A Tale of Frozen Flames

Chapter 3

I liked to think that I was generally slow to anger. At the age of six, I was the target of Steffan's barrage of peas at the dinner table. At eleven, I endured my sister's questionable singing lessons down the grand, echoing halls of this castle. My temper was tested, my ears on the verge of bleeding, but I maintained an air of restraint. I went to my room and I dealt with my anger in a myriad of ways that avoided confrontation.

This week was not one of those times.

I needed to find my father. I was blind with rage at his deception, or just at our people as a whole for being isolated from the rest of the world for so long. These beings outside of our walls, the fae that lived beyond us, were not evil. They sang and danced with more vigor and life than I had ever seen. I needed to know why I was kept from them for so long.

After stops to his usual dwellings—the wine cellar for drink, the ball rooms for dancing and parties—I found his personal guards outside of his office. A rare sight.

"I need to see my father," I spoke past the two guards standing at his door, not quite looking at them as I tried to grab for the handle. One of them cleared their throat and blocked the door with an outstretched arm. I raised my gaze to his eyes, letting him see the anger pooling in them.

"The king wishes to be left alone, your highness."

I stood my ground.

"He is my father. I'm sure he can spare a moment from whatever secretive affairs he's dealing with." I glanced between the two unmoving men. Cronies. I knew that the only way to get to my father was to give them what they wanted to hear. What he wanted to hear.

I relaxed my expression into a soft smile. "I only wish to speak with him about my future. Petra tells me she is betrothed, and so I must be married to secure alliances with the lords in the south." The guards exchanged wary glances.

"I understand what I must do for Bethlan. You won't keep me waiting while the future of these lands hang in the balance, will you?"
One of the guards nods slightly, and the other hesitates.

"We will be right outside of this door." He opened the door to my father's study, letting me pass.

I smiled sweetly at them both as I let them close the heavy wooden door behind me. I stood at my father's back now, watching him pour over papers on a small side table positioned on the right wall.

The study itself could have been nice. It had a solid oak desk and a large window on the back wall, the top row of panes were decorated with small stained glass scenes which made the room dance in bright reds and blues when the sun shone through. But it was not very pleasant. There were cobwebs everywhere, especially near the high ceilings, muddling the light shining through the colorful glass. Papers were scattered everywhere, bottles of ink half spilled on the floor. It was the very picture of disrepair.

I cleared my throat and stepped into the threshold, demanding my father's attention. He turned his haggard face towards me, his gray hair and beard reflecting the light that still passed through the window to his side.

"Ah, Stella," he grumbled, straightening with a groan. "What is so important that you demand to interrupt me?"

I faltered. I could occasionally stand up to my brother and sister, a stark contrast to the non-confrontational demeanor that I held at a younger age. They were my siblings after all. But this was my father. The king. And I had never stood up to him before.

"Did you know that I was out near the northern border yesterday?" I probed his current state of mind with the tentative question.

He gripped his hands on the small table behind him, narrowing his sunken eyes.