “Zephyr….”

“I’ll let the archers know to stand down.” Zephyr nodded and vanished with a frown.

Josie, Liam, and Branwen were all without words as Oliver came forward to do as Jack had asked. Slowly, Jack trudged into the tunnels with Oliver following. There was no point in waiting for Reardon to finish the book, and besides, Jack knew how the story went. It was not a happily ever after between star-crossed lovers but came to a practical end.

Like everything in the real world.

REARDON HADnearly forgotten the drudgery of the days’ travel to and from the Frozen Kingdom. Almost three days normally, and still a long two if moving swiftly, the journey was grueling. Reardon had no potion with him to help against the cold, only his cloak and extra blankets packed by the soldiers.

The heat of Lombard’s body helped more than any blanket draped over his shoulders, but even that heat wasn’t much comfort, because the chill in Reardon’s heart grew colder the farther they got from the castle.

They rode all day, with minimal stops, and not once did Lombard ask anything about Reardon’s time away. Reardon couldn’t tell him the truth anyway. He’d promised to keep the secrets of the castle and its curse until he saved them from it.

Reardon had to foster change, prove all was well, and return to Jack to break the curse once and for all.

At nightfall, as they set up camp, Reardon felt exhausted but couldn’t imagine curling up on a bedroll yet to sleep. He sat by a separate fire, asking the others to give him space, so he could study Barclay’s notes.

Something was missing from what they’d experimented on so far, but he couldn’t figure out what. More testing would have led them to the answer eventually, but Reardon didn’t have that luxury on the road. Hopefully, Master Wells could help him.

“May I join you, my prince?” Lombard came over, prompting Reardon to tuck the parchment away. “I know you requested solitude, but—”

“It’s all right,” Reardon said, smiling as the general sat beside him on the blanket he’d placed before the fire. “I don’t mean to act like a brat and refuse the company of my own soldiers, I just needed time to think. I know I need to sleep.”

“You do, but there is something we need to discuss.” Lombard’s tone drew Reardon’s eyes to his face, the firelight flickering over his handsome features. “I wanted to be sure we had put at least a day’s travel between us and that… place, before I told you the truth.”

“Has something happened?”

“We weren’t sure what to think when you went missing. I sent soldiers to pick up your trail.”

“And I sent one back to explain that I was safe. Why did you not listen?”

Lombard turned to Reardon with greater worry on his face. “My prince, neither soldier ever returned. That is why I followed.”

“But I….” Reardon trailed off, realizing how foolish it was to send a lone man on such a long journey, especially one so young, armed or otherwise. “Something must have happened to him. You’re sure he never made it?”

“Master Wells didn’t report anything. They were meant to see him first upon their return, in case they had been enchanted.”

Then that was a second life Reardon felt on his conscience more than he would ever blame another. “There are highwaymen about, wolves. I should have gone with him.”

“I am glad at least that you are safe, but the fate of my soldiers is not all I need to tell you.” Lombard closed his eyes as if greatly pained. “My deepest sympathies, my prince, but your father has fallen ill.”

“What?”

“It seems to be very like what killed your mother, only working slower. We know that’s why the Ice King took you along with the other sacrifice.”

“No, I….” Now Reardon clenched his eyes in pain, because he had set all this in motion. “That is not what happened. I traded places with the sacrifice. I followed you that day and chose to go to the Ice King’s castle. He and his people have nothing to do with whatever is happening to my father.”

“You can’t know that,” Lombard said staunchly. “The Ice King’s power is vast. Has he bewitched your mind—”

“No,” Reardon said again, turning to face his mentor fully. “Bardy, I swear. That castle, that fallen kingdom, is not what you think. I wish I could tell you more….”

“Then tell me. If it is not dark magic cursing your father, then what?”

“I don’t know exactly, but it isn’t magic. It’s alchemy, and I’ve been working on figuring out the exact ingredients. If I can finish a copy of the potion, maybe I can reverse it to save my father and find whoever did this. And who first did it to my mother.”

So often was Lombard the voice of reason trying to pull Reardon back from his musings and the rants he used to throw at his father, but the furrow to his brow was contemplative now, not dismissive. “You’re certain? You’re close to having proof? Some sort of… potion caused it all, even without leaving traces?”

“There is no doubt in my mind. I should have stayed in the Frozen Kingdom.” Reardon lamented the distance between him and the castle now. “I was so close to finishing what I’d started. But I may be able to finish the potion at home, with Master Wells’s help. I must. My father….” He returned to Lombard in trepidation. “How bad is it?”

“He was bedridden when we left, but Wells and the physicians believed he had several more days, if not weeks, before the situation would be dire.”

Reardon sighed in relief. There was time. “Trust me, then, please? When this is over, I will tell you everything.”

Lombard scanned Reardon like he had upon his horse before accepting him as the prince he knew. “You look cared for, well-dressed and well-armed, and you don’t seem as though you’ve been bewitched. Yes, my prince, I will trust you, but you must know that no matter the truth, you are treading dangerous territory.”

“I know, but if I’m right—about a number of things—it will be worth it.”

Trusting in Reardon as he always had, Lombard nodded. “I’m glad you are well,” he said again and rested one of his cool bare hands atop Reardon’s between them, far more intimate than Reardon could ever remember him allowing before.

The contact made heat rush to Reardon’s cheeks, his heart beating rapidly despite himself, unable to deny the pull Lombard had always had on him. “I-I’m glad you’re well too,” he stammered.

Their eyes met, and in the firelight, with so much darkness around them, Lombard’s face and golden hair looked almost… white.

He pulled his hand from Reardon’s and stood, like he hadn’t meant to be so uncouth. “Sleep, my prince,” Lombard said, leaving Reardon with guilt stirring unbidden in his stomach. “If we ride hard tomorrow, we’ll reach Emerald before nightfall.”

A KNOCKdrew Jack’s attention from where he leaned against his desk, staring at where his bed had once been. Even a few days ago, with the sun set, he would have yelled at whoever dared disturb him.

Now… nothing seemed to matter.

He opened the door without hesitation. “Yes?”

“Jack!” Josie exclaimed, standing on the other side of the door with an expression of shock, carrying two brightly colored doublets over her arm. “I didn’t think you’d actually… oh, Jack.” She dove forward, throwing her free arm around his neck to pull him close.

He had forgotten how beautiful she was, with her long locks of brunette waves, and the feel of her was such a different comfort than Reardon’s embrace.

He’d missed it.

Tears filled Josie’s eyes that she wiped away, but then she returned her hand to the back of Jack’s neck and hugged him again, before moving her palm to his scarred cheek. “You never needed to hide this from us, from me.”

“You all have enough reminders of what I did to us.” Jack’s voice came out hoarse from disuse the past couple days. He hadn’t realized how much more talking he’d been doing with Reardon around.

His sister’s eyes, blue like his own, held only sympathy and love. “Will you never believe the fault was not yours alone?”

“Not likely,” he tried to say with levity, twitching a grin at her.

She laughed but swatted his chest. “Not funny. However, if I’m allowed to have a true audience with my big brother at last, then even better than dropping this off at your door, I insist you try it on for me.”

“Try it on?” Jack frowned as she breezed past him into the chambers. He shut the door and watched as she laid the doublets on his desk.

Jack recognized them now—or the fabric and thread they’d once been when Reardon asked his opinion on their embroidery. One was emerald green with yellow gold, the other sapphire blue with white.

“The green one’s Reardon’s, obviously,” Josie said. “He didn’t get to finish it himself, so I did it for him. I thought it would be a nice gift for when he returns.”

“Josie….”

“The blue is yours.” She turned back with a haughty smile that allowed no reproach. “He made sure to finish that one first, but didn’t want to give it to you until his was also done. I’m sure he won’t mind me giving it to you early if you wear it when he comes through those gates again. Now, let me see how it looks on you.”

The certainty in her words left Jack too brokenhearted to refuse. “Allow me to change into something that will match better at least.” He rarely took much stock in what he wore, only bothering with clothes because he felt wrong without them while human at night—when he wasn’t in bed with Reardon.

After selecting a white shirt, black trousers, and his nicest pair of black leather boots, Jack returned, allowing Josie to help him tie up the doublet. For a prince, Reardon was a good tailor, seen in the intricate embroidery and even stitch work.

The doublet fit Jack well, and after finishing the ties, Josie stood back to take him in without any sign that his scars or white hair distorted the kingly picture.

“I wish you could see yourself,” she said. “We could always go out to find a mirror.”

“I’m not up for that.” Jack smiled at her attempt.

“Next time, then. Though trust me, it looks wonderful on you. When Reardon sees you in it, he won’t be able to contain himself from putting his on too.”

“Josie….” The ice over Jack’s heart was still in place, because he could feel it cracking.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” Josie said, picking up the green doublet and holding it to her chest. “The yellow- and white-gold threads. It never would have dawned on me to try such a thing with my touch, but Reardon has a marvelous way of seeing beauty in the things we take for granted as terrible.”

The tears she’d banished before pricked her eyes again, and Jack didn’t stop himself from going to her. It had been too long since he held his sister.

She sniffled against his chest with the second doublet crushed between them. “He will be back, you’ll see,” she said, even as her tears fell.

“Barclay said, did he?”

“He said… there are different paths, and he doesn’t know which will come true, but each one leads to Reardon being back here, however else it all ends.”

However else….

“I hope, dear sister,” Jack said as he hugged her, “that if Barclay is right, it is a happy reunion.”

But that would never be the ending Jack expected.

REARDON COULDN’Thelp it; as soon as Lombard’s horse reached the castle grounds, he leapt from the saddle and took off running for his father’s chambers. Everyone parted before him, some whispering loudly about the return of the prince, but nothing mattered other than reaching Henry.

Reardon burst into the room, unhindered by guards, to find several physicians, including Master Wells, at Henry’s bedside. He dismissed them all for now and raced to his father’s side, falling at the edge of the bed and taking his father’s hand.

“Reardon…?” Henry croaked, a shadow of his former self, pale and gaunt, in only a dressing gown beneath the damp sheets from what must have been a constant shift between chills and awful sweats.

“I’m here. I am sorry I’ve been gone for so long, but I had to go.”

“Go…? Where? Did the Ice King truly take you?”

“No. I was there, in the Frozen Kingdom. I went to find Barclay, but I was treated well, shown kindness, and asked to stay to better understand that place and end all this nonsense of offerings and fear over magic. I’ve learned so much, Father. Please, let me explain. I may yet be able to save you.”

He longed to tell his father everything about the castle and its curse, but he stuck to simpler truths about its people and the wonder of magic that was nothing to fear—and eventually, he explained the hardest part, that he had fallen in love with the Ice King and had always longed for male company over a future queen.

“Surely, he bewitched you.”

“Everyone keeps saying that, but I swear I am in my right mind, and I know the truth of my heart. It has always been a man I longed to have at my side, Father. Please understand.”

“You’re young, confused, and wary of the responsibilities ahead of you.”

“I am not—”

“It’s the evil allure of magic,” Henry insisted, lifting his free hand to cup Reardon’s face. “You may not believe that now, but when its power fades, you will think clearly again.”

Tears pricked the edges of Reardon’s eyes, and he drew back to let his father’s hand fall. “Mother never condemned those who loved the same gender. She followed the old ways but hated them and might have changed them if she’d lived.”

“Because she was too kind and didn’t want to believe that love could be corruption.”

“Because it isn’t.”

“Reardon—”

“I never thought I could tell you. I feared I’d marry and live a hollow shell of a life as king. But if I can show everyone here that magic is not all dark and sinister, perhaps I can change more than I ever imagined and prove to you that love is never corruption, no matter what you think.

“First, I am going to work on the potion to save you.”

“Reardon….” Henry clung to his hand before he could rise.

“I love you, Father, even if you are misguided.” Reardon bent to kiss his father’s forehead, but then pried his hand from Henry’s grasp and turned to leave without giving an ear to another word his father might have said.

His destination now was the alchemist tower.

JOSIE LEFT,but Jack still wore the blue doublet. He held Reardon’s emerald one in his lap, seated at his desk, wondering at all the different ways Reardon might return.

To say goodbye.

To start a war.

To be a new sacrifice if his father and kingdom shunned him.

Perhaps that could be a good ending, and the two of them could shutter away here forever. Jack didn’t need the curse broken, if he could have Reardon with him.

But the knights in Pillars of Virtue didn’t find their way to each other, and those knights, in that fairy tale, were righteous men. Jack had never been that and didn’t deserve a happy end.

He didn’t think so much as let his feet carry him from his chambers, like he’d let them carry him to Josie to hold her. Slipping into the tunnels, Jack kept his steps quiet and his ears alert for anyone he might encounter but came across no one and snuck into Reardon’s room.

Once there, he placed Reardon’s doublet on the bed, then walked to the bathing area, where a mirror hung over the washbasin. He hadn’t looked in it when he was last here. As much as he’d forgotten Josie’s beauty, he hardly remembered his own face, but something pulled him forward to see.

The sight was not what he expected.

His hair was fairly neat, long as it had grown, white and stark against his tan skin. The scars were many, but his eyes burned bright, and wearing the doublet Reardon had made for him, Jack felt a little like a king. All he needed was his crown.

He had locked it away once, though he barely remembered where. The only crown he was used to was the one made of ice—the one he’d earned.

“I don’t know why you would ever wish to come back to me,” Jack said to his reflection, trying to imagine Reardon’s face instead of his own, “but if you do, if you’d still have me, I will never let you go again.”

There was no Reardon to answer him, and with the quiet came sorrow deeper than any before.

Jack hung the doublet in the wardrobe so he could lie upon the bed and breathe in Reardon’s fading scent, until the hour grew late.

REARDON’S VISIONwas swimming, but he had to find the answer.

“My prince, please,” Master Wells implored him. Reardon had begged him to help him discover the missing ingredient or alchemical property that would finally make the right potion, but Wells kept refusing, demanding answers about the Frozen Kingdom.

“I don’t have time to explain,” Reardon snapped, taking Barclay’s notes that he had memorized by now and pushing the parchment at Wells. “I need your expertise, not your doubts or curiosity.”

“This is Barclay’s handwriting….”

“It is.” Reardon didn’t spare a look at Wells but heard the man’s quiet sigh and soft crinkle of paper. He had tried several more experiments, but he feared he was going in circles. “Barclay also saw you making a potion. I don’t understand why you keep refusing….” Perhaps it was his franticness or determination to push past his exhaustion, but the most awful realization struck Reardon, and he turned slowly to look back at Wells. “In a vision, he saw you making a potion… but that doesn’t mean it was the cure.”

“What?” Wells looked up from the parchment, as if he hadn’t fully heard Reardon.

The truth was all so clear then. Barclay had visions, something very dangerous to someone who had something to hide. If Reardon thought about it, even before Wells condemned Barclay as a witch, he couldn’t remember ever seeing Wells touch Barclay or allow himself to be touched.

He was an alchemist, set against magic.

At the time of Reardon’s mother’s and Stevie’s deaths, ingredients were missing from his shop as well as Caitlin’s.

He had access to the castle and everyone’s trust.

The soldier Reardon sent home was supposed to report to him.

“Guards, take Master Wells to his shop and lock him inside.”

“What?” Wells spouted, lowering the parchment and looking around anxiously as the two guards at the door came forward upon Reardon’s request. “My prince, I am doing everything I can to help your father. If this is about Barclay—”

“Now,” Reardon said without further explanation. Technically, he had no proof, not yet, but the answer seemed so obvious.

As the soldiers seized Wells to take him away, Reardon snatched the parchment back from him and tucked it into his tunic. Once he knew for sure, he would deal with Wells as the man deserved.

“My prince.” Lombard came in not much later, though when Reardon looked over, he thought the candles had burned down much lower, and he couldn’t be sure how long it had been since Wells was taken away.

“I don’t have time to stop—”

“It’s nearly dawn,” Lombard said firmly. “I’ve been told you sent all the physicians away and had Master Wells confined to his shop. I know you mean well, but if you don’t rest and take care of yourself, you’ll be of no use to anyone, least of all your father. Now eat something.” He set a plate of bread, meat, and cheese on the table where Reardon was working, as insistent as he’d been when Reardon was a boy, lost in studies or a good book. “Then please, you must rest.”

Reardon turned, slumping back against the table, and in that moment with his eyes finally away from the vials and flames and components he’d been testing, they felt as heavy as though literal weights clung to them, and his stomach rumbled from the smells on the plate. “I… I know you’re right, but I feel like I’m so close, and there’s no telling how much time my father has left.”

“He has more than hours,” Lombard assured him. “Eat. Rest. Your work will still be here when you wake.” He pushed the plate closer to Reardon, expression stern until Reardon acquiesced to snag a piece of meat. Then Lombard leaned back against the table too, casting a curious glance at the mess Reardon had made. “And what is your work, exactly? Master Wells and the physicians have been searching for a cure.”

“Master Wells may be the one who caused this.”

“You believe that?”

“I… it has to be him. Even if it’s not, he and the physicians don’t know what I do.”

“Which is?”

“Finding a cure requires finding the cause.”

“You’re making poison?” Lombard stared.

“If it can help save my father, yes. Once I create the right poison, simple transmutation can make it an antidote.” Reardon was ready to argue, quick to anger, given his hunger and fatigue, but Lombard merely smiled.

“It’s a wonder anyone ever managed to tell you what to do. You are tenacious, my prince, but you will rest, even if I have to haul you to your bedchambers myself.”

Before his time at the Frozen Kingdom, hearing Lombard say that, however jokingly, would have made Reardon feel….

Stillmade him feel a warm stirring in his gut.

“Wh-what about you?” Reardon blurted to change the subject. “You haven’t slept either.”

“I’ll sleep when you do, which means if you do not wish to be cruel to your old teacher, you should show me mercy.” Lombard smiled, something so rare when he was usually so serious, and that made him look even more dazzlingly handsome.

Reardon glanced away. He needed to remember his purpose: to save his father, and then to do everything he could to get back to Jack and save him too.

“First, I expect you to clean this plate.” Lombard tapped the table.

Reardon couldn’t help smiling back at him and began eating with more fervor. He really was hungry, but each bite also made him feel more exhausted. Lombard was right. “I’ll sleep, but only for a few hours. Maybe a break will help the answer come to me. Thank you, Bardy. You really don’t need to babysit me like this, though. Surely there are more important things you could be attending to?”

“Than my prince? Never.” His smile remained, directed solely at Reardon.

It made him feel awful that he’d lied to Lombard for so long—and still was. “There’s… something I always wished I could tell you,” Reardon said, setting down the last bit of bread. “But I fear, after you hear it, you’ll wish me exiled.”

“Reardon?” Lombard’s smile vanished. “What could possibly make me think that?”

“I suppose I have to start somewhere, don’t I, if I wish to change things? You see, I love magic. I have none of my own, but I find it beautiful, wonderful, not something anyone should fear.”

“I know,” Lombard said as if it were a trifling confession. “Everyone knows. You were never very good at hiding it. But you are young. You don’t yet understand how dangerous magic—”

“Anything is dangerous in the wrong hands. My swords—” Reardon gestured to his weapons belt on a chair atop his cloak. “—alchemy—” He waved at the worktable, and then drew his dagger. “—this too. But loving magic isn’t my real secret.”

He set the dagger on the table, fingers gently caressing the jeweled hilt and keeping his eyes there to avoid looking at Lombard.

“When I was little… more than when I was little, I never longed for a queen. I longed for the company of others like me. Boys. Men. For a long time, I….” He clenched his eyes shut. “I longed for you.”

The silence that descended made it impossible to open his eyes, but it wasn’t a harsh word or touch that roused him.

Lombard’s fingers, cool on Reardon’s chin, tilted his face toward him. Reardon gasped and had to open his eyes then, surprised and unsure what to do at finding want in Lombard’s expression.

“Reardon, I knew that too,” Lombard said and pulled Reardon into a kiss.