Lord of Snow and Ice. Heather Massey

of powdered and perfumed bodies. Lionel guided him forward with one hand, and then with the other reached out and tapped the bare shoulder of a young woman with golden hair. She turned around. As her gaze locked onto Stellan’s face, she blanched in surprise.

      “Prince Stellan of Vandeborg, may I introduce my cousin, the spirited and inquisitive Princess Clarysa, youngest daughter of King Leopold and Queen Arietta.”

      Stellan gave a low whistle even as he shuddered inwardly. “The King’s daughter!”

      She seemed not to notice, for her head swiveled back to Lionel. “You mean this is the one…the man who saved you?”

      Lionel nodded, beaming.

      Turning back to Stellan, Clarysa grasped folds of her skirt in each hand and suddenly dropped into a deep curtsy with head bowed. “You have my undying thanks, Sir, for your valorous deed. On behalf of the royal court of Aldebaran, I welcome you to our humble celebration! You honor us with your presence.”

      Stellan felt his eyebrows clash. He stole a glance at Lionel, who hid a bemused smile behind one hand. “Princess, that’s…thank you…you’re very kind.” Clarysa continued to hold her deferential pose. Time inched by as if a snail. When she didn’t respond, he shot Lionel a look that silently screamed, What am I supposed to do now?

      This time it was Lionel to the rescue. “Yes, yes, get up, please. You’re making an absolute scene!” He clucked half-scoldingly as he reached down and helped her stand. “Anyway, I’ve got to run. Someone else…uh, is expecting me.” Lionel grinned impishly and disappeared through the crowd.

      Stellan found himself alone with Clarysa. He eyed her, not sure what to expect.

      She folded her hands daintily before her. “You must think me a fool, stumbling about like a jester in the garden bushes.”

      Stellan shook his head, not trusting his mouth to speak. He didn’t know quite what to make of her–fully clothed or not–aside from the fact he had never encountered such an ambrosial dish full of sweet smells and delicate flavors. Her appearance was a far cry from the boyish figure that had stumbled over the wall.

      Shades of Lionel’s handsome features were woven into hers. Stellan would have thought them twins if he hadn’t been told they were cousins. Clarysa bore the same golden skin, elegant nose, and perfectly formed cheekbones. Her lips sparkled with the kiss of fresh-morning dew. Suddenly, an unrelenting thirst grabbed hold of him.

      His gaze traveled upward. She had fastened her wavy hair with two straight, sapphire-encrusted pins. Several ringlets eschewed their confines, tokens of hasty grooming. Stellan imagined exactly what he could do with those pins–namely, replace them with his hands as he plunged them into her mass of thick, glossy locks. From there it would be ridiculously easy to angle back her head to receive his kiss.

      Then he devoured the rich blue material of her gown. It was a simple, modest piece made all the more attractive by the lacey fabric around her neck. And the rest of her figure was decidedly…unboyish. Supple and generous of curve, it threatened to melt away all of Stellan’s inhibitions. The deep valley between her full breasts particularly enthralled him. Not wishing to betray his interest, he glanced sharply away.

      They continued to stand there, but now an awkward silence developed. Then stark reality intruded. Around them, couples enjoined as the court musicians plucked at cords and beat their drums. Music swelled, and Stellan watched in horror as bodies promenaded around them, their pastel dresses and frilly white collars closing in on all sides. To his annoyance, he also intercepted a scornful glance or two. Then Clarysa placed a hand on his arm.

      “Would you–” she began.

      “Yes?” Please don’t ask me to dance.

      “–like to walk in the garden?”

      Stellan paused as a wave of uncertainty passing over him. Does she mean by myself?

      “I mean, I’m not much one for dancing. But if you’d like to stay, I’m sure my cousin Mirabelle would–”

      “No, no,” he blurted out. “The garden…it sounds perfect.” He extended an elbow and enjoyed the light touch of her fingertips as her hand encircled it.

      “You’re too kind,” she murmured.

      They stepped gingerly through the crowd of merrymaking guests.

      “Whew!” Clarysa exclaimed once they had passed through the archway leading outside. “These events can be so stressful. But I’m sure one such as yourself is quite used to it.” Stepping ahead, she stretched her arms high into the air, and then swung them frivolously by her side as she walked.

      Amused, Stellan followed her, but he still felt somewhat wary. He looked over his shoulder, half expecting someone to accost him for keeping the company of the King’s daughter.

      “Come on,” she called back. “I’ll show you my favorite place!”

      He dutifully obeyed, but remained quiet as she escorted him along a path marked with polished stones. The sounds of the party faded away as they ventured deeper into the garden. Crickets sang a cheery lullaby. Stellan fixed his gaze ahead, not quite sharing their enthusiasm. As they walked, he noticed the princess kept stealing glances at him. After several more minutes of this, he cleared his throat. “Is there something you’d like to ask me, Princess Clarysa?”

      She giggled into her hand. “Well, first I’d ask you to call me Clarysa.” She giggled again.

      Normally, he would have found such girlish behavior irritating. Meaning, had he ever been around any girls. But she had an infectious quality. Nevertheless, he maintained his guard. “Well, then, Clarysa, what do you have on your mind that begs escaping?”

      “Lionel tells me you hail from the Western Wastes.”

      “True.”

      “And you live near Dungeon Forest!”

      “Also true.”

      “And…you’re one of those sorcerers.”

      Those sorcerers. Stellan paused, wondering where this was leading. “Yes. I am.”

      Clarysa’s voice became deeper, bolder. “You practice magick.”

      “Yes.”

      “Well, is that all you can say?”

      “No, it isn’t.” He narrowed his eyes. Old suspicions began to surface, suspicions that warned against discussing such matters with those unacquainted with the Black Arts. “What’s your point?” His voice had an edge, but he didn’t care.

      Clarysa, however, seemed oblivious. Suddenly she moved forward and pressed closer to him. To his dismay, he discovered he enjoyed the feeling very much. Stellan glanced down.

      “Show me!” she whispered, a hungry look saturating her features. “I’ve never met anyone who can perform magick, at least not the real kind. Is it quite difficult?”

      Stellan slowed his pace, but said nothing. What is she driving at?

      “I know why you’re hesitant. You think me like the others, but I’m not.”

      He walked ahead, picking up speed.

      “I won’t tell a soul, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

      He shot her a dubious look.

      Clarysa raised a hand. “I swear on my father’s life I won’t!”

      Stellan came to an abrupt decision, followed by an abrupt halt. He glanced about, then swiftly turned and dove into a grove of flowering dogwood trees. The soft rustling of her dress reached his ears. You’re a brave woman, following around a bastard sorcerer like me in the dead of night. Well, here is your reward!

      Spinning around, Stellan caught her hand in a flash of movement. Clarysa yelped, but did not