The Cold King (18 page)

His hard eyes turned to hers and fear flooded her belly. “You are being punished for your disobedience. I didn’t tell about my sister so you could later assume we were friends and you could defy me as you pleased.”

She wanted to stay quiet but the hurt and fear pulsing in her pushed the words out. “And I didn’t bring it up to anger you. Your sister suffered horribly only to die at the end of her pregnancy. Surely you wouldn’t want that for another woman.”

“Get in the cell. Now.”

Calia sniffed back her tears and stepped through the open doorway. Her feet had barely cleared the threshold when he slammed the door shut. She waited for his angry footsteps to fade before breaking down.

Chapter Thirteen

V
alanka stormed up the stairs
and slammed back into his throne room. Sola stood from the stairs where she had been sitting. She rose unsteadily, keeping a hand over her unborn baby. He took in her pallor and shaking frame and a tendril of guilt began weave into his cold heart.

“Come with me, please.”

She wisely kept her mouth shut and followed him.

It was a long walk to the guest room he had in mind for her and his anger began to cool enough that he could remember his manners and reputation as the Cold King. When they finally reached the door he turned to the queen and bowed.

“I apologize you had to witness such behavior. My servants are usually better behaved.”

Sola murmured something akin to agreement but wondered what type of monster she had delivered herself to.

“My housekeeper will be up shortly to assist you with whatever you need.”

He found Abelina in the kitchens and merely said, “We have an unexpected guest in the south wing, see to her.”

He was back out of the kitchens before she could even rise from her chair.

The king’s anger rekindled when he returned to his chambers and realized he had missed the tenth bell.

Furious, he lashed out at the first thing he laid eyes on—Calia’s sewing basket. With a primal scream he snatched it from the floor and flung it against the wall. Yarn and hooks and spools of thread exploded from the basket, scattering everything over the floor. He kicked most of the contents into the fireplace before ripping off his coat and sinking into his chair.

The seldom used decanter of spirits winked in the firelight and he poured a full glass. Calia’s defiance had unleashed a fury in him he had never known. He growled and got up to pace.

Fear and doubt were creeping in and for the first time in hundreds of years he felt vulnerable. He should have never told her about his sister and he should have never allowed her to touch him. But he hadn’t been lying when he told Calia she reminded him of his sweet sister.

He thought of the both of them and kicked her armchair. It was something more than familiar fondness or her gentle spirit that had his stomach knotting painfully—and he hated it.

He wanted to hate Calia for coming into his life and disrupting his schedule, for making him feel things he hadn’t felt in a long time.

The king knocked back the glass of amber liquid and several more after that before passing out in front of his fire.

In the morning he felt no better but his emotions were numbed. He coldly outlined a plan for putting Calia back into her proper place and to give him some distance from her. His meals were delivered but he neither noticed nor acknowledged them. The day was silent and somber and cold and he was able to sleep that night without the help of alcohol.

The king woke the next day without anger. He sat at his desk, trying to decide if his punishment had been swift and harsh enough to ensure she never disobeyed or embarrassed him again. His mind wandered and he wondered if she would be angry.

The king swore under his breath. He did not care how she felt; she was a servant, nothing more.

Finally he decided her punishment was severe enough and descended to free her from her cell. He stood outside of it for a long moment, listening, and heard nothing. Good. Her foolish tears wouldn’t do her any good.

The king opened the door and stood at the threshold. In the gloom he could barely see her sitting in the corner.

“I have decided your punishment is complete. Of course, we will be discussing your actions and future discipline should you ever defy me again.”

She remained silent.

“I expect an apology for your actions and gratitude for releasing you.”

She still said nothing and he ground his teeth together in anger.

“Perhaps you need a few more days to think upon who is the king and who is the servant?”

She still said nothing and his fury erupted. “You will not be insolent to me!” he shouted, stepping into the room. The chill overcame him immediately. He did not remember the dungeons being so cold but he could see his own breath.

“Calia?” he whispered. He leaned down to see her better and gasped. Her eyes were half open but rolled back in her head and her lips were a dark blue. At a glance he took in the window covered only by bars, the lack of fresh hay, blankets and water.

“No,” he said to himself and reached for her. Her neck was as cold as the stone beneath his feet and tiny puffs of steam came from her slack mouth much less frequently than they should have.

“Calia!” he cried, gathering her up in his arms. Her body was an icy lump and he pulled her close as he stormed up the stairs.

“Marchello, Abelina!” he shouted into the main hall. “Fetch Iago at once!”

He heard the scurrying of their feet as he rushed to the nearest fireplace.

The king laid his servant down as close to the flames as he dared. He left her side to pull a tapestry from the wall before returning to drop to his knees and wrap her in it. She did not stir and he gathered her back up, chafing her arms and legs to try to spark some heat.

Iago ran into the room with Abelina and Marchello on his heels. Their faces fell when they saw the limp servant girl. “Your Majesty, what happened?” Iago breathed.

“I locked her in the dungeon and she caught ill,” he said, not bothering with an attempt to hide his guilt.

“The dungeon?” Abelina shrieked. “What could she have possibly done? How could you?”

Marchello gave her a warning look and tried to place an arm around her shoulder. She shrugged him off and crossed the room in a flash. “We thought you had her attending that poor pregnant queen!”

To everyone’s surprise the king hung his head in shame. “She defied me,” he said weakly. “She refused to lock Sola in the dungeon so I made her take her place.”

The housekeeper’s face grew to an alarming shade of red. “You—”

Iago cut her off. “Abelina, get me hot water and blankets. Marchello, go and fetch the towns physician at once.”

Marchello nodded and pulled Abelina out of the room. Her crying and cursing echoed back down the hall.

Iago knelt in front of the king and put a hand to Calia’s cheeks. He winced at the iciness.

“Will she be all right?” the king whispered helplessly.

The healer glanced up, surprised to see the fear and pain in his masters voice echoed in his eyes. “I do not know,” he admitted.

The king shifted to cradle the girl against his body and Iago pulled the tapestry away to lay his hands against her neck and then chest. The king growled. “What are you doing?”

Iago eyed him suspiciously. “I fear that her core is as cold as her extremities and that is very dangerous. We must warm her.”

Abelina returned with an armful of blankets and Cato came right behind her with two steaming buckets of water.

Iago worked quickly to soak the cloth and laid the steaming towels over her brow and chest. He wrapped her hands and feet. He took a blanket he had laid dangerously close to the fire and laid the warm article over her abdomen. Finally he covered her with the last of the blankets and sat back.

The king held her tighter and studied her face. Her eyes and mouth were closed but her lips remained an inky blue. Iago’s face was creased with worry as he watched over the girl.

“Why isn’t she waking up?” the king asked and his voice was tinged with panic.

Iago shook head. “She is quite ill; I think it has settled into her lungs. Listen to how wet her breaths sound.”

The king hung his head and gripped the girl tighter. “I am sorry,” he whispered into her hair.

They sat like that for a long time, the king clutching his servant and the healer watching over them both. Finally the doors banged open to admit Marchello and the physician.

Dr. Reed strode in with his small leather bag and a frown on his face. “Your Majesty,” he said, not looking away from the girl. “What has caused this?”

The king swallowed hard before answering. “I did. I locked her in the dungeon and she caught ill. It’s my fault.”

The doctor glanced at him in surprise. “She’s your servant; you can do with her whatever you wish.”

“I did not wish to harm her,” the king ground out. “Can you help her or not?”

“Perhaps,” he said. He knelt down and pulled several instruments from his bag. He frowned at the color of her mouth and grimaced when he felt how cold she was. He pulled a long stethoscope out of his bag and pulled the top of her gown down.

The king grabbed his hand and crushed it in his grip. “What are you doing?”

“Listening to her lungs,” the exasperated physician said. “Now if you please, you asked me here to do my job.”

The king relented and released his hand. The doctor listened for a long while before pulling the instrument away. “She’s quite ill. I’ll need to take her town if she is to recover.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“Water in the lungs. She might be all right but she needs medicine and more care than you can provide for her here. I’ll need to bring her to my clinic.”

The king nodded slowly. “My butler will take you both there at once.”

Iago offered to take the girl so the king could rise but he refused. He stood smoothly and adjusted Calia in his arms before taking her out to the carriage. Marchello slid in first and reached out to take the limp girl into his arms.

The Cold King pressed a kiss to her brow before gently handing her over. His heart broke when the door shut and he stood at the gates watching long after the carriage drove away.

“My king?” Marchello said hesitantly.

Valanka turned from the fireplace and eagerly searched his butlers face. “Is there any news?” he asked.

Marchello shook his head. “She’s very weak and her breathing is labored. The physician said it will be several days before he knows if she will recover.”

His heart slowed at the butler’s words. If. “Has she said anything?”

“She hasn’t woken up yet,” Marchello said quietly.

The king nodded. “I want you to go to town every day to speak with the physician and report back to me.”

“Of course. Anything else, sir?”

The king nodded slowly. “Yes. When she released, tell her she may come back here or… she may not. The choice is hers.”

“Your Majesty?” Marchello breathed. “You have never done such a thing.”

“No, I haven’t,” the king agreed sadly.

For eight mornings Marchello rode down to town and back and reported to the king. He could see the tension ease out of him and the color return to his face as each day he brought better news than the last. But on the ninth day he feared to report to his king.

Marchello smoothed his suit out and took a long, shaky breath before entering the king’s chambers.

Valanka snapped his head up and demanded, “How is she today?”

“She is well,” Marchello said quietly. “She was released.”

The king froze. “And where is she?”

Marchello’s heart thumped furiously in his chest. “I do not know, Your Majesty. She was gone before I arrived.”

The king sat frozen for a long moment. Finally he gave a small sigh. “I see.”

“Is there anything else, my lord?”

The king shook his head and waved the man away.

Abelina brought up his lunch and dinner tray and he left them both untouched. He stayed slumped in his desk chair, watching the diminishing sunlight create shadows in his room. It was almost full dark before a tiny knock came at his door.

“Come,” the king said despairingly.

Calia stepped through the door and his breath caught in his chest.

She was thin and pale and he could see lines of weariness around her eyes. There were deep brackets around her mouth he knew were due to pain. She said nothing, just stood at the doorway.

“You came back,” he finally said, slowly standing from his chair.

“I did,” she said and even her voice was weak.

His chest was painfully tight and he struggled against all the emotions surging through him. “But I sent Marchello for you every day. Why did you not return with him this morning? Where have you been? Why did you come back?”

Calia raised a shaky hand to stop his onslaught of questions. He was at her side in a second, ushering her into the room. “I’m sorry. Sit, sit, I will get you tea.”

She fell into her chair and closed her eyes. He fumbled over the tea tray and finally pressed a warm mug into her hands. Her eyes fluttered open and he despaired to see the pain there.

“Calia…” he did not know how to say what he meant.

She waited while he struggled with his emotions. Finally he said, “I am so very sorry. You were right to stand up for the queen. My cruelty to you is inexcusable.” He could not make his eyes meet hers. “Why did you come back?”