Daggers of Ice

Chapter 18

Chapter 18:

The Northern Lands.

Arianna.

Arianna turned her head slightly; the diamonds that trailed from her ears tickled her neck where the plush white fur did not cover golden skin.

One hand tapped against the arm of her glittering throne, the other held the silver goblet, filled to the brim with crimson wine. Raising it to her lips she took a sip, watching as her council mingled before her, talking quietly amongst themselves.

They'd had many questions as to Myriel's absence; but that was to be expected when they'd not been privy to that conversation. The court had been awhirl when she'd left with the dryad and the northman, only to return with Faelar by her side.

Speculations, though they dared not utter them in her presence, ran rampant.

And it was for that reason that Arianna had used a young holly dryad to serve her wine; the saplings eyes beaming with the honour for all to see.

They would see that the dryads were still with them.

Another sip of her wine. It was not enough to even affect her mind, for it was diluted by the water she'd channelled into it.

She felt the tingle of magic the moment before the doors swung open; mildly irritated that she'd not felt it before.

She paused, the goblet to her lips as he entered in a swirl of dark cloak and fiery eyes, the woman behind him the serene kind of beauty that came from the stars.

But the man, he was dark and imposing and though she'd never seen anyone like him she felt the familiarity pull at something in her chest.

She would have remembered him had he entered her court before; well over seven feet tall he towered over even the minotaurs. He could have been taller than Jadis had been. With honey-coloured skin and mahogany hair he looked like one of the figures in her tapestries. Save for those crimson orbs that burnt into her own as she looked over the rim of her goblet; she would have said that he looked like her.

Her tapping finger stilled.

She heard Maccon's low growl, the werewolf's lips were pulled back viciously over sharp teeth. But Arianna's eyes did not leave the strangers', as his did not waver. She did not stand as he approached. Nor did he bow to her.

He stopped.

And there was silence.

The stranger swept his arms wide. "My Queen of Ice and Water, I bid you good morn," his voice was rich, like the summer sun. Cloyingly sweet; practised. Like Jadis when she wanted something. In the goblet she saw herself as he must have seen her, a young girl not yet in her twentieth year, a glittering circlet encasing her brow, sitting on a throne made for one much larger than she.

But he would not be able to defy the power that shone in her emerald gaze; for he had walked into her domain.

She could feel the fire in his veins, as she had water in her own.

He was a sorcerer.

A powerful one.

Far more powerful than the fool Tynan.

And everything within her body told her to run to him; or to run extremely far from him.

"They call me Corradyn, he of the Flame. And I have a proposition for you."

Corradyn. The name echoed through her mind, like a memory of a long forgotten dream. She knew that name. Intriguing. She raised her brows to show she was listening, but still she did not speak, looking down at him from her position upon the throne.