Ice Queen Read online

  Ice Queen

  Candace Wondrak

  © 2019 Candace Wondrak

  All Rights Reserved.

  Book cover by KD Richie at Story Wrappers Custom & Premade Book Designs

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  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  The Queen of Springvale stood tall, leaning on the desk in the darkened room. Dawn had yet to break, and three figures stood across from her, shrouded in the darkness. Her husband, the king, had yet to wake, but she knew if he were awake, he would simply bow to her anyway. This…this was her plan, and it had to work.

  If it didn’t, Springvale would suffer. All of the citizens under her care would suffer under the war that would rage. The only way to stop the war from beginning was to find the Jewel of Wysteria.

  The Jewel of Wysteria. It was something of a legend, a myth, something Queen Amara had never once laid eyes on before. It had to be real—she would hold out hope for as long as she could—otherwise this was for nothing. It was all for nothing. There was only one person in all of Wysteria that could find the Jewel.

  The figure in the middle, the tallest of the three, stood shrouded in black. A hood covered his face, muffling his voice as he said, “We will find her.” Such determination in his tone, and it made Amara close her eyes.

  How many years had it been? She wondered. No, she would not waste time thinking of the past. It had been too long. Their target may very well be unrecognizable to her now. But still, there was no telling what would happen.

  “I’ve arranged a patrol,” Amara stated, flicking her gaze to each of the men. “I’m going with you, at least to the border. I have a feeling she won’t take you at your word.” Truly, Amara could not blame her, for if three strangers showed up, talking about the Jewel of Wysteria, she would be cautious as well. “She’ll need to see me to know you tell the truth.”

  The strongest of the three, a warrior by his very nature, said, “But she is your sister. Will she not—”

  “She was my sister,” Amara said, feeling her hair, which was drawn up in a braid, tickle the nape of her neck as she thought back to what her sister had done. This was her fault, but not entirely. Their parents had failed them both. “I fear the winds of winter may have changed her. Whatever you do, do not harm her. I would not see her hurt.”

  Was Amara foolish, for giving such an order? After all, her sister could very well be nothing more but a beast in human form now, content with cold chaos and frivolous murder.

  The third man nodded once. “It will be done. Don’t worry, my Queen. You’ve hired the best.”

  The best. The best in all of Springvale, but where they had to go, what they had to do—sometimes even the thickest, strongest of buds could not survive winter’s chill.

  Chapter One

  Frost was not her birth name, but it had become her name after her kingdom had been encased in a world of ice and snow, mostly of her doing. Her birth name was Eliora, but she never thought it fit. She was the oldest of two children, a princess by birth, and yet she’d always been treated as a second-class citizen because of the magic running through her veins.

  Magic, born from two non-magical parents. It was something out of a fairytale, provided that fairytale involved a curse and the fall of an entire kingdom. A fairytale that would have no happy ending.

  But such was the past. Frost did not often like to reminisce about the past, for it only brought her regret and heartache. Despite the constant chill that ran up and down her spine, she was human; she felt bad for the things she’d done, but at the same time, she could not stop them from happening. The world around her was all snow and ice and desolate—because of her.

  Frost had created this wonderland of white, the magic in her veins so powerful she could not control it. Not when she was younger. She liked to think she was better now, having worked at it for years in the solitude of Wysteria, but every so often her emotions got the better of her. Every so often there was a flicker of something inside of her that she could not deny. Sometimes fighting it was too hard.

  Truly, this had always been destined to happen. Her parents had tried to keep her magic under wraps, sought to hide her so-called talents with gloves and other things, but in the end, it hadn’t mattered one bit. The end was the same.

  Frost knelt at the edge of the circle in the ice. She sat, hunched over, a fishing line bobbing in the water below. Though the lands of Wysteria had not been used to an eternal winter, the fauna had either adapted or migrated. Since she did not have an entire kingdom to feed, she managed just fine.

  The cold wind whipped at her hair, tugging at its blonde lengths. She usually kept it braided and off to the side, out of the way, as was how her mother had taught her, but every so often she let it loose, flying free in the crisp air. Sometimes letting go was inevitable.

  Frost wore white leather trousers, and a shirt she’d stitched together. No coat, for the cold didn’t bother her. She could’ve used her magic to create the clothes, but it was nice, knowing something else, even though it was long dead, was seeking to keep her warm.

  Within the hour, Frost had caught quite a few fish. She tied them to a string in her pocket and slung them across her back, carrying her fishing rod as she left the hole in the ice. As she walked away, the hole in the ice closed up behind her, almost as if no one had been fishing in that spot mere minutes ago.

  This land…her magic had run so rampant, she feared it was beginning to take on a mind of its own.

  She had a small camp not too far away, a house built of ice. Frost stood just outside it, tying her string of fish against one of the poles nearby—she’d have to start a fire to cook them, something she was not particularly good at. As she was busy, the area around her was silent, save for the wind whipping at her body.

  Until it wasn’t.

  Heavy breathing entered her ears, and she spun to face the one approaching her. Blue, her wolf companion, was dragging a hunted deer to camp. Frost’s gaze narrowed at the large, fluffy white wolf. “Show off,” she said, trudging through the snow to help lug the animal’s corpse to the house.

  Blue was a bit of everything. A true wolf pup she’d found a few years back, but one that was sickly, thin, and abandoned by his pack. Blue would’ve died if not for her. Frost genuinely believed it was her winter magic that kept his heart beating, that turned his eyes to such a vibrant, beautiful blue. They were the same color as her ice, when she was concentrating.

  All right, since Frost wasn’t a fan of fish, they’d eat the deer first. Because it
was so cold outside, the meat wouldn’t go bad. There was nothing worse than the smell of rotting meat, although it’d been a long while since she had smelled something as awful as that.

  Frost slung the deer across a table of ice inside the house, reaching for the dagger at her hip to start skinning it. It was not a dagger of metal, but one of ice. Everything around here was made of ice or snow or magic. She and Blue lived far from town, mostly because town was…

  Well, she didn’t like to think about it. It brought up too many awful memories, memories she’d rather forget entirely. But that was the thing about memories, wasn’t it? Memories could not be willingly forgotten, regardless of how hard one tried to. Her dreams were another story, however.

  Time passed as it always did. Soon enough, Frost had some of the deer roasting above a fire just outside the house. It was difficult getting a flame, especially hard keeping it going, but Frost did her best to drive away the snowflakes that fell from the sky, stop the cool wind from whipping its flame and crushing it. Yes, she’d gotten better at controlling herself, but sometimes it was like she fought a losing battle.

  The battle against magic, against the icy beast inside of her, was one she was winning at the moment—but Frost knew it was only a matter of time before she lost it, just as she did all those years ago.

  Blue lay not too far away, rolled onto his side, watching her lazily. He’d done most of the grunt work, so he’d get a large piece of meat, once the bit she was cooking was fully roasted. If she didn’t have Blue with her, Frost honestly didn’t know what she would do. He was her only company, the only one who stuck by her. He was more than she deserved, and he was an animal.

  Yes, Frost believed she deserved to be alone. One hundred and ten percent alone.

  What was the most awful thing about living alone, in the middle of Wysteria, with nothing but winter surrounding her? The companionship another person could offer her, the lack of it. Friendship. Hearing another person’s voice—how long had it been since her ears heard something other than her voice? Animal sounds, the noises the wind made as it snaked its way through the skeletons of trees around her; those were all she knew, and all she would know until she died.

  Death.

  Such a finality. The end of the long road. It was something most people feared, but Frost did not fear death. With her magic, with the eternal chill around her, it was like death had always had her. Death had her from birth, and she was a slave to its will.

  How many years had passed since she’d lost control? She’d just turned seventeen, started to meet suitors from other lands and rich hopefuls from Wysteria, while her younger sister had embarked on a flirtation with a prince from another land. Since Frost was the oldest, it was assumed she would keep control of the kingdom of Wysteria, and her sister would go off and wed someone from another land, become a queen somewhere else.

  At seventeen, Frost was just a girl, tucked neatly away, only shown to the public when it was necessary. Her parents were always afraid she’d lose control. Now, she was most definitely a woman, hardened by the eternal winter that was her own doing.

  Did she long for companionship? Did she wish she had the chance to find out what it was like to be with a man? Of course she did. She was human, even if icy magic ran in her blood. Her parents had kept her under lock and key—and even if they hadn’t watched her like a hawk, she was a princess, and princesses simply did not go throwing themselves at any cute boy they saw. Such things could result in unwanted pregnancies and unwelcome rumors.

  That night, as the fire died down, Frost watched Blue gnaw on a bone. His paws were crossed, propping the white bone up, his tail thumping happily in the snow behind him. His teeth were sharp and dangerous, dragging against the bone.

  This was her life. This had been her life for so long now; it was pointless to wish for anything else, and she’d long given up trying to end the winter.

  Eventually, Frost wandered inside the house. It was a home built of ice so clear, it reminded her of glass, nestled in the woods, miles upon miles from any village or city, and practically a world away from the castle. She supposed she could have traveled, left Wysteria, but after everything she did, it just didn’t feel right to abandon the kingdom.

  No. Frost was born here, and she would die here. That much was certain.

  Her bed was made of short icicles, the hardened stuff crisscrossing to form a mattress of sorts. Nothing too ridiculously comfortable, but it was better than sleeping on the ground. Over the years, she’d gotten blankets stitched up from the hunts Blue brought back, and she crawled under the covers, curling into herself as she closed her eyes.

  Sleep always came to her slowly. Each night was a fight, almost like the world knew she was miserable and didn’t want her to find any respite. Truly, being unconscious was the only respite from what Frost had done.

  What she’d done…it was unforgivable. Wholly, utterly unforgivable and vile.

  As it turned out, her parents were right to tuck her away, to keep her hidden from everyone.

  Frost heaved a sigh, her heartbeat slowing. Within the hour, sleep found her and welcomed her into its cold, black embrace.

  Frost stood near the window in her bedroom, staring out at the city sprawling just outside the castle’s walls. Her hair, so light in its yellow color it was near white, was swept into a braid over her shoulder. She wore a blue, sparkling dress, the dress her mother had chosen for her. It was her special day, after all. She had to look the part of a pretty, pretty princess, wear a smile even when she felt like frowning, and above all else, keep her hands behind her back, at her side. Her boots were more like heeled armor, matching the gauntlets clutching her palms and fingers.

  Her blue gaze fell from the window, staring at her armored hands. Huh. She didn’t remember that being a part of the outfit…

  Frost’s head hurt, and before she knew what was happening, the door to her bedroom slid open, her sister rushing in, young and giddy and happy—Amara always was the happier one, probably because she’d spent her childhood knowing the responsibility of keeping Wysteria up and running, out of any wars, wasn’t hers. That belonged to Frost.

  Amara wore a similar blue dress, although hers was less sparkly, and her bodice was black. Her feet were barefoot, as they often were when it was just the two of them, and her arms and hands were free of any fabric, very unlike Frost’s. A big, beautiful smile graced her face, and she rushed up to Frost’s side, throwing her arms around her, giving her the tightest hug imaginable.

  “Today’s the day!” Amara squealed, holding Frost at arm’s length. “Are you excited? I am. I totally am.” She spoke like a commoner, like she hadn’t been raised in the castle beside Frost for her entire life.

  Made sense, seeing as how Amara was able to leave the castle grounds whenever she wished to. Frost was stuck here, constricted. Born in this castle, she knew she would die in it. It wasn’t fair, but life rarely was.

  “Come on, everyone’s waiting for you,” Amara said, grabbing Frost’s hand, gauntlets and all, and tugged her along, out of her extravagant room and into the hallway.

  Frost let her little sister lead her, having the damnedest of times attempting to remember what today was. She couldn’t remember it being a special day. Was it? Was it really? She could not stop a dark, curdling feeling from taking over her stomach, making her want to be sick.

  The castle in Wysteria was a tall, winding fortress with dozens of halls and towers. It was intimidating architecture, and if one were to stand at its base and look up, it was almost like the towers were in a constant fight to see which one could touch the sky first. The throne room was their destination, a long room with an even taller ceiling and giant window panes with painted glass.

  The King and Queen sat on their thrones, wearing a deep, royal blue. Frost’s parents, and Amara’s. The throne room was filled with Wysterian citizens, all those who’d come to see this…this day, whatever it was.

  The citizens murmured as Frost and Amar
a walked by, heading straight down the carpeted pathway to their parents. Both the King and Queen rose when their daughters neared, and the Queen drew her lips into a smile. Her hair was blonde like Frost’s, though its lengths were speckled with greying strands. Her neck and her fingers were covered in jewels, sparkling brightly with the sunlight streaming through the windows.

  Their father was a stern man, his mouth drawn into a thin line. His jaw held a goatee, its dark color beginning to grey. “You’re late,” he said, his voice booming, echoing in the chamber. Behind them, the murmurings of the citizens ceased instantly.

  “I’m sorry,” Frost spoke, moving closer to her parents. Amara hung back, her giddiness not catching. “I forgot…”

  Suddenly her mother held onto something: a mirror. A handheld mirror, gilded in silver. She offered it to Frost, and Frost took it, unaware that her armored gloves had somehow disappeared. The moment she touched the mirror’s handle, the instant she saw her own blue eyes reflected in its depths, it started to turn to ice. A cold, clear blue, semi-translucent.

  Frost dropped the mirror, and it shattered on the ground. She jerked back, slow to meet the gazes of her parents. Or…she thought she would. What she glanced up to find, however, was not her living, breathing parents. They stood before her, turned to ice, just as the mirror did—only they were steady enough to remain on their own two feet, frozen ice statues.

  “What did you do?” Amara’s voice whispered, her voice trembling and cracking.

  Whirling on her sister, Frost started, “I didn’t—” But the entire hall was slowly being coated in ice, and Amara was busy stepping back, farther away from her. The people lining the hall turned to ice, one by one, until there was nothing, no one left, but Frost and Amara.

  Tears graced Amara’s eyes, and as she cried them, as those tears fell down her cheeks, they were slow to freeze in their tracks, so cold they burned themselves into her flesh. “How could you?” she whispered, falling backward. Without a second thought, Frost reached for her, grabbing her hand.