On the Line [Run Cold Book Two]

1: A New Direction

Niklas and I have a history in blood. 

Ours wasn't a particularly long saga; it'd only been three, almost four years since the runaway prince first caught me stealing a turtle in Boston's Chinatown. Until last summer, the most blood spilled between us had been a busted lip in an ill-timed alley kiss. But after killing his mother and taking her place as Norway's temporary queen, the memories I'd dreamed of sharing with him had become sweat-soaked nightmares of polar bears and bleeding out. 

As if that wasn't awkward enough, I'd rejected his marriage proposal. The same proposal I'd been desperate to hear last October, before he'd been abducted and the queen tried to have me killed. 

And now here I was, driving to a ski resort for our third date in this new world, unsure if I was elated or anxious to see him again.

Niklas promised it'd be different this time. No more lying about who he was. "Logan" and his Boston life were gone forever, but the man I'd fallen in love wasn't. I believed him.

I just wasn't so sure that I loved him in that way anymore.

With a sigh I swept blonde side bangs off my cheek and tried losing myself in the twists of greyed road ahead. Spring-kissed branches rushed from greenery to wintry the further north I drove. In the rear view mirror, framed by snowcapped peaks and darkening skies, was the same dark Range Rover that'd tailed me since Oslo. 

My grip on the steering wheel tightened. Tempted though I was to really floor my beast of an SUV, there were only so many ways in and out of some of these smaller towns. My follower already knew where I was headed anyway. It wasn't a secret. These days, nothing was.

Instead, I adjusted the mirror, sparing a glance at the grim-mouthed man in my passenger seat. His onyx suit was impeccable, not a wrinkle to show for five hours' worth of sitting in the same spot, but he fiddled with a cuff-linked sleeve the second I turned down the radio.  Never in my life had I required a bodyguard, but for some reason I'd always imagined that you should be friends with the person tasked with accompanying you every waking moment of the day.

Despite my best efforts, Einar remained a hazel-eyed snapping turtle, pleasant only if you kept your distance, with black hair slick and oily like he'd just dragged himself from the swamp. On good days, I'd eke out a coarse sentence or two in response to my badgering. Talk was cheap and he was anything but, or so he'd told me when I'd given him those cuff-links at Christmas and inquired about his family's holiday plans.

 "When we get to the mountain, I'd prefer you to watch them instead of me," I said, nodding towards the Rover, which contained the most persistent media hound I'd ever had the displeasure of encountering. "I'm a terrible skier. I don't care if Uli snaps pictures of me snowballing down the slope, but I really think I'm going to punch her if she asks for another status update."

Hearing the annoyance in my tone, Einar grunted a sharp "Ma'am."

"You make me feel like I'm forty. It's Allie."

"Your Majes-"

"Allison, then. Please. I've seen you day and in out for months." 

Eyes never leaving the road, despite the fact that the only thing that might jump out of the snow-sprinkled brush was an elk, my bodyguard shifted in his seat. He was uncomfortable with informalities. Most people were put off by my insistence that I wasn't actually royalty and shouldn't be called such. 

"Next right, Ma'am."

"Oh." I had to hit the breaks harder than I'd have liked to make the turn up the access road. Five minutes later a friendly oak sign welcomed us to the resort village, a quaint little spot with a population of less than a thousand come spring. Streetlights, still adorned in holiday wreaths, winked on as the setting sun colored our side of the mountain in dusky purples.

Winter had been light this year, and with spring creeping further into the mountains day by day, there weren't many opportunities left to ski.

Quick as I could I ditched my bags in my room: a tiny, basic rectangle with cable, internet and a clean pillow, then changed into warmer clothes and headed to the slopes for the night skiing Nik raved about. Unfortunately I wasn't swift enough to stop cameras from flashing as I tucked my hair into my navy cap and clambered up the grated stairs to the lift.

Einar moved to address Uli as a nervous attendant asked for a photo, helped me with my skis since I couldn't figure out how to attach my boots to them, then pointed me towards the nearest lift chair, where my blue-eyed ex boyfriend waited with an amused grin.

His breath rose pale into the evening air. "You only have to go down once."

"Thank God," I said, hopping up to join him with a wary glance towards the peak, where the last rays of sunlight colored the snow orange. He leaned over to press cool lips on my cheek, and I felt the tiniest warmth in my chest as his scruffy chin tickled my neck. The lift jerked once, then began its slow ascent towards the stars. I tucked my exposed skin into the safety of scarf and coat and enjoyed the peace.

After a few minutes of quiet his hand came down on my thigh. "Skiing's pretty hard on the knees. You sure about this?"

"I've torn my ACL twice, but you know, I'm finally not afraid anymore, Nik." Not afraid of that, anyway. I kicked my feet into air. "Actually, I was thinking about running in the Boston Marathon next year."

As we passed under a soft light, fleeing shadows remembered how handsome Nik was. With a hat to cover his blonde hair, I had nothing to gawk at but strong cheekbones and pensive eyes. His brow had furrowed, his mouth dipping into a rare frown.

"So you're returning home to America then."

I leaned back as the wind whipped through our seats. "Let's save business for hot chocolate and a fireplace. If I die tonight I don't want my last conversation to be about politics. How tall is this mountain, anyway? My stomach is more knotted than it was on that Six Flags roller coaster."

"Four thou-"

My finger settled on his mouth as we passed a yellow sign about unloading. "Never mind. Just show me how to dismount."

He held back a chuckle as he checked me for loose clothing and angled my skis upward. "Come to the edge," he instructed as the ground rushed up at a quicker pace than I'd imagined.

With a "Now!" and a nervous shout on my part we unloaded.

The moment my skis lay flat on the snow I wobbled, listened to my instincts, and tried to stop. Nik couldn't escape quick enough, and down we went as our skis knocked together and sent us into the powder.

He wiped snow off his eyebrows, gently rolling me away from him so he could stand. I tugged the front ends of my skis out of the mini-drift they'd wedged themselves in, got the back stuck, and realized just how helpless I was with two giant planks strapped to my feet.

I sighed, stabbing my poles into the ground and dropping my hands between my splayed legs. "So it seems we've got a problem."

Miming surprise, he observed me, grin wider than the Cheshire cat moon rising over the skyline. "What's that?"

"I've fallen and I can't get up."