Oh Christmas Eve Why Me

chapter 4

Chapter 4: The Frozen Yard

Alex

I pushed forcefully through the steamy kitchen doors with a high tray of empty goblets stacked carefully on my arm. The intense heat from the huge ovens slammed into me instantly like a physical wall, thick and choking, but it still could not reach the deep, settled cold that was locked inside my bones.

The usual loud chatter in the kitchen died the moment I stepped inside. Every maid immediately stopped working and turned to stare. Some of the maids smirked openly. Others pretended they didn’t even see me walk past. Most simply stared with the quiet satisfaction of people who finally had a public, consequence-free reason to look down on me.

Maria—the senior kitchen maid with red, raw cheeks, sharp, judging eyes, and a mouth that had clearly never said a kind thing in its life—strode aggressively toward me. She carried a dented tin bucket in one hand and a small, flat snow shovel in the other.

Before I could even manage a single breath, she slammed both tools hard against my chest. The heavy bucket hit me with enough force to painfully rattle my ribs.

“The back yard is completely buried,” she announced loudly, her voice bright and deliberately carrying across the entire kitchen. “The heavy snow is blocking the main delivery path. If it’s not cleared fast, the extra meat for today's feast won’t get through the walls.” Her smile curled slowly into something cruel. “Guess who gets the privilege of fixing it right now.”

I blinked down at the dented bucket, completely confused. “The back yard doesn’t have a path for delivery,” I said slowly, trying to process the lie. “It’s a walled-off yard. Nothing has ever been delivered through that area.”

Maria’s smile grew wider, stretching too far, revealing all her teeth in pure delight. “Exactly. So you’d better start digging immediately, Shadow Wolf.”

Sharp, loud snickers burst like sparks around the room. Someone hidden behind the warm bread ovens whispered the words, “Let the enemy blood freeze and die.”

I opened my mouth to protest again. “Maria, that is not a real task. That yard—it’s just a dead end. It’s a stone box with no—”

She raised her hand high, fingers curled into a claw, looking like she was perfectly ready to slap me hard in front of everyone watching. “Too much talking,” she snapped. “Do the job immediately, or I will go straight to the king and tell him you publicly refused direct orders.” She leaned in very close, her voice dropping to something sharp and deeply poisonous.

“And we all know that refusing kitchen orders is the same exact thing as refusing the crown. Your choice, slave.”

The room fell into a thick, expectant, waiting silence. They were not hoping for me to fight back. They were simply expecting me to break apart. They wanted to watch me shatter completely.

My throat tightened painfully. I took the bucket and the shovel from her hands. My fingers were already starting to ache fiercely from the cold.

“Okay,” I whispered the word.

Laughter followed me, bubbling up and echoing, as I made my way to the back hall. I did not look at any of them as I passed. The warm walls seemed to close in around me, heavy with heat and the overwhelming smell of spices, but none of it truly mattered anymore. My quiet steps echoed down the corridor until I finally reached the heavy wooden door that led out to the yard.

I opened the door.

The world outside hit me like a vicious beast.

The wind instantly tore across the yard, violently ripping at my thin clothes and slicing painfully at my exposed skin. Snow hurled sideways, sharp and cold as broken glass fragments. In the split second before I could pull the door shut out of instinct, someone inside shoved it.

Hard.

The door slammed shut right in my face, and the heavy bolt shot into place with a harsh, final clang that vibrated deeply down my spine.

“No,” I breathed out the word, panicked.

I grabbed the frozen handle and pushed with all my strength. It did not budge even slightly.

I pounded on the thick wood, my voice cracking with desperation. “Please! Open the door! Maria, please, please!”

Muffled laughter floated out from the other side of the door—it was cold, gleeful, and distant.

Maria’s voice drifted through the thick wood, sounding syrupy sweet and mocking. “Enjoy your little holiday, bastard. We wouldn’t want you spoiling the prince’s special night in the hall.”

More waves of laughter followed. Then there was nothing. Just silence. Cold, deep, and utterly final.

I hit the door again and again with my fists until they stung badly and warm blood smeared the dark wood. The wind howled loudly all around me, shoving icy needles into every inch of exposed skin I had left. After a short while, I couldn’t even feel my fingers anymore. I couldn’t even feel the sharp pain of hitting the door.

My limited strength gave out completely. I slid down the rough wood of the door and collapsed directly into the deep snow. The snow swallowed me instantly, greedily stealing the last of my body heat like it had been waiting for this moment.

The yard was a simple, stone box—enclosed by twelve-foot walls, smooth and merciless, all coated in a thick, shimmering layer of frost. Moonlight faintly brushed the slick ice bricks, making them glow faintly like frozen lanterns. There was nothing to climb. No loose crates. No proper shelter. No gate out. It was just a place where unwanted, forgotten things died.

My teeth clacked together violently. Each freezing breath scraped like broken icicles down the inside of my throat.

I wrapped my arms tightly around my knees, trying desperately to make myself smaller, tighter, warmer—anything to stop the freezing. It didn’t work. The cold was not leaving me. It was sliding deeper and deeper, burrowing under my skin like it wanted to leave me completely hollow inside.

I closed my eyes and tried hard to summon the power that everyone claimed my cursed mark should be able to deliver. Frost Wolves were supposed to be able to heat their own blood. They could survive the fiercest blizzards. They could melt the snow directly under their feet.

I reached for that promised power, desperate for even the smallest spark of warmth.

Nothing answered.

Instead, something much darker stirred to life—something I desperately wished had stayed sleeping forever.

Black, chilling whispering shadows slowly leaked outward from my skin, curling into the violent air like smoke. They did not warm me at all. They actively dragged the remaining heat away, leaving my fingers completely numb and my heartbeat becoming sluggish and weak. The mark on my chest throbbed, pulsing a deep cold energy, bursting with a violent, terrifying energy I could not possibly command.

My breath hitched painfully.

The shadows were wrong. Everything about them felt hungry. Empty. Extremely dangerous. They did not belong to the Frost Wolves. They didn’t feel like they belonged to anything truly alive.

The cold dug deeper into my core. My body began to drift toward unconsciousness. My vision blurred and swam. Tears slipped down my cheeks, immediately freezing halfway down my face.

I forced my eyes open, staring up at the swirling storm above me. My breath came out in shaky, ragged gulps, each one much smaller than the last. The dark shadows pulsed again, flickering like dying embers in the dark.

I curled tighter into myself, the shovel forgotten, the bucket knocked over, the snow filling it up slowly grain by grain.

I didn’t want to die in a box. I didn’t want to die alone. Not like this. Not frozen. Not forgotten.

My throat trembled violently. My voice barely existed anymore.

“Please,” I whispered to no one, to the endless storm, to the pervasive darkness, to any god who would possibly listen to me now. “Someone… please get me out of here…”

The wind answered my plea with a howling sound that sounded almost exactly like a cruel laugh.

I squeezed my eyes shut tight, holding onto life by the thinnest thread, praying with the last tiny bit of strength I had left that someone—anyone—would manage to find me before the morning came.