Lord of Snow and Ice. Heather Massey

embroidered clothing distinguished them both. They were greeting a multitude of guests. Stellan immediately started forward, badly wanting a word alone with His Majesty Leopold, but Lionel grabbed his arm and proceeded to drag him in the opposite direction. Stellan’s mood darkened considerably. This proposed meeting with the King was why he had endured the long journey. This and this alone. Nothing else.

      He turned back. But as he stepped toward the King, someone–probably a servant–pushed a glass of wine into his hand. The Duke of Belleressort promptly began to parade him before a seemingly endless cascade of faces and names, while his deeds on the hunting grounds were recounted repeatedly and at length.

      Lionel, charming though he was, proved to be an unreliable host. For a while, Stellan waited patiently during each time his attention wandered to a pretty face or long-unseen friend. Some of Lionel’s companions from the hunt joined him for a time, and the tale of Lionel’s rescue was described to other guests yet again. But then they, too, disappeared back into the sea of unfamiliar faces.

      When not accompanied by Lionel or his hunting comrades, Stellan’s gaze was met with sneers or apprehensive stares. Edward especially seemed to make a point of conspicuously watching him. Even worse, by the time Stellan made his way to the King’s location, he discovered the monarch had disappeared. Regrettably, his meeting would have to wait. Perhaps he could speak with Leopold after the ceremony.

      Unused to large crowds–or any crowd–Stellan soon drifted away from the other guests. His compulsion to isolate himself was a habit well refined, and so he found himself heading outside to walk through one of the adjacent gardens. Dusk was beginning to creep round the edges of the horizon. An explosion of deep red and orange hues ignited the western skies. The warm, invigorating air differed markedly from the sterile environs of his castle.

      White, pink and magenta flowers of various types and sizes brimmed with fragrant scents. Stellan discovered a bench flanking the outer garden wall. It faced a large fountain and so he sat, idly watching the bubbling liquid squirt from the stone horn of a stone fairy. A footman passed by to light lanterns and candles scattered about the grounds. He acknowledged Stellan with a nod and then left.

      Even in a room swelled with people, Stellan had never felt so alone. What was he doing there? He appreciated Lionel’s gesture, but these people clearly didn’t fancy him. Can’t say I fancy them so much either. And his mission was close to failing. How could he arrange a meeting with Leopold undetected? He rubbed his forehead in frustration.

      A loud splintering sound erupted to his right. An intruder? Stellan leaped up, throwing back his cape and drawing his sword. He must have hurdled over the wall. A muttered curse confirmed Stellan’s suspicion. Nearby bushes shook violently as the intruder fought to extricate himself.

      “Who dares infiltrate the King’s garden?” Stellan intoned, his voice ringing out in the clear night air.

      The bushes stopped moving. A muffled voice spoke. “I beg your pardon?”

      “Come forth!” Stellan raised his sword.

      A limb thrust free of the confining branches. Stellan grabbed hold of the arm none to gently and pulled. As the figure emerged, he discovered he was clutching the arm of a young woman. Dressed in a boy’s riding outfit, her long hair was littered with twigs and leaves. His brow furrowed in confusion.

      Then the lantern light hit her. Stellan stared at her in shock, utterly convinced the bottom had dropped out of his stomach.

      The memories rushed back, more vivid and enthralling than memories had a right to be. Here, in his grasp, so close he could feel her sweet breath upon his face, was the woman from the Elysian River. The woman who…

      Naked. He had seen her naked.

      Breasts, belly, sex, thighs–all flashed in his mind like rapidly tumbling snowflakes; he couldn’t help it. Nor could he halt the advance of a telltale thickening. Thank the gods of fortune for his cape, for it masked his swift, hard excitement. She had only to say a word, or give a knowing glance, and he would do everything in his power to satisfy her. The garden offered plenty of soft places and privacy. He could please her for hours.

      Nonsense! Stellan struggled to contain these alien emotions. Anger, hate, fear–those he understood quite well. But desire? Affection? He had foresworn them long ago, or so he’d thought. Besides, he didn’t even know the woman. Why was he so damn infatuated? He more than anyone knew the deception beauty was capable of concealing. But being with her now only left him craving more. Especially since she wasn’t screaming with terror at the sight of him. His mouth went dry. Gods, what should he say?

      The woman was staring back at him with an equal measure of surprise. “Uh, thank you for the assistance, kind sir. You’re here for the wedding, aren’t you?” She spit out some dirt and barely waited for his nod. “I’m awfully late! Just had a quick horse ride. If anyone finds out, they’ll have my head! Has the ceremony started yet?”

      Stellan slowly lowered his weapon. “No,” he said hoarsely. “It hasn’t.” He cleared his throat. “Who are you?”

      The young woman chuckled. “Oh, where are my manners? They must’ve become lodged in that bush! I’m Clarysa. I’m supposed to be in the wedding party.” She turned her head toward the hall, for music now filled the air. “Heavens! I’d better go and change. Umm…” She looked down at his hand, still attached to her right arm.

      Stellan reluctantly let go.

      “Thanks! Anyway, be a dear and don’t whisper a word about this to anyone–especially the King. Agreed?”

      “I, uhh…as you wish.” Stellan watched as she sprinted away into the shadows. “Clarysa,” he whispered after she was gone. Now the dazzling beauty had also revealed intriguing glimpses of her personality, not to mention a proclivity for secrets. Might there be more awaiting him?

       She is decidedly…spirited.

      Perhaps attending the wedding would be a strategic move in more ways than one. He strode back inside to rejoin the festivities. A long-dormant need chipped away at his heart, transforming it into something less than a cynical hunk of ice. He would never, ever admit it, however–least of all to himself.

      * * * *

      The wedding was an elaborate, overstated affair, as weddings for a princess were apt to be. Stellan had declined Lionel’s invitation to sit up front. Instead, he stood and watched from afar, in the back of the great hall. There he was safely ensconced in shadow and behind the hundreds of prying, piercing eyes that otherwise would no doubt be boring into his back the entire time.

      Conversely, the celebratory meal that followed felt excruciatingly awkward. Stellan was assigned a seat beside Lionel, but the other guests at the table pointedly ignored him. He braved the banal chatter surrounding him as best he could. Useless tales of fortunes doubled, fine stallions bred and visits to expensive, exotic lands blasted him from every angle. For once, he couldn’t possibly finish the meal before him fast enough.

      Afterward, Lionel took him to an upper balcony, and for a while it was only the two of them. This arrangement was far more palatable. The tension eased from Stellan’s shoulders.

      The Duke stole this opportunity to smoke from his slender pipe. He asked what Stellan thought about the celebration below, and laughed when Stellan shared his candidly cynical observations.

      “Yes, the preening and posturing are quite stupid at times, I’ll give you that,” he conceded. “Most of these people have never met an ostentatious affair they didn’t like.”

      Stellan’s next grin turned sly. “Not including you, of course.”

      Lionel winked. “I taught them everything I know.”

      As they shared a laugh, the music swelled again. The celebratory dance would be starting soon. Stellan experienced an inexplicable urge to seek out Clarysa, but his first priority was an audience with the King. Lionel, however, had other plans. The duke peered over the balcony as if looking for someone. “Ah,”