A COURT OF FROZEN HEARTS

Chapter 8

We walked until evening.

The Fox turned out to be… an inexhaustible chatterbox.

He talked non-stop. About everything and nothing. Told stories—half of which were clearly made up, but such vivid, colorful fabrications that I listened despite my exhaustion.

"…and then I said to Morphrost: 'Listen, buddy, if you want to steal spring from the Lady of Thorns, at least do it with some imagination!'" He walked backwards, gesturing wildly. "Know what he said?"

"What?" I jumped over a fallen tree, grabbing at branches.

"'Fox, if you call me "buddy" one more time, I'll freeze your ass and hang it as a decoration on a Christmas tree!'" He laughed. "Can you imagine? A Christmas tree! Though… that would be amusing. I'd look excellent as an ornament."

I shook my head, trying to hide a smile.

"You're impossible."

"Yes!" He bowed while walking. "I try my best."

He turned to face forward, leaping over roots with a dancer's ease.

"By the way, see that tree with red leaves?" He pointed right.

I looked. Among the bare trees stood one—with bright red, almost blood-colored leaves.

"I see it."

"Don't go near it." His voice turned serious. "That's the Blood Oak. It feeds on warm blood. Get too close—the roots will grab you, drag you underground. You won't escape."

Cold ran down my spine.

"Thanks for the warning."

The Fox froze. Slowly turned around, with a wide, predatory smile.

"Oh. You just said 'thanks.'" He rubbed his hands together. "Know what that means?"

I went cold.

Shit.

"You just created a debt," he beamed. "A tiny, minuscule one, but a debt!"

"I… I didn't mean to…"

"Ah-ah-ah, but you said it." He stepped closer. "Words have power, remember?"

I clenched my fists.

"Fine," he waved his hand, laughing. "I'm joking. I won't use it. Too small. Too boring." He winked. "But next time—be more careful."

We circled the tree in a wide arc.

"And there, see?" He pointed left, where something silvery gleamed between the trees. "A lake. Stagnant water. Don't drink from it. The Lake Maiden lives there. Very beautiful. Very hungry. Lures travelers, drowns them, devours them."

"Got it. Stay away."

"Smart girl!" He clapped me on the shoulder. "Quick learner!"

We walked on. The sun tilted toward the horizon, painting the sky in gray-violet tones.

It would be dark soon.

"We need to find shelter for the night," I said, looking around.

The Fox nodded.

"Agreed. At night here… unpleasant." He shivered. "Lots of things come out to hunt."

We found a place after about twenty minutes—a small crevice between boulders. Narrow, but deep enough to take shelter. The entrance could be defended.

I squeezed inside, looked around. It smelled of dampness and moss, but nothing living.

It would do.

The Fox remained outside, sitting on a boulder, dangling his legs.

"Cozy," he commented, peering inside. "Like a coffin, only more spacious."

"Such positivity," I muttered, taking salt from my backpack.

I started sprinkling it at the entrance in a thin line.

The Fox watched with interest.

"Salt? Seriously?" He snorted. "Think that'll stop something actually dangerous?"

"It stopped the White Lady," I snapped back.

"The White Lady's an idiot," he shrugged. "Old, slow, dumb. Any normal fae would just blow your salt to hell."

I froze, staring at him.

"Seriously?"

"Well… not exactly," he scratched his head. "Salt works. But only against the weak. Or if there's a lot of it. Now if you poured a whole circle, finger-thick—then yes, that would be protection."

I looked at the thin line I'd sprinkled.

Damn.

"How much do you have left?" the Fox asked.

I checked the packet.

"Less than half."

He grimaced.

"Little. Very little." He jumped off the boulder, came closer. "Listen, want some advice? Free, of course."

"What?"

"Don't waste salt on protection." He nodded at the line. "Save it for offense. Like with the White Lady. That works."

He squatted down, drawing with his finger on the ground.

"For protection, use something else. Iron, rowan, running water." He looked at me. "Save the salt. You'll need it again, trust me."

I hesitated, then nodded.

He was right. The salt was running out. I needed to conserve it.

I swept the salt back into the packet. Instead, I stuck iron nails around the perimeter of the entrance, hung rowan above my head.

The Fox nodded approvingly.

"That's better. Fae don't like iron. Really don't like it." He shivered. "Honestly, it makes me twitch."

I looked at the nails, then at him.

"Does it… hurt you?"

"Not hurt, but unpleasant." He stepped back further. "Like… like how you'd feel sitting next to an open fire. Doesn't burn, but it's hot. Uncomfortable."

Interesting.

"Then why don't you leave?"

He smirked.

"Because it's more interesting to sit here and watch what you're doing." He settled on a boulder several meters away. "Besides, I'm used to it. I can tolerate it."

I finished with the protection, sat against the far wall, pressing my backpack to my chest.

I took out water, drank. Then food—an energy bar and a handful of nuts.

Chewed slowly, feeling hunger retreat.

The Fox watched silently. Unusually silently.

"What?" I asked, catching his gaze.

"Nothing." He shrugged. "Just watching. You're… methodical. Careful. Doing everything right."

"Learning to survive," I muttered.

"And learning well." Respect sounded in his voice.

Silence. Only the sound of wind in the branches.

"Fox?" I called.

"Mm?"

"Will you… will you really just sit here all night?"

He tilted his head.

"What else should I do? I don't need sleep. I get bored at night." He grinned. "So yes, I'll sit, look at the stars, maybe sing songs."

"Please don't sing," I groaned.

"Why? I have a wonderful voice!" He looked offended.

"Because you'll attract the attention of everything hunting at night."

"Oh. Fair point." He nodded. "Fine, I won't sing. I'll just… sit. Quietly. Like a mouse."

I smirked, settling more comfortably.

I put the knife nearby, within reach. Closed my eyes.

Sleep at least a couple of hours. Tomorrow would be another long day.

"Hey," the Fox called.

"What?"

"When he comes…" His voice turned serious. "Morphrost. When he comes in your dreams. I won't be able to help. Understand?"

I opened my eyes, looked at him.

He sat on the boulder, looking off into the distance. His face unusually serious.

"Dreams are his territory. There I'm powerless." He looked at me. "So… sorry in advance that I can't intervene."

Something tightened in my chest.

"You… you would intervene? If you could?"

He shrugged, looking away.

"Maybe. Don't know. I like you. Would be a shame if he breaks you." A smirk. "It'd be boring."

I didn't know what to answer.

"Sleep," he said more softly. "I'll watch to make sure nothing living gets close. At least in reality I'll protect you."

"Than—" I caught myself mid-word.

Damn. Almost said it.

The Fox grinned.

"Ooh, almost got caught! But stopped in time. You're learning!"

I exhaled with relief.

"You can just nod," he suggested. "Or say 'understood,' 'heard,' 'okay.' Anything except 'thanks,' 'I'm grateful,' 'I'm obliged.'"

I nodded.

"Understood."

"That's better!"

I closed my eyes.

Exhaustion covered me like a wave. My body demanded rest.

Just a couple of hours. Just a little…

I fell into darkness.

***

The mist came as always—quickly, mercilessly.

White. Cold. Alive.

It filled the crevice in seconds, flowed around me, penetrated my lungs. I tried to hold my breath, but it was too late.

Cold struck from within, burning all warmth from my chest.

The world tilted.

And I opened my eyes.

***

Cold. Marble beneath my knees.

For a second I didn't understand where I was. My head spun, ears ringing. Then focus returned, and reality crashed down all at once.

The throne room.

A massive, endless hall with columns of black ice and a dome where alien constellations flickered. Thousands of candles with cold blue flames illuminated the space, casting long trembling shadows.

And sounds.

Music—the same as the first night. Harps, flutes, something stringed and ancient. Laughter. Voices in a melodic, inhuman language that sounded like song and threat simultaneously.

Fae.

The hall was full of fae.

Hundreds of them. In luxurious garments made from materials that didn't exist in the human world—dresses of moonlight, cloaks of mist, jewelry of frozen tears and crystallized stars.

They danced, drank, conversed. Their movements were too smooth, too graceful. Their laughter—too beautiful to be safe.

And I…

I was on my knees.

At the foot of the throne.

The cold of marble pierced through…

Wait.

Through what?

I slowly, with growing horror, looked down at myself.

And my heart stopped.

I was wearing almost nothing.

The fabric—if it could even be called fabric—was thinner than spider silk. Black, translucent, it resembled haze or morning mist. The bodice barely covered my breasts, leaving a neckline so deep that another millimeter and it wouldn't cover anything at all. Thin straps on my shoulders seemed on the verge of slipping.

My back was completely bare—I felt cold air on skin, from shoulder blades to the small of my back.

The bottom was a semblance of a skirt—long, yes, to the floor. But slit. On both sides the slits ran from hip to hem, so that with the slightest movement the fabric parted, exposing my legs completely, from hip to ankle.

There was no underwear.

None.

Every movement, every breath could expose what should remain hidden.

Jewelry—thin silver bracelets on wrists and ankles that jingled with each movement. Bells. They made quiet melodic sounds, drawing attention to my every move.

My hair was loose, falling on bare shoulders and back, but covering nothing—only emphasizing the nakedness.

I looked like… like…

A slave.

A concubine.

A toy for someone's entertainment.

Horror and humiliation flooded in a wave so strong it took my breath away.

My hands instinctively jerked to cover myself—breasts, hips, something.

But my hands didn't obey.

They froze at my sides, as if invisible bonds held them.

Magic.

I couldn't move my arms. Couldn't cover myself. Couldn't defend myself.

Only kneel, almost naked, under the gazes of hundreds of fae.

"No," I whispered, voice trembling. "No, no, no…"

Panic began to rise, overwhelming reason.

And then I felt weight on my neck.

Heavy. Cold. Relentless.

I slowly looked down—as far as I could without moving my arms.

A collar.

Wide, made of black metal with intricate silver patterns that wove into complex runes. It fit tightly around my throat—not choking, but I felt the pressure with each breath. Removing it was impossible—there were no clasps, locks, seams. As if it had been forged directly onto me.

From the collar stretched a chain.

Thick, heavy, each link the size of my fist. It clinked with the slightest movement of my head, echoing through the enormous hall.

Upward.

I followed the chain with my eyes—it stretched across the marble floor, up the steps, upward.

To the throne.

To his hand.

Caelan sat on a throne of bones and black ice. Casually, one leg thrown over the armrest, the other planted on the floor. He wore black trousers and a shirt, unbuttoned almost to the waist, exposing a chest with a scar across the heart—the only imperfection on a perfect body.

Hair loose, falling on shoulders in a silver waterfall. On his head—a crown of ice and thorns that glowed faintly in the dimness.

In his left hand—a goblet of black glass with something dark that smoked and shimmered like liquid night.

And in his right…

With his right hand he held the end of my chain.

Simply held it. Casually. The chain was wrapped around his wrist, the free end lying on the armrest.

As if it were natural. Normal. Ordinary—to hold a human on a chain, like a dog.

Our eyes met.

A second of silence.

Then he slowly, very slowly smiled.

Raised the goblet in greeting—almost mockingly—and took a long sip, not taking his eyes off me.

"Good evening, my dear," he said, and his voice rolled through the hall. "Glad you finally joined the celebration."

Horror exploded inside.

"NO!" I screamed, and my voice broke into a hysterical cry. "NO, NO, NO!"

I jerked, trying to tear off the collar. My hands, finally freed from magical paralysis, flew to my neck. Fingers scraped at the metal, searching for a clasp, an edge, anything.

Nothing.

Smooth, solid metal. It wouldn't budge.

"TAKE IT OFF!" I clawed at the collar, not feeling pain. "TAKE IT OFF NOW!"

Nails broke, skin on fingers split, but the collar remained in place.

The music cut off.

Conversations died.

Dancing froze.

All heads turned in my direction.

Hundreds of eyes—human, animal, completely inhuman—stared at me.

The silence lasted an eternity.

And then someone laughed.

Quietly. One voice.

Then a second joined. A third.

Laughter rolled through the hall—first like a stream, then like a river, then like an avalanche.

They were laughing.

All of them. Together.

The fae laughed, watching a half-naked girl on her knees, in a collar, scratching her neck bloody trying to free herself.

"Look at her!" exclaimed a woman with cat eyes and a long tail, approaching closer. Her dress of scales shimmered in the candlelight. "She thinks she can remove the collar!"

She circled me, appraising, like goods at a market.

"How naive!" Her clawed hand reached out, ran through my hair. "And how bold! Screaming at the king himself!"

I jerked away from her touch, but she only laughed.

"She even bites!" She showed the others. "Look, look! She has spirit!"

Others began to approach. Circle around me, like a pack of predators.

A man with horns leaned down, his breath scorching my cheek:

"Brave for a mortal. But foolish." His clawed finger ran along my shoulder, leaving a thin red line. "Very, very foolish."

Pain burned, but I didn't cry out. Clenched my teeth.

"How long will she last?" asked a lady in a feathered mask, circling me from the other side. Her dress rustled like wings. "I bet a week. Then she'll break and lick his boots like all the others."

"A week?" someone from the crowd snorted. "Three days! Maximum!"

"One!" shouted a man with a face half-hidden in shadow. "Look how she trembles! Weak!"

Bets. They were making bets on how long I'd last.

Hands reached from all sides.

Someone touched my hair—pulled, checking if it was real.

Someone ran a finger down my back—slowly, from shoulder blades to lower back, and I shuddered with disgust and cold.

A woman with snake eyes leaned down, her forked tongue flickering in the air, almost touching my cheek:

"Smells of fear. Delicious." She licked her lips. "Can I have a taste when the king's done playing?"

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" I lunged to the side, trying to crawl away, but the chain held firm.

The laughter grew louder. They were enjoying my fear.

Someone pulled at the bracelet on my wrist—bells jingled.

"Oh, hear that? She jingles!" a fae child with sharp teeth giggled. "Like a bell!"

He pulled again. And again.

The ringing echoed through the hall, and everyone began to clap in rhythm, laugh, cheer.

Humiliation mixed with fury, burning inside like poison.

"SHUT UP!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. "ALL OF YOU SHUT UP!"

The laughter only intensified.

Someone pulled at the slit in the skirt—the fabric opened, exposing my thigh completely.

I tried to cover myself, but my hands wouldn't obey again—magic bound them once more.

"Oh, look! She's embarrassed!" The cat-woman clapped her hands. "How sweet!"

"She'll stop soon," the horned man muttered. "They all stop. Get used to it."

"Or break," someone else added.

Tears burned my eyes, but I didn't let them fall. Not here. Not in front of them.

Caelan watched silently.

Didn't intervene. Didn't stop them.

Just sat on his throne, sipping from his goblet, holding the end of my chain in his other hand.

His face was calm. Almost bored. As if this were a performance he'd watched hundreds of times before.

As if he'd seen this scene dozens of times before me—other girls, other victims, who knelt at his throne, humiliated and broken.

Fury exploded, burning away fear.

The magic released my hands.

I lunged forward, despite the chain, despite the collar.

"YOU!" My voice broke into a scream, echoing from the vaults. "YOU BASTARD! ASSHOLE! I HATE YOU!"

The guests recoiled, parted, forming a corridor between me and the throne.

Caelan didn't even move.

Just watched. Waited.

As if he knew what would happen next.

I tried to stand—and couldn't.

My legs wouldn't obey. Magic held me on my knees, as if I'd grown into the marble.

"LET ME GO!" I clawed at the floor, pulled at the chain, tried to crawl toward him. "LET GO NOW!"

The chain clinked, bracelets rang, the skirt opened with each movement.

Guests laughed, pointed fingers, whispered.

And suddenly Caelan moved.

Slowly set the goblet on the throne's armrest.

Rose. Smoothly, like flowing water.

Descended the steps. Slowly. Each step echoed in the absolute silence that hung in the hall again.

The guests froze. Music died. Even the candles seemed to stop flickering.

He approached me.

Stood so close I could see every detail—sharp cheekbones that could cut glass, full lips curved in a slight smirk, eyes the color of winter sky with constellations in their depths.

He slowly crouched down to be on the same level.

His hand reached out, grabbed my chin—firmly, fingers digging into skin on both sides, forcing me to look directly into his eyes.

"You want me to let you go?" His voice was quiet. Cold. Dangerous. "Seriously?"

I tried to wrench my chin away, but his grip was iron.

"Fine." He smirked, and there was nothing kind in the smile. "Let's see."

He released my face, stood up.

Unwound the chain from his wrist.

And dropped the end on the floor.

The chain fell with a loud clang that rolled through the hall.