The Yule Prince : An Enemies to Lovers Fantasy Romance

Chapter Six

Knee deep in snow, I eye the cabin. It's small and wooden and the whole place looks like it's about to take off as the wind howls around it. I'm not sure how Friedrich found it, or why he has brought me here.

But it has to be better than staying out in the blizzard.

I follow Friedrich's deep footsteps in the snow, and trample inside.

"Shut the door," says Friedrich.

"I'm obviously going to."

I battle the wind until finally it clicks shut. It is then that an eerie quiet fills the darkness. It makes me acutely aware of Friedrich and the fact we are out here alone. I shiver. My hands are blue and I rub them together.

The Yule Prince is crouching down behind a couple of worn armchairs, piling wood in the hearth. He touches it with his torch. Rising to his full height he picks up the iron poker and lazily prods the firewood a couple of times. Nothing happens.

"Damp," he says.

The torchlight casts an orange glow on his damp skin. His long coat hangs open to reveal the white shirt beneath clinging to chest. I can see the hardness of his torso through it. A lock of damp blond hair, uncharacteristically out of place, hangs over his forehead.

Outside, the wind howls. But here, it is quiet. This is unexplored territory. Neither of us know what to say.

He has tormented me my entire life. I hate him. He hates me. There is a cruel simplicity to it.

But now, for some reason I cannot fathom, he has done me a small kindness by allowing us to shelter here.

That is, unless he has not. Unless there is some other motive to it.

Perhaps the horses really did need to rest. Perhaps, he himself, is tired.

Perhaps he has brought me here so he can murder me. Perhaps this is some cruel trick to lower my guard – to warm me to him so it will hurt more when he betrays me to his father.

I can't figure out the rules to this game. Nor the prize.

I do not know my next move.

We should have kept riding.

"Why have you brought me here, Friedrich?"

"We're here to rest the horses. Like I said."

"I don't believe you."

"If you wish to leave, feel free, Joy." He elaborately gestures to the door behind me. When I don't move, he nods, self-satisfied. "That's what I thought."

He strolls over to the drawers in the kitchenette and pulls out some candles.

"You've been here before," I say.

My voice sounds weird and loud and I clear my throat. He starts lighting the white sticks of wax and placing them in cobwebbed candle holders in the walls. Small lights flicker on around the room.

"That is none of your concern, Joy."

I watch him as he navigates the furniture. It's an odd place. Clearly abandoned, but perhaps someone's home once. Thick dust coats a row of snow globes on the mantelpiece, and an open moth-eared book sits open on a small chest. There's a picture of a princess on the parchment, leading me to believe it's a children's book of fairy tales.

I sigh. "Fine. I don't care anyway."

I grab my wet hair and ring it out onto the floorboards. The water drips into a puddle at my feet.

When I look up again Friedrich is staring at me. He could be watching a rat crawl up a drain for the expression on his face.

I raise my eyebrows at him. "What?"

He turns away and places the last candle into the candelabra on the mantelpiece. Then he tosses the torch into the grate. "Are you going to linger in the doorway all evening?"

I go and perch one of the crimson armchairs. A small fire splutters in the hearth, but I imagine it will soon die. My breath mists in front of my face.

"We will rest here until morning," says Friedrich. He leans against the fireplace. "There are blankets in the chest. And there is an outhouse fifty meters out, in the direction of the trees if you need to use it. It's dirty and unpleasant." He smiles grimly. "You should feel at home."

"Right. Because I'm dirty and unpleasant. Very witty. I know it must be hard for you, but you don't have to be such a colossal dick all the time, Friedrich?"

His eyes glint. "Be careful of your tongue. I may be escorting you on your little adventure. But I am still the Yule Prince."

"Yes? Well according to your father, I am the Christmas Princess." I get up and point at him. "So perhaps you should be the one to hold their tongue."

A slow smile spreads across his face.

"Very well. Goodnight, Your Highness." He bows mockingly then strides to a door to his right. "You can sleep on the floor. I will take the bed."

He disappears inside the adjoining room, leaving me glaring at his closed door.

Why do I allow him to get under my skin so much? Why can't I figure out what game he is playing? It is infuriating.

I let a couple of minutes pass to make sure he's not going to come back. Then I hurriedly peel off my sodden clothes and change into the loose white shirt and green breeches I packed in my satchel. They're damp, but it's better than before.

When I open the chest for blankets, though, I come out empty handed.

I curse under my breath.

I don't want to ask him for a blanket. But I don't want to freeze to death either.

I don't know which is worse.

I have an internal debate as the windows rattle and cold air whistles through the floorboards. The candles flicker and I curse the Winter Kingdoms under my breath. Why did I have to be brought somewhere so damned cold?

"Damnit." Before I lose my nerve I barge into Friedrich's room. "Friedrich."

I freeze. He is topless, his wet shirt hanging limply in his hand. Horror fills me. Angry white scars crisscross his back where a whip, or worse, has torn through his flesh.

I know I am looking at something I am not supposed to see. I know that I will be punished for it. But I cannot look away.

Slowly, Friedrich turns. His bare chest moves up and down like he's containing a storm as fierce as the one outside. "Out."

"I'm. . . I'm sorry. . .I. . . there were no blankets," I blurt.

Color floods his usually pale cheeks. "GET OUT!"

I slam the door shut. My mind is reeling as I drop into the armchair. I place my head in my hands. The image of Friedrich's scarred and disfigured back is imprinted on the back of my eyelids.

There is no question about who did that to him.

All this time I had thought Friedrich was a spoilt petulant brat—the only person within the Yuletide Kingdom free from his father's cruelty.

But now, I wonder if having Krampus as a father is the worst punishment of all.