The wind spun hard off the sea as the ship neared the jagged coastline, buffeting Castil il Veras as she huddled within her cloak’s meager warmth. In the distance, a small village clung like lichen to the sloping face of the cliffs. Beyond the quays lay the white lands and the fabled fortress of the snow kings. And there Kareena resided, a lonely queen.

Sails flapped hard above Castil’s head, giant wings beating restlessly from the wind gusting off the water. It was much more comfortable in her tiny cabin, but at the first sighting of Helenrisia’s far shores, she tossed her cloak around her shoulders and ran up to the deck. Weeks of endless sailing, its monotony broken only by periodic bouts of sea sickness, had finally come to an end.

Kareena’s letter, tattered at the corners from multiple readings, lay safely within the depths of Castil’s satchel. A messenger had delivered it and a letter of credit to her father, who frowned at the sight of the Helenese royal seal. Castil, fearing the worst, breathed an audible sigh of relief when she saw Kareena’s sweeping scrawl. That relief quickly evaporated as she read the missive, the despair and loneliness in the words. There had been little to mull over. They had been best friends since childhood despite their difference in rank, and Kareena needed her.

Devilos Veras read the letter and turned a troubled a gaze on his daughter. “If you go now, you’ll be trapped there for months, and they say Helenrisia is an inhospitable place in winter.”

She shrugged. “I would stay that long regardless, Father. It’s a long trip, and Kareena will want me with her for more than a few days.”

He said no more about it, only made arrangements with the captain of the Estarta to transport his daughter safely north.

The ship sailed ever closer, and it seemed to Castil as if the lay of the land remained obscured. Shore met sky in an endless expanse of snow-ladened gray, the icy water reflecting the color of a dulled sword blade. No wonder Kareena, always a lover of the long Caskadanian summers, called her new home desolate.

Castil missed her despondent friend, alone in a strange land and bound to a man many considered cursed. The marriage between Kareena il Marcam and Doranis of House Alisdane had been arranged since before Kareena was released from her nanny’s lead strings.

Sons and daughters of the greater boyars were regularly married off to royalty and aristocracy of other countries. Kareena was no exception. Marital ties to the Helenese royal family promised profitable returns in trade as well as political influence in two courts.

Castil recalled the wedding and its subsequent celebrations. Kareena, raised to understand her duty as the only child of a powerful nobleman, had been stoic regarding her fate. Only as the time neared for the wedding and her first meeting with her future husband did she voice any concerns to Castil.

“They say he is cursed. Marked by the Wastelands and their magic.” She shuddered. “What if he is a hideous, misshapen creature? And I will have to bed him.”

Castil patted her arm, offering whatever comfort she could. “No one has seen him, Kareena. You know how rumor starts. And if he is unhandsome but kind, will it be so bad?” The words sounded patronizing to her ears, for it wasn’t she who would soon be sold into the marriage. Yet her words soothed Kareena who smiled weakly and nodded.

“No, not so bad. And I can always close my eyes and imagine that it’s Farnoush Salbata who beds me.”

“Kareena!” Castil laughed and soon they both forgot the upcoming nuptials and the arrival of the mysterious Helenese king.

None of their conjectures prepared them for the reality of Doranis of Helenrisia. When the Caskadanian court assembled to greet the Helenese delegation, no one knew what to expect. The Great Hall settled into a waiting hush as the visitors filed in to stand next to Caskadan’s overlord. The Helenese delegation consisted of men of great height and slim stature, who wore their black hair long and loose. Their dark eyes scrutinized the staring crowd from pale faces showing no emotion.

Castil thought them a handsome people with their refined features and dignified demeanor. While regal in their bearing, none bore the stamp of sovereignty on either their somber clothing or their features.

Her assumption that Doranis had not yet entered the chamber was confirmed when the herald announced his name, and all bowed in respectful greeting. Wedged between her father and the sour-smelling Dame Nibs, Castil wasn’t able to move closer for a better look. What she did see took her breath away, and her eyes widened at the sight of the magus king from the far north.

Astonishingly pale, with hair so white it gleamed in the torchlight, he surveyed the gaping crowd in a measured silence, his nearly colorless eyes narrowed, measuring. He was tall like his kinsmen, with the long, muscled thighs of an experienced horseman. Latent power radiated from him, an aura of stately grace that emphasized his odd beauty and lent his sharp, elegant features a haughty cast.

Castil managed to drag her gaze away long enough to search out Kareena, who stood closer to the king. Her pallor matched his, only hers was of horror instead of birthright. No fantasy of the handsome Farnoush could possibly blot out the reality of the nuptial bed that awaited her with her soon-to-be husband.

The sudden notes of music played by the musicians who took their cue from a frantic minister broke the hall’s gravid silence. The crowd of boyars breathed a collective sigh, their surprise transforming into a morbid curiosity as they jostled each other for the first opportunity to present themselves to the visiting monarch.

Castil knew it futile to try to reach Kareena in the milling crowd. She managed to catch her eye briefly, offering what encouragement she could with a smile. Kareena gave a grim nod before turning away.

The evening passed in an endless line of introductions. As lesser boyars, Castil and her father were nearly the last of the families to be presented. She tried to still the butterflies that fluttered madly in her belly. Like everyone else, she had been unable to take her eyes off the king. Unlike them, she didn’t find him ugly or strange. He was, in all ways, a striking individual, the air of leadership resting heavily on his broad shoulders.

When they finally reached the dais where the king sat, the herald announced their names in a hoarsening voice. “Devilos Veras and his daughter, Castil il Veras.”

Doranis’s bored expression shifted when he noticed Castil staring at the embroidered insignia on his tunic.

“Blood of fey kings,” she translated and immediately clapped a hand over her mouth, mortified at speaking out of turn. The king’s pale blue gaze sharpened.

Devilos’s fingers dug into his daughter’s arm as Doranis straightened in his seat, then leaned forward, renewed interest glittering in his eyes. “You read doa Enrai?”

She tried to answer, but stopped at the increasing tightness of her father’s grip. He spoke for her. “Yes, Your Majesty. My daughter and I are scribes. We’re familiar with the old languages such as doa Enrai.”

Castil’s lips thinned at the scornful mutters around them. Aristocracy engaged in trade was a thing viewed with contempt. Judging by Doranis’s intrigued regard, he didn’t hold the same opinion. She found herself admiring the flawless alabaster face with its long thin nose and prominent cheekbones.

“Fascinating,” he said. “I have in my possession a set of scrolls written in doa Enrai. They are accounts of the last days of the Elder cities before the advent of the Wastelands. I’ve translated some of the writing. Perhaps I’ll send copies to you.” His gaze slid over Castil, curious and measuring. “My compliments, Madam il Veras.”

Castil blushed, surprised by his remark. She heard the restless murmurings of the boyars waiting behind them and bowed with her father before leaving the king and merging with the crowd.

That brief meeting irrevocably changed her, for in the days that he and his delegation resided in Caskadan, Doranis sought her out numerous times. It was the cause of raised eyebrows and speculation among the boyars and warning glares from the Marcam family.

Their concerns were baseless. Castil posed no threat to Kareena or her family. When she spoke with the king, it was of scholarly things: ancient scrolls, and books they both read. Dowerless and low-ranking, she should have been far beneath the notice of a monarch, and most treated Doranis’s interest in her as an amusing foible—one odd creature’s fascination for another.

The union between the Marcams and House Alisdane commenced without incident, though Kareena looked pale and ill as she held Doranis’s hand and spoke her vows before overlord and country. Castil watched the exchange with a mixture of pity and envy—pity for her friend who had been sold into marriage to a man she found repulsive, envy because Castil would have gladly traded places with her.

Kareena refused to look beyond the white mark of the Wastelands, seeing only a man disfigured by the old magic. She didn’t know of the remarkable mind and dry wit that lay behind that severe visage. But Castil did, had watched, enthralled, as the days passed in celebration and Doranis revealed aspects of himself that would have surprised his new wife.

On the day the king and his new queen were to return to Helenrisia, Castil made her way to the docks and waited amidst a crowd of onlookers as the Helenese royal couple and its retainers gathered at the pier. Tears clogged her throat. She and Kareena had said their goodbyes the previous night, crying as they hugged each other a final time. She couldn’t help but be here for a last glimpse at her friend.

Doranis was unmistakable among his escort. Mounted on a big bay stallion, he rode robed and hooded against the summer sun’s bright light and sat tall in the saddle.

As if sensing her eyes upon him, he maneuvered the horse in her direction, the slow turn of his head revealing his search for the watcher.

Castil’s eyes widened as the bay suddenly trotted toward her, sending bystanders scattering out of the way. She froze in place, squinting as she peered up into the shadows of the king’s hood. The light eyes, ringed in heavy smears of protective black kohl, shone with pleasure at her presence. King and scribe eyed each other on the small section of pier.

She committed his face to memory. He was, in her eyes, the most beautiful creature she’d ever beheld. Distracted by her fascination with him, she almost forgot to bow, and he laughed gently as she blushed and bent at the waist.

“There’s no need for ceremony here, scribes woman.” That low, silky voice slid over her skin like scented oil, deep and rich with the promise of decadence.

Her thighs clenched in reaction, and she crossed her arms to hide the pinpoints her nipples made against her bodice. “Fair journey, Your Majesty,” she said, just loud enough for him to hear.

He seemed to still for a moment before bending down close enough that she became ensnared in the glitter of his eyes. “All men wish to be gods, madam, even fey kings. Were I granted such power, this would not be farewell.” He straightened again, his sharp face drawn with an emotion that made her stomach flip. “You would have made a worthy queen, Castil il Veras.” She gaped at him as he wheeled the bay around and trotted back toward the ship. He dismounted and crossed the gangplank, following Kareena as she descended into the hold. The retainers filed aboard behind her, leading the horses onto the ship. The sun dipped low on the horizon as the ship took sail, easing out of the harbor toward the open sea. Castil stood at the docks, watching until it was nothing more than speck, taking with it a forbidden wish and a treasured friendship.

* * *

“They’ll be lowering the dinghy soon, madam. You’d best get your gear together.”

Castil was startled out of her musings by the rough, friendly voice of the Estarta’s captain. She smiled, hoping he hadn’t been standing there long, watching her moon for something far beyond her reach.

“Will there be an escort to take me into the interior?”

Captain Lizera claimed a spot beside her and leaned against the railing to stare at the closing shore. “Aye, madam. You’ll travel with us to the trading houses. From there, we’ll set up an escort for you to the Frozen Maiden.” She raised an eyebrow in inquiry and he smiled. “The fortress of the kings.”

The cold of the northern sea faded as memories of a morning in a ruined temple surfaced, and she pushed them down again. Therein lay a dangerous path, one of forbidden dreams. She turned to watch as the gray mist blanketing the shore thinned, allowing a view of ramshackle huts and nets hung on poles for mending.

The captain’s voice, hard with a black humor, sent shivers down her arms. “Madam il Veras, welcome to Hel.”