Betrothed to Jack Frost (REWRITTEN)

8)There's a little truth to every story

A/N 
"Pity Party" by Melanie Martinez
*****

Aiden didn't say a word as he led Elle through the labyrinthine palace. They arrived at the opulent bedroom she had awoken in, a space so grand it put any luxury hotel to shame. Elle had been silent the entire way, her mind grappling with the absurdity of her situation. What could she possibly say when she'd just woken up engaged to Jack Frost, the same man who had tried to kill her the night before? The sheer improbability of it all made her feel like she was losing her grip on reality. Just thinking the words "engaged to Jack Frost" made her feel like she was spiraling into madness. Maybe all the stress from school and work had finally pushed her over the edge. She felt as if she sounded crazier than the homeless woman she often saw at Walmart, who talked to the loaves of bread in the aisle. The idea of attending a ball, as King Boreas had decreed, was as nonsensical as everything else she had been told. Who even holds balls anymore? In this surreal nightmare, the woman at Walmart seemed like a beacon of sanity.

As Aiden closed the large doors behind him, Elle threw her hands up in frustration. "I keep thinking this is some sort of crazy dream and that I'm going to wake up soon," she began, her voice tinged with desperation. She moved closer to Aiden, her eyes wide as she struggled to articulate her bewilderment. "The problem is, no amount of pinching is waking me up!" She waved her arms around in exasperation. Aiden looked like he was about to respond, but Elle cut him off. "Just yesterday, I was having dinner with Lucy! Today, I'm in what feels like a winter version of Hell. I must have lost my mind. I can't possibly be living this!" Her voice edged toward a near shriek as she fought to keep her composure. Panic was not ideal, but in this moment, she couldn't help herself.

Aiden watched her with an awkward expression, his mouth opening and closing as if searching for the right words. After a moment, he furrowed his brow and asked, "How much do you remember about the stories your dad used to tell you, Elle?"

Aiden's question seemed to catch Elle off guard. His nonchalant demeanor hinted at a deeper reason behind his query. Elle's mind raced back to her father's stories—tales of Greek gods, Egyptian deities, Chinese legends, and Norse mythology. Her father had been a passionate storyteller, and in his final years, his grip on reality had faltered under the weight of his illness. "He told me stories of myths and gods," Elle said, her voice tinged with melancholy. "He spoke of gods and monsters, but in his last two years, his chemo-induced confusion made him believe those stories were real." Elle shrugged, feigning a casual sadness.

Watching her father deteriorate had been heart-wrenching. The hospice staff had said he was barely coherent, lost in the haze of cancer and medication. Elle had listened to his ramblings but had never taken them seriously. To her, the monsters and magic he described were nothing more than childhood fantasies, like the imaginary creatures she once thought lived under her bed.

Aiden remained silent; his face unreadable. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair before finally speaking. "Look around you, Elle. What part of this seems mythical to you?"

Elle turned to survey her surroundings. The view from the bedroom window revealed a dizzying height, and the surrounding buildings sparkled with an otherworldly brilliance. They glimmered with silver and diamond-like materials, too clean and glamorous to be real. Elle took a deep breath. "So, you're saying everything I've been told is true? That I'm actually engaged to Jack Frost? And that Boreas is the King of—what was it?—winter?" The absurdity of saying these words out loud made her feel like she was losing her grip on reality.

"Yes," Aiden confirmed. "King Boreas has three children with Queen Orityia: the sons Calais and Zetes, and their daughter Khione."
"Good for him," Elle replied, her tone dripping with indifference. "But why am I engaged to Jack Frost? And when can I go home?" Her primary concern was returning to the familiarity of her home. Everything else seemed secondary.
Aiden sighed. "It's part of the story. Originally, Boreas planned for one of his sons to be his heir. On their eighteenth birthday, the son who could control winter would prove himself the rightful heir. But neither Calais nor Zetes had any control over winter."