disappeared and they never knew what happened to me.”
Klaribel’s smile returned and Calia found herself leaning forward, hanging onto every word. “And then the king came down from his mountain and demanded a horse master. Everyone was horrified, acting as though he had demanded the blood from ten virgins. The most terrified, though, was a girl much younger than me. She was going to be picked and she knew it. She was already taller than the boys her age and her hair was so fair you could almost see through it. And it really did not help she stumbled over every word she spoke. I remember seeing her in the square, bawling her eyes out, clinging to her mother who was bawling her eyes out.”
“So what did you do?” Calia demanded even though she already knew the end of the story.
“So, I went home, packed my things, hid them in the barn and then waited in my room. My aunt came up the stairs, screaming at me to not even think about leaving and locked me in. I went out the window, picked my favorite horse and scattered the rest. And then I raced through town, breaking up their little meeting and pushed the horse as fast as it could run until I reached the castle.”
Calia sat back, stunned. “What about your father?”
Klaribel shrugged. “He got his horse back. He tried to get me back as well but the king refused and I was glad he did. I still am.” She saw the look on Calia’s face and grew a little defensive. “My dad had his choice. And he chose her side so I chose mine. I could not live my life in anger and despair so he could make his new wife happy.”
Iago smoothed a hand over hers and asked, “And how is your life now?”
She gave him a deep, genuine smile and leaned into his shoulder. “Happy and full.”
Calia suddenly saw what she had been missing. The brash stable master and the slight, limping gardener were together.
“Were you locked in the dungeon as well?” Calia burst out suddenly.
Klaribel cocked her head to the side. “I was, for a short time.”
“And yet you are grateful to our king? You… like him?”
“I do,” Klaribel said stoically. “I owe him my life.”
Suddenly Calia felt overly warm and confused. “Thank you for the story,” she mumbled and shoved up from her seat. “Please excuse me.”
“Calia,” Abelina called out but Marchello interrupted her.
“Let her go. The first year is so hard, especially for one who did not choose this. Let her go and think.”
Calia raced up the stairs, wiping her cheeks and found she had one more thing to thank the stodgy butler for.
She dove into her room, careful not to slam the door shut and stood with her back against it, tears streaming down her face. More comforts than she had ever had in her entire life at home were arranged before her. The fireplace blazed merrily just for her and the bed near it was also for her alone. The wardrobe was so full of clothes that it would barely shut. Even the bathing room was hers. All gifts from the king.
And she had friends, or at the very least people that were kind to her and did not pretend she did not exist—another thing she could thank the king for.
She had been terrified of him since the first day and while he wasn’t friendly or particularly kind he was the one that provided all of the warm, good things. He could have worked her to the bone like her mother did and scarcely give her a nights rest before demanding she be back up and doing it again. He could have assigned her impossible tasks and berated her in front of everyone when she predictably failed. He could have never given a kind word but always a sharp, cruel one. But he didn’t. Maybe the Cold King wasn’t a lot of good things but he wasn’t a lot of terrible things either.
Calia stood frozen against her door thinking these strange thoughts. She was a captive, a slave to the king. And all the merry people down stairs were slaves as well. “He locked you in a dungeon!” she hissed at herself, trying to bring
Klaribel’s smile returned and Calia found herself leaning forward, hanging onto every word. “And then the king came down from his mountain and demanded a horse master. Everyone was horrified, acting as though he had demanded the blood from ten virgins. The most terrified, though, was a girl much younger than me. She was going to be picked and she knew it. She was already taller than the boys her age and her hair was so fair you could almost see through it. And it really did not help she stumbled over every word she spoke. I remember seeing her in the square, bawling her eyes out, clinging to her mother who was bawling her eyes out.”
“So what did you do?” Calia demanded even though she already knew the end of the story.
“So, I went home, packed my things, hid them in the barn and then waited in my room. My aunt came up the stairs, screaming at me to not even think about leaving and locked me in. I went out the window, picked my favorite horse and scattered the rest. And then I raced through town, breaking up their little meeting and pushed the horse as fast as it could run until I reached the castle.”
Calia sat back, stunned. “What about your father?”
Klaribel shrugged. “He got his horse back. He tried to get me back as well but the king refused and I was glad he did. I still am.” She saw the look on Calia’s face and grew a little defensive. “My dad had his choice. And he chose her side so I chose mine. I could not live my life in anger and despair so he could make his new wife happy.”
Iago smoothed a hand over hers and asked, “And how is your life now?”
She gave him a deep, genuine smile and leaned into his shoulder. “Happy and full.”
Calia suddenly saw what she had been missing. The brash stable master and the slight, limping gardener were together.
“Were you locked in the dungeon as well?” Calia burst out suddenly.
Klaribel cocked her head to the side. “I was, for a short time.”
“And yet you are grateful to our king? You… like him?”
“I do,” Klaribel said stoically. “I owe him my life.”
Suddenly Calia felt overly warm and confused. “Thank you for the story,” she mumbled and shoved up from her seat. “Please excuse me.”
“Calia,” Abelina called out but Marchello interrupted her.
“Let her go. The first year is so hard, especially for one who did not choose this. Let her go and think.”
Calia raced up the stairs, wiping her cheeks and found she had one more thing to thank the stodgy butler for.
She dove into her room, careful not to slam the door shut and stood with her back against it, tears streaming down her face. More comforts than she had ever had in her entire life at home were arranged before her. The fireplace blazed merrily just for her and the bed near it was also for her alone. The wardrobe was so full of clothes that it would barely shut. Even the bathing room was hers. All gifts from the king.
And she had friends, or at the very least people that were kind to her and did not pretend she did not exist—another thing she could thank the king for.
She had been terrified of him since the first day and while he wasn’t friendly or particularly kind he was the one that provided all of the warm, good things. He could have worked her to the bone like her mother did and scarcely give her a nights rest before demanding she be back up and doing it again. He could have assigned her impossible tasks and berated her in front of everyone when she predictably failed. He could have never given a kind word but always a sharp, cruel one. But he didn’t. Maybe the Cold King wasn’t a lot of good things but he wasn’t a lot of terrible things either.
Calia stood frozen against her door thinking these strange thoughts. She was a captive, a slave to the king. And all the merry people down stairs were slaves as well. “He locked you in a dungeon!” she hissed at herself, trying to bring
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