Lord of Snow and Ice. Heather Massey

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      “Thanks for inviting me.” Sarcasm dripped in torrents from the woman’s statement and seemed to slide down Lionel’s bedroom walls only to congeal onto the floor below.

      Lionel started; he hadn’t realized anyone was in his room. He pulled aside the nearest blue velvet curtain. Late afternoon sunlight rippled across the interior, revealing a petite figure propped against the matching brocade pillows on his bed. She wore a shimmering gold gown, but her mood didn’t match the luxurious fabric. Her arms were crossed and she stared petulantly up at the ceiling.

      “Fancy meeting you here, Clarysa.”

      “You know why I’m here,” she growled.

      Lionel smirked. “Well, fair Princess, like I explained before, you can’t come along on every expedition. It’s for men only. We do a lot of, you know, manly things and such.” He tossed his cape onto the bed and opened his mahogany wardrobe.

      Clarysa scrambled into a sitting position. “But you promised! You said not the next time, but the one after.”

      Lionel studied the wardrobe’s contents. “I did not.”

      “Fibber!”

      He swept his good arm into a dramatically wide arc, as though a performance artist. “And so it shall be! You’ll accompany us…the following expedition after the next.”

      Clarysa’s eyes narrowed. “That’s exactly what you’ve been saying for the past five outings! I–what happened to your arm?”

      Lionel had removed his vest and was struggling with the buttons of his shirt. “An attack. A wicked creature appeared, the horse spooked, and I fell…confounded…Johann!” he said, summoning his valet. “In my bedchamber, if you please!” Lionel sat on the bed and began to remove his boots.

      Clarysa tugged at his sleeve. “What kind of creature? Did you kill it? Is it here?”

      He eyed his cousin, an audacious woman of nineteen years. Vivid hazel eyes stared back, voyeuristic and eager. “It’s kind of involved. Do you really want to hear it?”

      Clarysa slapped him playfully on his uninjured shoulder. “Of course! What else do I have to amuse me around this incredibly boring place? Yet more lessons in etiquette and stitching?” Clarysa beat the goose-down mattress with rapid fists. “Ugh!”

      Lionel grinned and then glanced toward the door. Johann had arrived. “Oh, there you are. Help me off with this shirt, will you? And then heat some water for a bath, please.”

      “Yes, Your Grace.”

      While Johann attended to the bath, Lionel chatted away, regaling his cousin with the tale of his most recent adventure. After he finished, a stoic Clarysa shook her head slowly.

      Lionel shot her a bewildered look. His cousin was obviously a glutton for excitement. But hadn’t he delivered enough tonight? “What’s wrong?”

      “I don’t believe you.”

      “You think I dislocated my arm while eating breakfast? Do I look like someone who needs that much attention?”

      “To answer your questions, no, and yes. But what I meant to say is about this ‘Prince Stellan.’ I’m sure you made that part of it up only to tease me.”

      Lionel snorted. “Cousin, I have better things to do with my time than conjure up whimsical fairytales.”

      “Nonsense. You have plenty of time to do all sorts of things and you know it.”

      Lionel smiled. She had him there for sure. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. But I spoke truthfully. Many of the stories we heard about the Snowflake Kingdom while growing up may turn out to be true.” Lionel cocked his head. “Heh. Oddly fascinating isn’t it?”

      Clarysa nodded. “So what’s he like?”

      “I just told you!”

      “Tell me again!”

      “Excuse me, Your Grace, but your bath is ready.” Johann stood patiently by the door.

      Lionel stood. “Thank you. That will be all for now. As for you,” he said, glancing at his cousin, “I’ll tell you about him again at supper. You are staying the night, aren’t you?” Clarysa nodded. “Splendid. Now be off with you.”

      Her shoulders drooped while she offered Lionel a supplicant look.

      “Shoo,” he said, motioning her out the door.

      Clarysa dragged herself toward the exit as if trudging through quicksand. But then she whirled at the door and blew Lionel a kiss. “Hope you feel better,” she said before closing the door firmly.

      * * * *

      Clarysa stepped into the brightly lit hallway. Servants nodded as they passed, some carrying linens, others tending to small children or other errands. Supper lay a good hour away, but she felt not so much hungry as bored. She ambled down a wide, curving stair to the next level, swinging her arms and humming a tune sung by a minstrel who had visited the castle earlier in the day.

      Though her uncle’s estate was smaller in scale than the King’s, she had more freedom here. Or at least she had the illusion of such. Not that she couldn’t go about as she pleased, but there were certain…restraints. Then guilt about her resentment made her sigh. She didn’t crave more wealth or privilege–simply something different.

      Clarysa ducked into the Hall of Tapestries. Elegant glass lanterns illuminated the giant woven canvases spaced regularly СКАЧАТЬ