The Winter King (11 page)

Wynter’s lip curled. Summerlanders. Self-indulgent, hedonistic fools. Look at them—Verdan chief among them—celebrating their own defeat as if it were somehow their victory. And here he’d thought they would all be crying in their wine, not drowning in it.

Beside him, Autumn set her cup down and pushed back the plate of fruit and cheeses he’d insisted she sample after the main meal. Her father and friends might drink and dance, but she, who was paying the price for their lives, had no appetite for blind frolic.

Nor did he.

Wynter pushed back his chair and stood. He held out a hand to his bride. “Come, my queen. Let us retire.”

“What? Surely you aren’t leaving so soon?” Verdan, loud and laughing, stumbled forward. The wine in his cup sloshed over the rim.

“It is late, and your daughter is tired.”

“But you can’t leave without the final toast. It’s tradition. Spring! Summer!” Verdan wheeled around and called to his other daughters. “Bring the wedding cup!”

The two princesses came forward, one carrying a large, jeweled goblet, the other a golden pitcher set with sapphires, rubies, and emeralds. Summer poured a stream of dark red wine into the cup in Spring’s hands, and Spring offered it to her father. He set aside his own wine cup to take the wedding goblet and raise it up so all in the hall could see.

“A wedding toast,” he cried, “to a successful and prosperous union between the Houses of Wintercraig and Summerlea. May my daughter and the Winter King find the happiness they deserve, and may we all find victory in peace.”

Echoing cries of “happiness!” and “peace and prosperity!” rang out across the banquet hall as the wedding guests raised their own cups in response.

Verdan handed the wedding goblet to his daughter. “Drink, daughter. The wine is the blessing, and it must be consumed between the two of you. Half to you, and half to your groom.”

Autumn hesitated, then reached for the cup and took it from her father’s hands. Slowly, she raised the cup to her lips.

Wynter put a hand over hers, halting her. He didn’t think Verdan would harm his own beloved daughter, but the strange, smug, expectant air about him raised Wynter’s suspicions.
Something
was amiss. “A blessing for peace and prosperity should be shared, don’t you think?” He held the Summer King’s too-bright gaze. “Join us, Verdan.” Without taking his eyes from his enemy, Wynter called, “Bring a fresh cup.”

After a brief commotion, a servant appeared, clean goblet in hand. He bowed quickly and offered the cup to Verdan.

Wynter took the jeweled goblet from his bride’s hands and sniffed it. The overpowering aroma of the heated wine coupled with an overpowering mélange of spices and herbs. The scents were too varied, many of them strong enough to mask the delicate scents of certain poisons. There was only one way to test the safety of the cup’s contents.

He poured a portion of the marriage brew into the Summer King’s cup. “You first, Verdan.”

The Summer King arched a haughty brow. “So suspicious,” he sneered. “Do you think I would poison my own child?” He gave a snort, threw back the wine in one gulp, and tossed the empty cup on the table. The remnant liquid spilled out, staining the white tablecloth between the two kings with drops of ruby red, like blood spilled on snow.

Wynter didn’t take his eyes from the other man’s face. If there was anything in the wine, it certainly wasn’t poison. Even if he might let his beloved daughter Autumn drink a cup of death, Verdan would never sacrifice himself that way. He didn’t have the spine for it. And other than a faint increase of heat in the man’s already-alcohol-soaked veins, Wynter could detect no effects of any possible additives in the wine.

“Satisfied?” The Summer King sneered. Without waiting for a reply, he turned his attention to Autumn, and said, “Drink, daughter, to your future and the future of Summerlea.”

This time, when Wynter’s bride lifted the cup to her lips, he didn’t stop her. She took an experimental sip, paused, then drained half the wine in three continuous gulps before handing the rest to him.

“To the Heir of Wintercraig,” Wynter said. He downed the second half of the wine and thumped the goblet down on the table beside Verdan’s abandoned cup.

“Spring, Summer, see to your sister,” Verdan commanded. His chin lifted, and his dark eyes snapped with haughtiness. “It is tradition for a bride’s female family members to ready her for the wedding night. They will escort her to the rooms we have prepared.”

The two princesses hurried around the table and took Autumn’s arms. “Come with us, sister,” they said, casting nervous glances up at Wynter.

“Valik.” Wynter jerked his head towards the women. His steward snapped his fingers and gestured. Four armed Wintercraig guards surrounded them. “Make sure these royal ladies arrive at their destination without incident.” Before the women could turn away, he reached out to grasp his bride’s bare chin in his hands. A tiny jolt of electricity zinged between them, shooting a thread of heat through his veins that sizzled straight to his groin. His eyelids lowered half-mast over his eyes. “Thirty minutes, wife. And then I join you.” He ran a thumb over her full lower lip and caught her faint gasp on his fingertips.

Her sisters tugged her away, and she went with them. His hand fell back to his side, still tingling with warmth as if her touch alone could banish the chill of the Ice Heart.

Something other than wine had been in the wedding cup, Kham knew. She felt energized. Her senses were tingling, her muscles replete with new strength. The pain from her wounds and bruises had all but disappeared. Everything seemed bright and crisp, every sense heightened, magnified almost.

Blood rushed through her veins, and her steps quickened. If someone were to challenge her to a footrace, the way she felt right now she’d not only accept the challenge, she’d likely win.

What had they put in that wine?

She didn’t dare ask. Not with Wynter’s guardsmen surrounding them.

To her surprise, her sisters didn’t lead her to one of the guest wings of the palace but rather directly into the heart of the family wing. Curious. They were heading towards the family’s bedrooms. Autumn’s bedroom to be exact.

Only, when the doors opened, they revealed a bedchamber very different than the one Khamsin had secretly visited numerous times before.

The elegant but functional bedroom of Her Royal Highness, Princess Autumn, had been converted into a sensual, shadowy garden filled with hothouse blooms and lush greenery. Candles flickered around the perimeter of the room, casting a pale golden glow around the edges of the room and leaving the silk-draped bed a dark, mysterious cavern. Incense filled the room with rich, decadent scents. It was a bedroom designed to seduce the senses.

As soon as the doors of the “bridal bower” closed behind them, Khamsin threw back her veils and turned to her sisters in astonishment. “What’s going on here?”

“Tildy warned us the Winter King could identify a person by scent,” Summer said. “Since he thinks you’re Autumn, Tildy said the wedding night should take place here, in Autumn’s bedroom, where her scent is already absorbed into everything.”

“She added the flowers and incense to help mask your own scent,” Spring added, “and deliberately arranged the candles so he won’t be able to get a good look at your face so long as you keep to the bed.”

“Where’s Autumn?” she asked.

“Here.”

Khamsin turned. Her sister emerged from the connecting wardrobe room wrapped in a forest green satin robe. Her long auburn hair spilled around her shoulders in ringlets.

“Scenting up your nightclothes.” Autumn grimaced. “I know I’m clean. I bathed this morning, but there’s still something wrong about rolling on sheets and rubbing myself on clothes all day. It just seems so . . . so . . . dirty.”

Despite everything, Khamsin laughed. For some reason, Autumn’s complaint struck her as funny. “You rolled on the sheets?”

“Tildavera suggested it. She told me to make sure I put my scent on anything you were likely to wear or touch.”

Tildy again. Friend, mother, traitor. Kham’s humor evaporated. Her hand clenched tight.

“Quickly,” Spring whispered. “We don’t have much time. Autumn, you and Storm need to change clothes before he gets here. He said we only had thirty minutes, and something tells me he’s not a man to run late.”

A low heat had begun simmering in Kham’s veins. She tossed off the silk veils and tugged at her bodice. “It’s hot in here.” She ran a hand across her brow, not surprised to find beads of perspiration blooming on her skin.

“We’ll open a window before we leave, but first let’s get you out of those clothes.” Summer’s fingers went to work untying the laces at the back of Kham’s gown. “Autumn, take off that robe and gown.”

Autumn shrugged out of the satin robe, and Khamsin’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. “I’m supposed to wear
that
?”

Autumn blushed dark red. “Indecent, isn’t it?” The sleeveless, formfitting gown covered her from neck to ankle, but the center panels covering her breasts and belly were virtually transparent—and held together only by three simple ribbon ties that would be all too easy to release. Like the rest of the room, the gown was meant to inflame and dizzy the senses.

“Was that Tildy’s idea, too?”

“Well, it certainly wasn’t Father’s.” She hurried into the wardrobe and came back wearing a different robe and carrying the scandalous nightgown.

“Autumn, grab that pot of ointment.” Spring pointed to small ceramic pot on a table near the wardrobe door. “Tildy said we had to rub it on Storm’s skin. She didn’t say, but I guess she meant all over.”

“No,” Kham said. “Just on my back.”

Behind her, Summer let out a gasp as she freed the last of the laces and pushed the velvet gown off Khamsin’s back. “Storm . . . what happened to you? You’re covered in bandages.”

“I know.” Khamsin wriggled free of the velvet gown, shoved it down around her ankles, and stepped free of the heap of fabric. She was naked except for a pair of loose-fitting silk drawers and the bandages wrapped around her torso. “Do you have scissors to cut them off? They’ll show through that gown, which means I can’t keep them on.”

“Of course.” Autumn ran to a dresser and returned with a pair of scissors. “Here.” She handed the scissors to Summer, who immediately began slicing through the strips of linen.

Spring and Autumn let out shocked exclamations as their sister gently tugged the cloth free to reveal the ugly results of Verdan’s fury.

“Who did this?” Spring hissed. “Who would
dare
?”

“Who do you think?” Khamsin muttered.

“But why?” Summer’s hands trembled on the skin of Khamsin’s back. She was the gentlest of the sisters.

“The Winter King demanded a princess for a bride, and the Summer King wanted me gone.”

“He wouldn’t do this,” Autumn protested. “He couldn’t. Father wouldn’t risk cursing his own House this way.”

“You underestimate how much he despises me. I made him angry, then I defied him. He wasn’t thinking about the family. He was only thinking of breaking me.” She tossed her head. “Hurry. Put the ointment on. We’re running out of time.”

“You can’t possibly mean to go through with this,” Spring exclaimed. “Not in your condition.”

Now Khamsin did turn around. “I’ve been in a worse condition for three days now, and I
will
go through with this. It’s my choice. This isn’t the Summer King’s will: It’s
mine.
Now, put the ointment on my back so I can finish getting ready. My husband will be here soon, and if the marriage isn’t consummated before he discovers I’m not Autumn, everything I’ve done will have been for naught.”

Weeping, Summer dipped her fingers in the pot of salve and smoothed the fragrant gel over Khamsin’s battered skin. “I’m sorry, Storm. If we’d known, we would have stopped him.”

Khamsin frowned and lifted her hair off the back of her neck. The room was stifling. “It’s not your fault. I don’t blame any of you. This is between the Summer King and me, no one else. Are you done? Good.” She took the nightgown from Autumn and pulled it on. The silk settled against her back, sticking to the still-damp residue from the salve. Even without the heavy velvet gown, she was so hot. “Spring, open the window, would you? I’m burning up.”

Her sister hurried to unlatch the window and throw it wide.

“Don’t worry sisters,” Khamsin added as she climbed into the middle of the dark, shrouded bed. “I’ll be fine. I’m actually feeling better than I have all day. Whatever you put in the wedding cup seems to have done the trick.”

A cool breeze blew through the window, wafting across the thin fabric of her gown. A frisson of heat shot through her veins. She couldn’t stifle a groan as her breasts and belly tightened with sudden, shocking need, almost painful in its intensity.

Her sisters exchanged long, worried glances. Guilty glances.

And then Khamsin knew why she was so warm. She knew why the pain in her back was gone, and where the seemingly boundless supply of simmering sensual energy had come from.

The wedding cup. Tildy.

“Arras leaf,” Wynter spat. “The bastard dosed us with arras leaf!”

Winter’s Frost! His sex was hard as ice and all but burning through his trousers. Each step was an agony, the material of his pants rubbing against tight, ultrasensitive skin, setting nerves on fire.

“Son of a whoring bitch. I’ll freeze his cock so cold it shatters.” He glared at Valik, who was striding quickly beside him. “Better yet, you find the bastard and lock him up. He drank from the same bottle. Tie him up so he can’t give himself any relief, and leave him that way ’til his balls turn blue.”

“Done. Do you want me to find an herbalist? See if there’s an antidote?”

“No. If he was this determined I should plow his daughter tonight, I’ll see it done. More’s the pity for her. I’d hoped to be gentle.” The chandelier above their heads froze, and as they passed beneath it, it gave a loud popping sound and shattered in a cloud of crystal flakes. The Summerlea guard leading the way into the private wing of the palace flinched.