The frozen queen

*Zirce* My husband is toasting his mistress when my wedding ring slips off my finger. It strikes the flagstones once. A small, bright sound that nobody upstairs will hear. "To Vespers," Thaniel says, I hear him through the air shaft. "Whose devotion has never failed me." Cups knock together. Someone cheers. I bend toward the ring, but my knees have stopped accepting instructions. The wall scrapes my shoulder as I slide down it. "Please," I tell the empty passage. The word comes out badly. My tongue feels too large, my lips too stiff. I try again, because my aunt always said the first request should be gracious and the second should be clearer. "Please bring a blanket." At supper upstairs, a woman laughs. I know that laugh. Vespers covers her mouth when she makes it, as though pleasure has surprised her. She used to sit beside my bed and hold my wrist while I described the pain. Our high priestess always listened so carefully. I thought that meant she cared. The little window above the passage is open to the winter night. Thaniel ordered it opened after I asked to see a physician rather than another priestes. "You have had every comfort," he tells me from outside the bars. "Every indulgence. And still no son." I keep answering that I am trying. Even here, with my shoes taken and my shift wet from the spilled water jug, I keep assuring him that I am trying. How can it be my fault that I haven’t gotten pregnant? He leaves before I finish. Now the petition sticks to my palm. I cannot unfold it, but I remember every line. I regret the distress I have caused Your Majesty. I remain your faithful wife. If I might be permitted an audience. I have asked permission to explain why I should not die. Above me, musicians begin the dance Thaniel chose for our wedding. I know where he takes his partner's hand. Where he draws her close. Where the watching court sighs over his beauty. My ring lies beyond my bare foot. I leave it there. The shaking stops. For a little while, that feels like mercy. My body no longer hurts enough to contain me. The door grows distant. The torch outside the bars narrows to a dull orange point, and I cannot remember whether I have closed my eyes. I want a fire. An ordinary fire, with someone cross beside it because I have left my stockings too near the coals. I try to breathe in. Nothing comes. Then a hand closes around mine. There is no pressure on the frozen skin. Only warmth, entering beneath it. "Let go." A woman kneels where the ring fell. No torch lights her face, yet I see her clearly. I know her with a certainty I have never felt before any altar. The Goddess. I try to offer her the petition. Even now, some ruined part of me thinks it will help if I can put my request into the proper hands. Her fingers close over the unopened seal. "Not this." The paper loosens. I cannot tell whether I release it or whether my hand finally fails. "Why?" I ask. Her mouth moves against my forehead. I hear bells. Something cold touches my lips and She whispers, “please chose right this time.” I jerk away so violently that wine splashes across white silk. The wedding cup hangs before me in Vespers' hand. Behind her, seven tall candles burn without consuming their wicks. Sunlight pours through the chapel windows, catching every pearl sewn into my sleeves. My sleeves. I have sleeves. "Zirce." Thaniel's voice is close, warm with amusement. "You needn't drink all of it." Laughter ripples through the chapel. Courteous laughter, offered because a king has made something resembling a joke. I look at my hands. They are whole. No split skin, no blackened nails. The wedding ring is absent. A bouquet of white roses trembles against my skirt, its ribbon wound around fingers I can feel. Thaniel stands beside me, golden-haired and impossibly beautiful. Twenty-seven, newly commissioned in marble for the western courtyard, already much admired in flesh. He wears the blue velvet coat I chose because he said it made my green eyes brighter. This morning… three years ago. My stomach contracts. I look toward the polished silver behind the altar. My reflection stares back beneath a veil: dark red hair pinned in elaborate coils, cheeks full, eyes wide. Nineteen. The face I bring to this wedding, before the sleepless nights and the apologies. Before winter. The bells stop. In their absence, I hear my own breath scraping. "My lady?" Vespers lowers the cup. "Are you unwell?" Her free hand approaches my wrist. I snatch it away. The bouquet ribbon bites into my fingers. Beneath my other sleeve, something small knocks against my arm. I know its shape before I touch it: the narrow vial of betrothal tonic, tucked into the sewn pocket so I can take my evening dose after the feast. Vespers gives it to me before the procession. I remember thanking her. Now her gaze follows my hand. "Too little breakfast," she says gently. "It is common on such a morning." There are guests on either side of the aisle. My father sits rigid in the first row, wearing a new coat bought against the marriage settlement. Beside him, my aunt presses two fingers together, our old signal. Compose yourself. Thaniel offers his hand. I stare at it. I know how precisely those fingers can straighten a necklace. I know how easily they can pass a petition back to a guard. "Shall we?" he asks. The words are familiar. So is the patient tilt of his head, presented to three visiting kings and half the southern nobility. I am meant to put my hand in his. Vespers will bind our wrists with the golden cord. We will speak the vows, exchange rings, share the cup. The cord still lies on the altar, suddenly looking like a noose. Nothing is finished. "I need…" My throat closes. Thaniel steps nearer. "A moment? Of course. Nobody begrudges a bride her nerves." He touches my elbow, turning me toward him and away from the watching rows. My body obeys before I can stop it. That frightens me more than his hand. "Breathe," he murmurs. His smile remains for the guests. "You are making a spectacle." I draw air deep enough to hurt. "I cannot..." "Everyone is waiting." His thumb presses once through the silk. A correction so small that nobody else will notice. I look past him at the side door. Two guards stand before it. Four more flank the chapel entrance. All wear his colors. My father cannot protect me. He has spent the settlement already. My aunt will tell me to be sensible, lower my voice, apologize for embarrassing a man who can afford to be embarrassed. I know how to survive this minute. Take his hand. Say the words. Smile. The cold returns beneath my ribs. "No," I say. Thaniel's thumb stills. Vespers moves closer, the cup held carefully level. "There is no need to hurry her, Your Majesty." I can hear how kind she sounds. I can see my father's grateful nod. I pull my elbow free. "No," I say again, louder. A chair scrapes near the front of the visiting delegations. "Well," a man says. "It seems clear the bride is not really into this." I turn. Danthe Draven sits beneath a black northern banner, one boot stretched into the aisle. He has dressed for a royal wedding in riding leathers and a coat whose cuff has been repaired. His dark hair needs cutting. There is an old scar near his mouth and nothing apologetic in his expression. Thaniel's deadliest rival. The dragon king who declines tournaments, ruins diplomatic suppers, and supposedly keeps better company in his beast yards than at court. Thaniel calls him a barbarian whenever he can be certain nobody will repeat it north. Danthe's gaze moves from my face to the hand Thaniel still holds out. Then his mouth curves. It is a wicked, thoroughly unhelpful smirk. Unless he means to help. "Draven," Thaniel says pleasantly. "We appreciate your patience." "You haven't had much of it." A nervous cough comes from the delegation. Danthe stands, and the man beside him reaches for his sleeve. Danthe looks down. The hand disappears. He is taller than I remember from the procession. Broad through the shoulders, with a weathered face that makes the smooth courtiers around him look unfinished. Thaniel takes one step between us. "My bride is overcome." "Your bride said no." Vespers places the cup on the altar. "The marriage settlement is a matter for the families and the Crown. Perhaps the ceremony should pause." Pause. Take me into a quiet chamber. Close the door. Let everyone explain what I owe. Thaniel turns back to me, offering the court his forgiving profile. "Come, Zirce. We'll speak privately." The passage beneath the palace seems to open behind his eyes. "No." His smile goes thin. Danthe moves into the aisle. He does not approach the altar. "I can get you out of here," he says. For a moment I cannot understand him. The words are too simple for the room we are standing in. Thaniel gives a short laugh. "Must you?" "Apparently." Danthe looks directly at me now. There is amusement in his face, but he waits for my answer rather than supplying one. "Where?" I ask. "North." A whisper runs through the guests. I have heard the stories: harsh mountains, vicious dragons, Fae permitted to speak against their king. A country where southern women are warned never to travel without armed men. The man warning me is usually Thaniel. "What would you expect in return?" Thaniel growls. Danthe glances at him. "That expression will do." He is enjoying this. I can see it plainly. My ruined wedding is a gift he would never have thought to request. Spite, then. Not kindness. Spite I understand. Thaniel's voice softens. "Zirce, think of your father. Think what this will cost your family." My father begins to rise. My aunt catches his coat and whispers fiercely into his ear. I look at the golden cord. At the untouched rings. At Vespers, whose hand rests beside the cup as if she can still resume the ceremony. I wonder if he is already f*****g her or if that came later. "I have sworn nothing," I say. Thaniel reaches for me. I step back, catch my heel in my skirt, and nearly fall. He stops with his hand extended, still careful of the witnesses. Danthe holds out his own hand. "You'll have to come down the steps," he says. "I won't fetch you." There are three of them. I look at his hand, bare and scarred. I have never touched this man. I do not know whether his anger is quiet or loud, whether he keeps promises, whether his fires burn all night. But I know what happens if I stay. I loosen the ribbon from my fingers. The bouquet falls between Thaniel and me. Roses scatter across the marble. One rolls beneath the altar, where nobody can retrieve it without kneeling. "Pick that up," Thaniel says. I lift my skirts instead. The first step is easy. On the second, my knees shake. Danthe stays where he is, though his amusement fades as I come nearer. "Lady Elysia," Vespers says sharply. Not wife. Not queen. Not yet. I take the last step and close the distance myself. Danthe's hand meets mine. Heat presses into my palm, so startling that my breath catches. I step into his arms before I can reconsider, my free hand fastening on his coat. His body goes still against mine. Then one arm settles across my back, firm enough to steady me. He smells of leather, clean sweat, and woodsmoke. Beneath my cheek, his breath changes. "Can you walk?" he asks quietly. "Yes." "Good." He loosens his hold as I straighten, but leaves his hand available. I keep it. Thaniel comes down from the altar. "Take your hands off her." "She came to me," Danthe says. "I am leaving." My voice shakes. I make myself turn enough that the guests can hear it. "With King Danthe." His thumb shifts against my knuckles. Nothing more. He turns toward the aisle, placing himself between Thaniel and me. We move. Behind us, Thaniel abandons the voice that made a kingdom love him. "Bar the doors."