The Heart of Ice

Chapter 13

Killian

Moonlight spills like liquid silver onto the eerie streets western of The Ice Kingdom. Mother and father have just returned home from their nightly works, something they've been committed to since I was born, ready to feast on the meal I've prepared for them. When father sits at the dinner table, he doesn't bother speaking to me, for it takes my mother's acknowledgment to break the yearning silence. "How was your day, son?" she questions, voice soft. She rarely speaks to me anymore due to my father's wishes, so when she does, I feel an exhilarating feeling within myself. "It was lovely, mother. I spent the day preparing supper for us, then I went to the market to buy these roses you see as a center for the table."

At the last of my words, her eyes widen, flickering towards my father. His features have gone from one of unbothered to anger in a matter of seconds, though I'm unsure why. Perhaps, it's the roses. I'm unfamiliar with his favorite flower.

He stands from the table. "You left this home, boy?" he questions, unraveling the buckle from his belt. He does that when I've done something wrong, but I can't think of what I've done this time. Not with the crowded mind of incoming pain, at least. "You left these walls without my permission?" he continued. I nod, only nod, and he raises his arm, prepping for the three-hundred marks he would soon place against my skin. His very own deadly artwork.

"I wanted to surprise you and mother with a lovely dinner, father. I didn't mean to do anything wrong," I protest, but he's far too angry to listen. Mother stands from the table, reaching towards me. "Don't hurt him. He hasn't any clue what he's done wrong, sir. How can we punish a boy like that?"

Father stares at her, disbelieving. I am in terrible shock. My mother has never called out to him in such a manner, for father has made it clear her opinion isn't of his interest, and that a lady of her circumstance shouldn't voice it. "How dare you talk back to me woman!" he yells before striking her across the face. It happened so fast I wasn't even sure I'd seen it, but my mother connecting with the incoming wall solidified my answers. "I am your owner. Not your equal. You do not tell me who I can and cannot punish, you bastard!"

I jump to the table, attempting to yank the belt from my father's hand. He's stronger than I, only being seven at the time, so being pushed to the side as if I'm nothing doesn't come as a shock. Before I have time to return to my feet, the familiar sting of his belt connects with my face, cold and hard. My mother flinches, and he grabs me by my rags, lifting me into the air. "Do you think you're tough, boy?" he questions, slamming me into the wall. "Do you consider yourself a savior?" he laughs, reaching for a knife on the edge of the table.

My mother screams infamously, the sound loud enough to pierce glass. She must've felt the pins and needles at the back of her throat as she began to spit blood. "Don't hurt him, sir! Please! He is only a little boy! Bravery shall be his instinct, not his downfall!" My father doesn't seem to acknowledge her as the knife begins to puncture my throat. I try not to scream, for it's taken as weakness in my home, but the pain is one I've never felt before. It's white and hot against my minor frame.

As the knife runs deeper into my skull, the anger formed within me thrives, growing as each second passes. My father looks deep into my gaze. "You see this child, woman," he starts, turning me towards my mother. "This boy is the devil in disguise, the downfall to our kingdom. He was born to destroy. Killing him now would save us from permanent ruins." My mother breathes, her voice hoarse. "Perhaps, but my son is not the devil or a downfall. He is a king, and he shall be held in such a manner. If you kill him, sir, you will be doomed for an eternity," she yells.

Despite the hot pain, something cold flourishes within my anger. My vision turns to one of the many hues of blue, and my fingertips become stone-cold frost.