The Cold King (23 page)

“How could you possibly deserve such mistreatment?” His heart broke again as he heard the question out loud. It was something he had mulled over in his mind the last several days.

A weary, painful smile flashed over her mouth before she bit down on it. “How do I deserve anything? By being my own stupid, awful self I suppose.”

The king shook his head. “Enough of this. You are coming with me.”

He laid a gentle hand on her arm but she jerked away like it burned. “I can’t.”

He looked at her in surprise. “You can’t? Are you all right, have you hit your head?”

The light reflected eerily off her narrowed eyes. “No. But several people have hit it for me. And I cannot leave.”

He leaned close and whispered in her ear. “You and I must talk. All is forgiven.”

Calia took a wooden step back and gave a brittle laugh. “You forgive me? For running to you when I needed protection? Or you forgive me for daring to fall in love with you?” She shook her head. “Get out of my way, I have work to do.”

The bar man shifted and the king did not miss the cruel grin on his face. “What is your place in this?” he growled.

The grin smoothed into a greasy smile. “Only that of a tavern master,” he said with a dangerous lack of fear. “And that girl is bought and paid for.”

“Paid for?” the king growled. His hands were painful rocks at his side.

“Aye. Indentured servant. I give her food and shelter, I even gave her clothes.”

The king looked over the rags she wore and rage shook him. “And what else? What else have you given her?”

The bar man caught the dangerous undercurrent of his tone. “Nothing. Not a thing. We don’t touch her. I mean, if you didn’t want her then there must be something very wrong with her.”

Calia’s shoulders hunched and she bent to struggle to get the barrel into place under the bar. Her face was hidden from the king’s sight but he could see the painful way in which she moved her body.

“And how much does she owe you? For everything?” the king asked coldly.

The miser rubbed his chin and pretended to add things up in his mind. “Oh, I’d say about fifty gold coins. Or a year of pay, whatever comes first.”

The king didn’t look as he unhooked a heavy purse from his belt and shoved it into the man’s hand. “Here’s a hundred.”

Calia ignored the whole exchange, switched the full barrel for an empty one and began to wheel it out the room.

Her king watched in disbelief as she continued her work and followed her out the back door where she wrestled the empty barrel into place.

“Didn’t you hear me? You are free.”

She glanced up. “I’m never free.”

He spread his arms wide. “But you are, I just paid for you.”

She grimaced and struggled to pull a new barrel down. “Right. You bought me from him. Like I’m nothing. Like I’m garbage you can just throw away.”

“I never threw you away,” he said softly.

“You told me to leave and I did. What do you want?” Her voice was nearly as cold as his had always been.

He struggled to form an answer. “I want you to come back with me.”

She paused but then continued her work. “No, not good enough.”

“Not good enough?” he cried. “This is better than my castle where you want for nothing?”

“It’s better than
being
nothing.”

He searched her face and found only pain. “You aren’t nothing to me.”

“Right,” she snapped. “I’m your property.”

The king ground his teeth. “I only paid the man to avoid any conflict. Come, I will hire a carriage to take us back up to the castle.”

She shook her head and turned back to wrestle with the barrel. “I’d rather stay here.”

“And I would rather you didn’t. Trust me, I know what is best for you.”

“Yes,” she said sarcastically. “Trusting in you has gotten me far.” Her gaze strayed over his shoulder and her eyes widened in fear.

He turned to see two young men entering the bar. She cowered and stepped closer to the king, hiding behind his much larger frame.

Sensing her fear but not understanding it, he settled a gentle hand on her arm. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?”

Defeated, she hung her head.

Calia didn’t speak on the ride back to the castle. She ignored the king’s hand when he offered it to help her down from the carriage. The other servant’s cries of happiness and shock at the sight of her were also ignored and she went to her room without a word to any of them.

When Iago went up later with a tray, his knock was ignored. He pushed into the room anyway and shut the door softly behind him.

Calia sat on the couch by the fireplace, curled up in a ball. Her hair was wet and of all ridiculous things she was wearing one of the king’s shirts. She looked up to catch the healer’s curious gaze. “I’m too sore to put one of those stupid gowns on.”

“I see,” he said quietly. “I’ve come to help with that.”

They didn’t speak as he dabbed ointment around her raw wrists and ankles. The cut on her lip was already healing and the rest were scabbed over. When he checked the wound she had received from slipping on the bath oil he was horrified to see all the bruising. “Is there more?” he asked, his voice cracking.

“More what?”

“Bruising?”

She nodded and her cheeks flushed. “I have a large purple one here,” she said, pointing at her hip.

Iago opened a little jar and rubbed the pungent ointment over the black and blue marks on her back and arms, then set it on the table. “I’ll leave this with you, for your hip.”

“Are you done?” she asked dully.

He took a chair next to the couch. “Almost. But I have to ask, how did you sustain such injuries?”

“I already told the king and he didn’t believe me, so what does it matter?”

“It matters to me.”

She rolled her eyes to him and they were filled were anger and pain. “Well, let’s see. Most of it was from the oh so charming Horatio brothers. They roughed me in their shop before tying me up and throwing me in the back. Of course, I got quite a lot of scratches running through woods coming back here. And the one on my head is from when I slipped at the edge of the pool in the garden. I think that is all.” She pulled a blanket around her shoulders and rested her head on the arm of the couch, signaling the end of the conversation.

Shaken and horrified, Iago gathered his things and left to report to the king.

Valanka looked up when he entered. “How is she?”

Iago opened his mouth to give report but the anger in him burned over. He was in front of the king’s desk in two strides and slammed his bag onto it. “She is completely broken, physically and emotionally. I can only pray her spirit is intact and she can rise above this!” Spittle flew from his lips and landed on the king’s mask.

Valanka sat back in his chair. “How do you mean?”

Iago threw his hands up into the air and shouted, “Could you for one moment stop being so damned cold? Don’t you care for her at all?”

The king opened his mouth and Iago cut him off. “No, you wanted to know how she is so I will tell you. The cut she sustained from the broken glass has torn open and will have to begin healing again. She has rope burns on her wrists and ankles that are completely raw in some places. She is covered in bruises, her face and neck are scratched and when I cleaned the wound to her head I found several spots where her hair was clean ripped out. Those and the scratches are from running through the woods at night, away from her attackers.”

“So that part is true?”

“It is. And you didn’t believe her.”

The king shook his head guiltily. “I did not.”

“So you thought she purposely inflicted all those injuries herself? Why?” His hands were clenched into shaking fists at his side.

“To see me without my mask on, of course,” he said uncomfortably.

“I think she already knows what you truly look like—a monster.”

Valanka looked up at that. “She knows now, she achieved her purpose.”

“No, damn it! She came to you for help and threw her into hellish circumstances for it. That’s what makes you a monster, not the scars on your face.”

The king stood slowly from his chair. “She told you?”

“No.” He could tell the king didn’t believe him. “I am a healer. I see what ointments are missing from my stocks, I know you swim in the salt water pool daily for relief, I can hear the splashing from my window.”

“I see. Does everyone know?”

“If they figured it out, they do not speak of it.” He snatched his bag from the desk and made for the door.

“Iago,” came the pained cry. “What do I do?”

Iago looked over his shoulder. “The right thing. And if you do not already know what it is, I cannot help you.”

Chapter Seventeen

I
t was nearly dusk before
the king mustered the courage to knock on Calia’s door. She didn’t answer so he pushed it open gently with his eyes on the ground.

“Calia, are you well?”

He heard a snort come from the couch and saw her there, wrapped in a blanket. The fire was blazing, casting eerie shadows across her battered face. “What do you want?”

The king went to sit in the chair next to the couch and tried to take her hand. She snatched it away before he could touch her. “I said, what do you want?” she growled.

Unsure of what to do with his empty hands, he folded them in his lap. “I was hoping I could speak with you.”

She finally looked at him and the firelight dancing across his face made the demon mask blaze. “Take it off,” she said.

The king cocked his head, sending more glares of light flying. “Excuse me?”

“Take it off or get out.” Her voice held no compromise.

The king rubbed a finger along the edge of his mask. “Calia,” he said quietly, “I can’t.”

She stood from the couch in one fluid motion and her blanket fell away, revealing the snow white shirt she wore. The dark bruise on her hip stood out in contrast to its blindingly bright hem.

“Then get out.”

“Please, let me say what I need to.”

“I am tired of the Cold King. Speak to me as the man I thought you were or not at all.”

He shook his head and she launched herself at him with no care for avoiding more injury to herself. The chair flipped over with him in it and he wrapped his arms around Calia, protecting her as they both fell to the floor. On the way down the edge of the table caught the edge of his mask and it went skittering away.

He sat up quickly, pulling the girl upright in his lap. “Are you all right?” he asked franticly, searching her for a new injury.

She gave a small, smug smile. “I am fine. I will even permit you to speak to me now.”

He reached a hand up and felt smooth, twisted flesh instead of his cold mask and dropped his head in an attempt to hide his face. “Please do not look upon me,” he begged.

Calia let her eyes linger for a moment before sighing. To his intense surprise, she leaned against his chest and tucked her head under his chin. “You have two minutes.”

He rumbled with laughter. “I think it will take me much longer than that to apologize for everything I have done to you.” She said nothing and he continued. “I’m not a good man, Calia. I’m vain and insecure but also very powerful. It’s not a good combination and I’m afraid you have suffered for it. I should never have sent you away, I should have never locked you in the dungeon, either time. And I should have listened to you that night beside the pool.” Tentatively he wrapped his arms around her slight frame and was encouraged when she didn’t stop him. “I’m so very sorry for the pain I have caused you.”

The silence was uncomfortable while he waited for her response. Finally she asked, “Is that all?”

“I… I am sure I have many other things to apologize for and I will make it up to you.”

“And is that all?” she asked again.

“I won’t do it again?”

Calia pushed away from him and stood up. Bewildered, the king tried to look anywhere but at the long bare legs in front of him. “Then I suppose that will have to do. You are forgiven, now please get out, I need my rest.”

He stood slowly, trying to sort out his emotions. Calia wouldn’t look at him so he couldn’t read her face. “Please, that cannot be all.”

She shrugged, still not facing him. “You just said it was.”

“That wasn’t how I meant,” he pleaded. “Please, look at me.”

“You told me not to,” she reminded him harshly.

He gasped and turned his back, shielding his face with his hand. He had forgotten the mask had fallen off and now he didn’t see it anywhere.

Calia stalked over to the door and threw it open. “Either you face me as a man or not at all. I will return to my duties in the morning. Now please, leave.”

Confused and defeated, the king left. He searched out a new mask as soon as he entered his rooms but ended up just sitting in front of his fireplace with it in his hands. He got very little sleep that night.

Cali didn’t sleep well either. She kept thinking of his apology, of the way it felt in his arms, of the words he didn’t say. She contemplated her future and it seemed very bleak indeed. She was not welcome in her mother’s home, she was not safe in town and the thought of spending the rest of her life as a servant to the man she loved but did not love her back made her stomach twist painfully.

When morning came she awoke in fresh pain. A night in the soft bed had seemed to only intensify her soreness and it was all she could do to pull the covers back under her chin. Distantly she heard the gates of the courtyard open but was quickly swept back into an anguished sleep.

The sun woke her again and she squinted against the harsh glare coming in her window. More noise, voices, were coming from the courtyard and her curiosity won out over her pain. Stiff and sore, she hobbled over to her window to look out.

Down below she watched a small group of young women climb into the carriage before it took off for town.

“So that is how it is,” she whispered to herself. She had known the king probably wouldn’t want her as his personal servant any longer. What she hadn’t expected was that he would conduct interviews to find one. She wondered what new girl he would pick, if she would be the opposite of her.

No one came to her room that afternoon and she didn’t leave it. At one point she watched the Cold King climb into the carriage and leave for town. Calia wondered if he would be bringing his new servant back. She wondered if she would be banished or locked in the dungeon.