The Yule Prince : An Enemies to Lovers Fantasy Romance

Chapter Nine

We ride up the cobbles toward the castle. The snow dusted path is lined with pine trees. The mountainside is alive with noise and color—many other guests traveling in bejeweled carriages or on foot around us.

For once, I am glad to have listened to Friedrich; both in terms of getting dressed up for the feast, and in doing so in an old barn at the edge of town before we approached the castle grounds.

It is unlikely we would have gotten past the first set of gates, entwined with holly and mistletoe, had we remained in the crumpled clothes we slept in. Ahead, the cold sunlight glints off jewels and brass buttons, and we're surrounded by a moving mass of colored capes and expensive skirts ruffling in the winter breeze.

When we reach the second set of gates, we slide off our beasts and allow one of the stable girls to lead the horses away.

Friedrich also changed in the barn, and he is now dressed in a sharp grey formal suit with the stiff collar unbuttoned. A strange look crosses his face as he looks at me.

"What? What is it now?" My shimmery skirts brush along the cobbles as I step closer to him. "In what way am I not adequate, Friedrich? Tell me. My boots are scuffed? I'm not wearing enough jewels? My —"

He reaches for my hair. Seconds later, he pulls away with a piece of straw between his slender fingers. He rolls it, then flicks it onto the road. We both watch it get caught in the breeze and tumble down the snow dusted cobbled stones. A look of confusion passes over his face.

It's as if he doesn't understand what he just did.

Neither do I.

An uncomfortable pause extends between us.

"You look perfectly adequate, Joy," he says, finally, stepping back. He raises his elbow. "Well? Shall we?"

"We don't have to hold hands," I say.

He doesn't lower his arm.

Another game of chicken.

A peculiar one.

He raises his eyebrows.

"Unlike you, I am actually invited to this feast. You are my guest. And it is customary for the woman to—"

"Right. Okay. Fine."

I roughly hook my arm within his.

The corner of his lip quirks up. As he leads me to the brightly colored line of guests waiting to get into the castle, his smirk broadens into a smile.

"What is so funny?" I ask.

"You really haven't thought this little plan of yours through at all, have you?"

"Oh, shut up."

"You're lucky I have been so gracious as to accompany you on your little adventure."

"Well, it's not like you're doing it out of the kindness of your heart, Friedrich. You have your own motives."

His eyebrows knit together. "I do?"

I pull a face. "To get rid of me?"

"Oh. . . right. . . yes. . .that."

We reach the castle doors and they're decorated with blood red holly berries and dusted with snow.

"And the sooner the better, in my opinion," he adds absently. "Let's get this over with, shall we?"

***

After reluctantly handing my blade to the guards at the door, Friedrich and I walk, arm in arm, through the magnificent entrance hall.

It is much larger than the entrance to the Yule castle. Grander too. Tall evergreen trees, decorated with glass baubles stand around the edges and release the sweet earthy scent of pine. Blinking white lights entwine around the banister of a staircase that leads to a balcony dusted with snow. The hearths around the hall are lit, and warmth emanates from them.

"One of the guards is following us," I say out of the corner of my mouth.

Friedrich is unperturbed. "I am son of Krampus and the heir to the Yule Throne. Of course he is."

We move with the rest of the guests into the Great Hall and are immediately assaulted with noise and the warm smell of meat and winter spices. One of St. Nicholas's servants immediately appears before us – dressed in a pressed white shirt and a red waistcoat with brass buttons.

"Your Yuletide Majesty," he says with a low bow. "This way to the top table, please."

Friedrich inclines his head. We follow him through the long wooden tables that strain beneath the weight of glittering pine cones, candles, and bottles of sparkling wine. I absently reach for the place where my blade would normally hang as we approach the long table at the end of the hall.

Behind it, Jack Frost and Krampus are deep in conversation. Right in the center of them—backlit by the roaring flames from the hearth—is the muscular, bearded man I know to be St. Nicholas.

My father.

He is a beast of a man, and he's wearing a magenta robes that emphasize the rosiness of his cheeks. His booming laugh cuts over the noise as someone from a nearby table shouts something at him.

I don't know if I'm ready for this. If Friedrich is worried at all, though, he does not show it. His gait is casual, and his arm, linked in mine, is relaxed.

As I search the hall for exits and potential weapons, a flicker of black curls and a friendly face catches my eye. I stop suddenly.

"I know you are not used to such fine dining experiences, Joy, but—"

"Shut up, Friedrich. Look. It's Maggie."

He wrinkles his nose. "Who?"

"My friend Maggie."

Strangely, she's dressed like St. Nicholas's servants in a red waistcoat. I don't know why she would be here. Krampus would never allow his staff to work at a feast held in this kingdom. Krampus does not share.

Then I see what she is carrying as she makes her way to the top table. There's a decanter filled with blood red wine on her silver tray. My heart sinks.

Friedrich arches an eyebrow. "Are you under the impression that I keep up to date with your social life, Joy?"

"She's the assassin," I hiss.

His face remains impassive but we both quicken our pace.

Maggie is already raising the decanter when we get to the top table. Krampus leans forward as St. Nicholas raises his goblet.

Then Krampus notices us. His eyes narrow, and my blood turns to ice.

"Son, you made it," says Krampus carefully. "And you brought Joy, as well. What a lovely surprise. Please, take a seat."

There's a dark promise in his eyes. A promise of what will happen if we do not obey him. My heart thunders my ribs, but a smile widens on Friedrich's face. He swipes the bottle from Maggie's hand. Her eyes widen on mine as she realizes what is going on.

I glare at her and she tenses.

"Isn't this your favorite wine, father?" says Friedrich. "Perhaps you would like the first glass? If St. Nicholas isn't too offended, of course?"

St. Nicholas makes a dismissive gesture with his big hand, but his blue eyes glitter with intrigue. "Please, help yourself."

At his booming voice, the hall around us quietens as if the people can sense something important is about to happen. Eyes move to the top table as the guests sense that something is going on. Friedrich pours the dark red liquid into Krampus's goblet.

Krampus smiles. "But only if you'll drink with me, son."

"Of course, father." Friedrich pours himself a glass too.

Their gazes lock and my whole body tenses.

This is the ultimate game of chicken.

"Merry Christmas, father," says Friedrich.

"Merry Christmas, son."

They raise the goblets of poisoned wine to their lips.