The Winter Kingdom

Chapter 2

Shivers coursed up her back, under her cloak. She felt as though she were standing at the edge of the ocean, and wave after cold wave was hitting her spine. Pinpricks of snow still clung to her jacket, melting rapidly in the new warmth of the entrance hall. Her ears echoed with the howling of the forest.

Even numbed by the frigid winter air, Agostina stared about in awe. The castle opened around her, as if carved into the mountain peak. The eyes of ten generations of rulers watched her from their stately perches on the grey stone walls. The ceiling rose in pointed arches over her head, and she shuddered to think she had walked into the mouth of the monster. Below her feet, a thick red carpet unfurled like a tongue, and the hanging light fixtures gnashed hungrily.

"Agostina please let go of me," Mama whispered. Agostina buried her face into Mama's dress, shaking her head.

"Ina," Papa warned. "You must stand up straight."

He guided her forward with a gentle hand on her back. She leaned away from him, correcting her posture until her back was almost arched. Papa shook his head, but didn't say anything else.

They stopped at the end of the entrance hall, and Agostina felt the glow of an unseen fire, pulsing from somewhere within. She was grateful for the heat, and began to peel off her gloves.

As she was prying off her left hand glove, a trumpet sounded. She jumped and Papa patted her shoulder with a small laugh. Agostina felt the blood rush to her cheeks.

"Remember what I taught you," he whispered.

Agostina stood up straight and plunged the gloves into her pocket. Next to Mama, her fear was alleviated only slightly. She wiped her sweaty fingers on the side of her jacket, which was growing warmer and warmer by the second. Agostina fought the strong urge to tug at her collar.

The family of three watched silently as a man, woman, and child descended the staircase in front of them. Agostina leaned a little closer to Mama. Mama's instinct prickled at the fear of her baby, and she enveloped Agostina's hand in hers. Her thumb traced a reassuring arc on the back of Agostina's hand. Without words, Mama told Agostina to breath and be calm.

The three people before Agostina looked like puzzle pieces that did not match. Her eyes fell first on the man. He was broad about the shoulders, with a very handsome face. She thought he looked like a prince from Papa's stories- though not like prince charming, because prince charming looked like Papa, of course.

This man was towering, his shoulders cloaked in an elaborate red robe. Beneath light brown hair, a face was caught between the progression of maturity and the energy of his teenage years. He had a smiling brightness in his copper eyes that welcomed the family eagerly.

Next to him was the queen. Her figure reminded Agostina of the tiny blown-glass hummingbirds in Mama's cabinet at home, their wings stretched thin and frozen in time. Her dress was even the same bright feathers of color, rich to the point that Agostina's eyes could get lost in them. She walked like a swan, her chamomile mane elaborately braided about the crown of her head. The lack of falling hair around her shoulders amplified the length of her neck, and the picture was completed by her thin aquiline nose.

Agostina's eyes finally fell on the boy. His raven hair was combed neatly, neither blond like his mother's nor rich brown like his father's. Agostina thought of the pines buried in snow, and the dark outlines of their shapes bruised into the horizon. The prince seemed to be drawn from the same palette of paint, by an artist equally cold. His skin was as pale as the snow clouds that pressed to the window outside, and even in the warmth of castle, there seemed to be a blueish tinge around his lips. Not a button of his clothes was out of place, and his shoes shined impeccably, catching light from a source Agostina could not see.

Agostina would have believed he were nothing but a sculpture of marble, if it had not been for his eyes. His eyes were the color of springtime grass, the same kind that welcomed Agostina in a nap on a brilliant afternoon. There were flecks of gold in them, and Agostina was delighted to think the flecks might be distant buttercups viewed from the high reach of her bedroom window, or the tangles of light that get caught in between the soft leaves of clover.

Agostina's father bowed deeply.

"Your Majesties," he said quietly. Then he turned to the boy and bowed again. "Your Highness."

Agostina and her mother curtsied, and the king stepped forward to speak with her father. He smiled as if greeting an old friend and not a lesser noble, his eyes wrinkling to accommodate the grin.

"Alexander, I'm so glad you have come! I take it the trip up was not as awful as it appears." The king's eyes darted playfully towards the window, where snowflakes taunted the walls in swirling patterns.

"Not at all Your Majesty. We just missed the storm, by grace."

Agostina fidgeted, and a loud squeak issued from under her boot. She paled as the king turned and looked down at her, but his expression did not seem to lose its effusiveness.

"My goodness! Can it be Agostina? I have not seen you since you were a baby."

"She has grown," her father replied, shooting Agostina an affectionate smile. Agostina curtsied again. It seemed the most appropriate thing to do.

The king laughed. "You have a beautiful family, Alexander. How are you Miss Amelia," he asked Agostina's mother.

"Very well, thank you Your Majesty. It is an honor to be a guest in your home."

"Nonsense," the king replied. "The honor is mine. I shall have a servant take you to your chambers. I've arranged for you to have a wing to yourselves. There's no need for you three to sacrifice the privacy of home."

The queen smiled at Agostina's mother, and the women exchanged brief pleasantries. Agostina was uninterested in the woman's swan neck, and the color of her dress was making Agostina dizzy, so she turned her attention to the young prince. He met her eye, but the look he returned was empty of the welcome warmth his father had extended. His emerald green gaze was tempered by a firm set expression in his lips.

Agostina turned to her mother and tugged on her sleeve.

"Mama?"

Amelia looked down, distracted. A brief unhappiness flitting across her face at being interrupted, but she tucked it away and affectionately touched Agostina's hair.

"What is it Agostina?"

"Where am I sleeping tonight?"

"I don't know darling," her mother replied. "Why don't you-"

"Henrik," the queen interrupted.

The young prince looked up at his mother. It was the most Agostina had seen him move since he stopped at the foot of the stairs.

"Take Miss Agostina to the playroom. Show her a game."

He bowed and then turned to Agostina, the look in his eyes recommending she follow.