The Cold King

CHAPTER TWO


CALIA SLEPT BUT IT WAS not restful. Nightmares of winter and diamond encrusted masks tormented her until she woke at daybreak in a panic, tangled in her bed clothes.

Breakfast was a silent affair and every moment reminded her of just how unwanted she was by everyone in the village.

“Show your sister how to complete her new duties,” was the only thing her mother said to her before she left for the market.

Calia fumbled through the chores, whispering explanations when needed. She could tell Moli was quickly overwhelmed and felt sorry for her, but not as sorry as she felt for herself.

Exhausted and grief stricken, she let herself collapse in the armchair while her sister attempted to fix dinner.

“I cannot do this!” Moli wailed from the kitchen.

“You’ll have to, dear. Because I won’t be here tomorrow to do it and Mother won’t accept failure.” Calia tried to warm her harsh words but her sister continued to sob. She got up and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Please do not cry. It’s not so hard; I know you can do it. And if you can do this well then in a few years you can be married instead of having to go to be the servant of the Cold King.”

Moli threw her arms around her older sister, surprising her and almost knocking her back against the counter. “I do not want you to go!”

Calia smoothed the girl’s hair down. “It’s going to be all right, I am sure that I will be fine—”

“No, not you, me! What am I going to do? I cannot be mothers slave!”

Calia’s hand stilled on her sister’s hair. It took her a moment to speak and when she did her voice shook with hurt and anger. “You aren’t going to be a slave. You are going to help mother until you are old enough to get married and have your own family. I am going to be slave in that cold castle until I die.”

Her younger sister sniffled and shook her off. “Well at least you won’t have to put up with mother anymore.”

Unable to tolerate any more unkindness, Calia left her sister to her own devices in the kitchen and didn’t even stir when smoke began to permeate the room.

Dinner was silent, the family picking at the burned remains of meat and vegetables on their plates.

Calia didn’t bother to attempt to eat. She stayed curled up on the small window seat until it was time for her to leave.

When the sun finally began to set, there were no gentle words of encouragement for Calia or well-wishers to see her off. She was given the rattiest cloak in the house and a broken basket to carry the few mementos of her family and life that she was allowed to take.

Her mother gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before shoving her out the door and slamming it shut.

Tears burned her eyes as she stood on the stoop of her former home and no matter how she steeled herself, her knees shook. It took everything in her to take the first step and then the next and the next. No one said anything to her as she passed by on wobbly legs. No one would meet her eye. Calia had never felt so small and unloved. Every moment of cold silence endured while forcing herself through the village stabbed her in the heart.

No one cared.

But the pain strengthened and numbed her. She did not pause as she set foot on the paved road to the castle. It climbed higher into the mountains and soon her calves burned and she gasped in the thin air but still she continued. Birds chirped happily around her and the setting sun gleamed, casting a glow on all of the frost covered trees. It seemed even nature did not care for her sorrow or pain, she noted dully.

As the road wound out between two high mounts, the castle suddenly loomed over the road in the near distance and Calia jerked to a stop, her ashen hair flying over her shoulders. Her new home appeared as cold and magnificent as its king. The cool grey stones of the massive structure blended in eerily with the mountain behind it. One lone spire stood above it all and she wondered if anyone was up there watching for her.

She rubbed her suddenly sweaty hands on her ragged cloak and swallowed hard. Calia hadn’t thought it possible to feel more out of place than she had at home but staring at the imposing castle made her reconsider.

In few minutes she would be at the castle to meet her king and his servants. She looked down at herself and grimaced. She couldn’t meet the king with tangled, sun bleached hair and tattered rags for clothes. Her face flushed with shame and she set her basket down to try to make herself presentable. With shaking fingers, Calia combed through her hair and twisted it into a bun.

Her fingers stilled as she thought. She always wore her hair twisted into a bun when she was cleaning, surely that couldn’t make the best impression. Calia started to take her hair down and stopped when a new thought came to mind – she was supposed to be a servant, so surely he would want her hair tucked up.

The bitter wind froze the tears into her eyelashes while she debated. Finally Calia admitted to herself she had no idea what the king truly wanted from her and wove her hair into the nicest braid she could manage before tucking the end under the collar of her ratty cloak. Then she wiped her face, straightened her dress, picked up her broken basket and took a deep breath.

Presentable or not, she had been chosen and he was stuck with her.

With grim determination she approached her new home and walked through the tall, iron gates signaling entrance into the king’s estate. Her steps echoed off the cobbled courtyard and before she was ready, a set of mammoth wooden doors stopped her monotonous steps. The air was cold and she shivered as the freezing wind whipped her hair and clothes while she paused to gather her courage. Her future was set whether she knocked on the door or not. But her heart still thrummed in her chest and she leaned her forehead against the smooth wood doors to catch her breath.

“He just wants a new servant, surely he cannot mean to harm me,” she prayed against the door.

Unexpectedly it gave way and she fell to her knees in a bright, cavernous hall. Shaken, Calia gave a bitter laugh and climbed to her feet to brush off her dress.

The emptiness was shattered by a quiet voice.

“Are you the one the village has chosen?” Calia jerked up and found herself only inches from another servant, a butler by the looks of him.

His black suit was pressed and clean and he held himself at perfect attention. A vaguely disdainful look was ghosting his face. The lines around his eyes did not seem to agree with his dark, perfectly combed hair and Calia struggled to guess his age. Older than her father would have been if he had lived, she decided. Not that she really cared how old the butler was, she just wanted to how long he had been at the castle.

The man raised a fisted hand to his mouth and gave a discreet cough. He was still waiting for an answer.

Calia could only nod.

“Then follow me.” He turned on his heel and strode down a long hallway. The man was large and strong and Calia struggled to keep up. It did not help that everything caught her eye. The corridor was tall and wide with creamy white tiles and white walls interrupted by giant beveled glass windows. The last of the setting sun’s rays pierced the windows at an angle that fractured them and sent tiny sparks of color over everything. Paintings and decorations were sparse and everything gleamed in the bright whiteness. While it was very beautiful it also seemed very cold.

The butler stopped abruptly and Calia collided with his wide back. She heard him give a little sigh before he turned to rest his hand on an elegantly carved door. “Our king will see you now. Please try to remember whatever manners you possibly possess. And you will curtsey.”

Calia nodded again. Her dry mouth would not let her get a word out. With another exasperated sigh he opened the door and ushered her through.

Calia stumbled over the threshold and jumped when the door shut behind her. She looked around and her eyes found the raised throne at the end of the long room but it was empty. Cautiously she set a foot on the cream carpet running along the perfectly polished floor. The theme from corridor had continued into the room and the weak sunlight glaring in through the windows was magnified by the white walls and it burned her eyes.

She squinted to see better and inched along the runner until she stepped into the shadowy alcove encasing the throne. Calia rubbed her sore eyes and gasped when she opened them. The previously empty throne now had someone in it.

She stood rigid with shock before remembering the butler’s command. With a little hesitation she dropped into a curtsey so low she stumbled and almost fell. Cursing silently, she righted herself and kept her watering eyes on the floor.

“You may rise,” a cold, bored voice rang out. She flinched but there was no option of resisting. She forced herself up and slowly took in the Cold King.

Shining black boots rested only feet from her brown faded ones and her eyes rose without the permission of her mind. The king’s breeches were perfectly pressed and a snow white shirt peeked out from his dark, embellished jacket.

Calia forced herself to continue to look up and take in his face.

His chin was strong and smooth, centered perfectly under his strong jaw. His ruby mouth gave no hint of a smile or frown and her stomach lurched.

She had hoped to read his eyes, prayed to find some kindness in them but they were hooded by the mask covering the top half of his face. It seemed to be the same one he had worn the day before and up close she could see the surface was encrusted in diamond chips. It should have been beautiful but the cold, glinting perfection of the mask only terrified Calia. It covered not only his face but his emotions as well and she could not read him. Even his dark waves of hair framing the mask did nothing to soften his look.

It was several, horrible moments before the Cold King spoke again.

“What is your name?” he asked, drawing the words out. If he was staring at her she couldn’t tell but the skin between her shoulders was prickling painfully.

“Calia Thorne,” she whispered, then hastily added, “Your Majesty.”

The king cocked his head to the side and his terrifying mask gleamed with tiny rainbows. “Little Thorne?” he mused, correctly guessing the meaning of her name.

“Yes, Your Majesty. My mother said I was always kicking and poking into her ribs when she carried me inside her.” Nervousness loosened her jaw before she could snap it shut again.

He leaned forward a fraction of an inch. “Your mother referred to you as a thorn in her side before you were even born?”

Calia nodded as old hurt washed over her.

“I see. So you chose to come here,” he assumed.

Her voice failed her and she shook her head.

“No? Your mother must have some very redeeming qualities.” A ghost of a smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “Or you just really did not want to come here.” When Calia did not respond he continued. “Tell me, why did they choose you?”

Calia faltered, not sure how to answer him. “I suppose because I am excellent at cleaning and housekeeping and—”

“Perhaps you are. But why did they really send you?”

Fear and a hint of anger stirred in her breast. Not only had he made her a slave, he wanted to humiliate her.

She squared her shoulders and gave him the truth. “Because I am ugly and no one will ever want to marry me. No matter how useful I am my mother doesn’t want me around forever and no one else would want to take me.” Tears pricked her eyes and she furiously blinked them away.

Calia absolutely hated that she cried when sad, hurt, angry or happy and resolved once again to banish the embarrassing behavior. Again, she failed.

The king sat for a moment, tapping the edge of his hateful mask. “I see. Well, I should hope to find you as useful as you claim. You are to be my personal servant and will attend to my every need.”

Calia gasped and jerked back, her body filling with fear and shame.

But the Cold King just frowned at her. “Do not be ridiculous. You are a child. An ugly child.”

His unkind words soothed a little of her fear and she took a steadying breath.

The king continued. “You will attend me from sun up to sun down. You will bring me my meals, clean my rooms, care for my wardrobe and fetch anything I require. You will also attend me during any meetings I may have.” Calia’s skin tingled painfully and she could tell he was looking her up and down. “I see we have some work to do in order to make you presentable. But first… Come with me.”

Calia jerked back as he rose from his throne and swept past her. He was taller than she had thought, as well as quick and graceful. He radiated a strength and confidence she could never hope to possess.

The king was at the door before she could force her legs to move and she struggled to keep up. He left out the door the opposite way she had come in and led her further into castle. He didn’t pause before starting down a winding, stone stairway. The air chilled considerably as they descended and she wrapped her cloak a little tighter around herself. The king said nothing, just skipped lightly down the stairs until they opened into a gloomy, low ceiled room.

Calia pulled to a stop on the bottom step. “But I thought…” Her voice and resolve crumbled as she looked around. Five wooden doors held shut by wide metal bars lined the room. Each had a small slot in the center and bucket next to it.

“First,” the Cold King said, “you must learn that I am now your master.”

“But I know that,” Calia protested.

The king turned around and she was struck again by his cold perfection. “I am your master and you are my servant. From now on, anything you have or possess is only because I choose to give it to you.” He reached for her and she stumbled back and fell onto the stairs.

“Please do not do this,” she begged but he ignored her pleas and grabbed her arm. She had no strength to struggle or fight as he pulled her up and to the closest door. With an improbable ease he flung up the bar and the door swung open to reveal a cold, stone cell with clean straw and a bucket in it.

“It’s best this way,” the king said softly.

“How long do I have to stay in here?” she cried.

“Until I let you out.” He let go of her arm and she tried to back away. With a sigh he pushed her into the cell and she stumbled to her knees. Something landed on the floor beside her. “The first gift I give to you is a blanket. You are going to need it; it gets quite cold in here.” And with that he shut the door. The slamming of the bar echoed in the small cell.

Calia stayed where she was, frozen on her hands and knees, her unseeing eyes pointed at the floor. His cruelty was beyond what she had imagined and burned out any hope she had left. The straw crinkled under her as she got to her feet to look around. There was one high, thin window with only metal bars to keep the cold air out. Calia wrapped her cloak a little tighter around herself and inspected the rest of the room. It was small, low, cold and grey but one wall held a curious amount of exposed pipes and a very awkward seat. After a long moment she grasped the use of it and stared in wonder. She had never even heard of such an implement. But her fascination was short lived.

Why had he locked her down here? How could she possibly do all of the things he wanted her to if she was in a cell all the time? Maybe this was where she was to stay when not serving him.

The last of the light faded and she was left in the dark room alone. Her heart and mind were empty and she could not even cry. Calia pressed all the straw into the corner furthest from the window and settled in, pulling the blanket over herself. When her eyes slid shut she did not fight it and fell into an anguished sleep.

Morning came and she awoke to the same painful reality. Calia wiped at her gritty eyes before rubbing her temples. The throbbing in her head would not let her reason out how she had gone from living with her family to being imprisoned by the Cold King in one short day.

Loud, slow footsteps began to echo down the stairwell and into her cell. She stood up as the bar thumped against the door and it swung wide open. The king stepped through, balancing a tray on one hand and steaming bucket of water in the other.

“Good morning,” he said blandly. “I hope you slept well.”

Calia’s mouth dropped open. “You cannot really mean that,” she finally stammered out.

He set the bucket down and the tray on top of it. “That I hope you slept well? Do you think I wish you ill?”

Her cold fingers ached in protest as she squeezed her hands into tight fists at her sides. She could barely make out his eyes flashing down to them and back up to her grim face. “Yes. I do believe you mean me harm. I came here to be your servant and you locked me in the dungeon.”

The king waived her words away as if they were of no importance. The hateful mask only intensified the impression that he did not care. “I do that to everyone. It eases the transition.”

Calia bit her lip to keep her ugly retort back. He regarded her for a moment then nodded with what seemed to be satisfaction. “I brought you breakfast and some water to wash up with.” Then he turned on his heel and walked back out, slamming the bar down again.

Hot, bitter tears pricked her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. “How very kind of you,” she said under her breath.

Calia waited all day for him to come back but he did not return until well after sunset. The door thudded open again and the king stepped in with another tray of food. Calia’s stomach growled loudly and she pressed her hands down over it to quiet the noise as her mouth flooded with anticipation. The breakfast he had brought earlier was better than anything she had ever eaten. The flaky, buttery croissant drizzled with honey had almost put a smile on her face.

The Cold King said nothing, just set the new tray down and took the old one. Calia watched him warily. He was completely out of place in her dreary stone cell. His black suit was so fine it seemed to gleam in the poor light and his white shirt was almost blinding. The hateful mask was still in place and mocked her situation with its sparkling beauty.

Calia had washed with the water the king had brought that morning but there was nothing she was ever going to be able to do to compare to him.

He left and slammed the door behind him without a word. Calia sat in her rags, shivering with the blanket wrapped around her shoulders and realized she was no longer hungry.

Sniffling, she pulled her hair over her shoulder to inspect it. Working outside in the garden and constantly running errands for her mother had bleached her already light hair to almost white. As much as she tried to cover up and wear a hat, it always fell off or got in the way. The sun had darkened her skin as well and for most of the year freckles spotted her cheeks and nose. Add in her unusually dark eyes and thin frame and she was indeed a very ugly child. Everyone said so.

When she was younger she had tried to darken her hair and lighten her skin and wore layers of clothing to try to blend in with other girls but the effect was so comical people still brought it up years later.

Pain and loneliness overwhelmed her and she turned her back on the food to curl in a ball on the floor.

When the Cold King came the next morning she did not stir. She heard him pick up the old tray but then there was a long moment of silence.

“You didn’t eat what I brought you,” he finally said.

Calia didn’t respond and there was another long moment of silence. “You will stand in my presence and respond when spoken to. You will also eat the food I bring to you.”

Calia turned her head to glare at him. “I wasn’t hungry, thank you.”

His mouth turned down in anger. “You are already too thin. You must eat. I do not care if you are hungry or not. And you will stand in my presence. I do not tolerate insolence.”

Calia waited for whatever punishment he had in mind but he just turned on his heel and left. She stared at the door for a long time, her hatred for the king burning hot inside her. After a while, her traitorous stomach growled and she approached the tray as if it were a rabid animal. But under the fine silver cover was just a plate filled with tiny, spiraled pastas covered with a thick, meaty sauce. She ate every bite.

When the king came that night he brought company. The two of them talked as they came down the stairs, their warm voices bouncing into her cell. She could hear something banging along the hard floor and fear flooded her. Was she to be punished for her earlier defiance? What sort of punishment required assistance and an instrument of some sort?

When the door opened she was up and pressed against the wall furthest away. The Cold King entered carrying… a table?

Fear made her eyes swim until a lithe young man followed with two chairs and arranged them in the center of the cell. The men ignored her as she shivered against the wall. Finally the king took one seat and the young man bowed before leaving without even a glance at Calia.

She watched the king sit at the table as he seemed to wait for something. She didn’t move, didn’t utter a word as she waited with him. Finally another man entered the cell. He was different from the first, dark and tall with kind eyes, and he brought two trays of food. He arranged them on the table and bowed to the king. “Can I get you anything else, Majesty?”

The king waved him away. “No thank you, Cato. This will be fine.”

When the man, Cato, straightened up he looked to Calia and gave her a sympathetic smile. Calia jerked her eyes away from him and were instantly drawn back to the bright mask. She suddenly realized she was beginning to truly hate it.

“Won’t you sit?” the king asked as he unfolded a silk napkin over his lap.

Calia cautiously inched over to the table and perched on the edge of the free seat. She did not touch her napkin, just stared at the king.

He gave a little sigh. “I see we are going to have to work on your manners. This will never do at any dinner I host.”

Calia said nothing, just watched him remove the cover from his tray. The smell of roast meat and vegetables filled the room and Calia’s mouth filled with saliva. But she didn’t move to lift the cover from her own tray.

“I can see you are hungry,” the king said. “Why won’t you eat?”

Calia could only shrug. She knew she was being horribly rude, although she considered locking someone in a dungeon much ruder than poor table manners.

The king shrugged back, mocking her. “No matter. You will eat eventually. I saw you ate your lunch.”

With a little sigh Calia pulled her own napkin onto her lap and took the cover from her tray. The same delicious meal had been prepared for her as well and the shock must have shown on her face.

“Did you expect a heel of bread?” he asked before taking a bite.

“I suppose I did,” she said quietly.

He smiled at her response. “I treat my servants very well.”

Anger swelled in her. “Really? Do they all have to sleep in cold dungeons as well?”

“At first they did. Now they all have fine rooms.”

She fought between shoving the food into her mouth and asking more questions. Curiosity won out, as it usually did with her. “Why?”

He toyed with a carrot before answering. “It eases the transition.”

Calia barely resisted rolling her eyes. “Well, if I fail to be at ease in this cold cell, you’ll have to forgive me.”

He did not rise to her baiting. “Your old life is over, you must accept that. The sooner you do, the easier it will be to begin your new life here. I require utmost loyalty and obedience and I cannot get that from servants who still yearn for their old home or life or family.”

Calia began eating to give herself time to think. She assumed some of the chosen people would have tried to run but the penalty was death, so it could not have been many. And as unhappy as she was, she did not wish for death. “So you lock them up for a few days to make sure they don’t run?” she asked around a full mouth of hot vegetables.

The king sighed and shook his head a little. “That is part of it. It gives the new servants a safe harbor to sort out their new lot in life without the danger of giving into panic and running.”

“How very kind of you,” she said with a purposely full mouth. She knew she was being disgusting but it was worth it to get a dig back at her captor.

“What will you miss most?” the king asked suddenly, interrupting her thoughts.

“My freedom,” she said without hesitation.

He cocked his head to the side. “Not your parents? Your family? What about friends?”

“I did not have any friends. My father is dead. My mother used me as her chore girl and then threw me away as soon as my younger sister was deemed eligible for the job.” She did not mean for such bitterness to ooze from her words but it did.

“I see,” he said quietly. “And you said you had no prospects for marriage?”

“Correct,” she bit out.

The king nodded and leaned back in his chair, his dinner finished. “In time you will come to find all of my servants have been cast out in some way and have come to be very happy here. I know you find this process cruel but it’s best to break all of the bonds from your old life before moving forward.”

“Like I told you, I do not have any.”

“I wasn’t finished,” he said, and Calia could hear a cold anger in his voice. She shivered and snapped her mouth shut. “That’s the first reason for this. The second is that must learn to depend on me for everything. Everything you will have, I will give to you. If you do not have something, it’s because I chose to withhold it. I demand perfect loyalty and obedience and I get it from the servants that come to rely on me entirely.”

Calia’s stomach twisted with fear. The man was clearly sick. He wanted to break her down and build her up into something that would worship him. ‘No,’ she vowed to herself. She would serve him as required but he would never have anything more from her than that.

The king was still speaking and she struggled to process his words. “You will be generously rewarded for your service and in time, I believe you will be happy. As my personal servant, I will rely on you most heavily so it’s important we build the correct relationship from the start.”

Calia nodded numbly. She was going to spend the rest of her life tied to this mentally ill man. Leaving him would mean her death and staying could mean the destruction of her heart and mind. Tears pricked her eyes and she was relieved to see him stand from the table and go to the door. “Soon,” he promised before he shut the door and slid the bar home.

“Yes,” she promised herself. “Soon.”

When the king returned in the morning he was surprised to find Calia in such an improved state. She had washed, straightened her clothing and brushed all the dirt from it. Her hair was free from hay and snarls and woven back into a braid. Sitting at the table she looked a little less like a ghost of a girl.

“My talk seems to have done wonders for you,” the king told her.

“Yes,” she forced herself to say. “I am ready to begin my new life.”

A smile twitched over his lips. “I see. Such newfound resilience, it’s very admirable.”

Calia shifted uncomfortably in her chair. She thought he would be happy to see her ready to take on her duties.

Without another word he took the trays from their dinner and left a new one. Her heart sunk. She had thought he would let her out.

He must have seen it on her face. “I will know when you are ready to come out, have a little trust in me.” And with that, he left.

Calia sat in stunned anger for a moment before forcing down every bite of food he had left. For good measure she drained the water glass. Afterward she tidied up what she could and resumed her waiting.

At nightfall the slot in the door opened and a tray was shoved through. Surprised, Calia grabbed it before it could crash to the floor.

“Hello?” she called.

Her only answer was the echo of footsteps on the stairs. She worried over this new development as she ate. Did he suspect she was holding back? How could he know? And why did he care? So long as she served him and was loyal it could not make a difference how she felt about it.

But it must have made a difference to him because he did not come to her in the morning. Instead, another tray was shoved through the slot in the door and again she barely caught it. The trays and dishes were beginning to pile up and Calia itched to clean them, to clean herself, to put on fresh clothes.

In the evening a third tray was shoved through door and it brought Calia tears of frustration. Why hadn’t the king come back? Did he find a new servant, someone better than her? Was he going to leave her in the cell forever?

When the slot opened to admit another tray the next morning Calia was ready. “Please let me out!” she cried, trying to get a glimpse of the king. The tray almost crashed into her face and she hastily grabbed it and set it on the floor. The slot was closed again when she looked back up. “Please, I am ready!” she screamed at the door.

The footsteps hesitated but did not stop.

Panic filled her and she banged on the door and tore at the handle. It didn’t move and neither did the little metal door covering the slot. Crazed with fear, she attacked the giant metal pins holding the door to the frame but they would not budge. She continued to dig at them until her fingers were slick with blood and the door was stained with dark rusty patches everywhere she thought it might have a weakness. Finally she gave up and collapsed in front of the door, exhausted and spent.

Weak sunlight woke her later. After one blissful moment of not knowing what was going on, her memories flooded back in and she struggled to her feet. Pain lit up her fingers and hands when she tried to shove off the floor and she fell back down with a sharp cry.

Her nails were torn and ragged and caked in blood and she slowly remembered tearing at the door in a frenzied panic. Careful not to use her hands, Calia got up and made her way to the bucket of water. Raw pain rocked her as she submerged her wounds. She left her fingers in the water as long as she could tolerate before fisting them in the blanket. Though she felt destroyed on the outside, inside her mind was calm and logical. She would wait until the king brought her a meal again and then she would shove her hands through the slot to show him she needed to be let out. He had to believe her, he had to help her.

But her breakfast did not come the next morning and the dinner tray did not come in the evening. She sat in a chair at the door for hours, waiting for him to come.

When the sun set and she was left in perfect darkness she began to wonder if he had forgotten her. Or maybe he just did not want her for his servant and was going to leave her until she died.

Panic welled again and she forced it back. Her hands were already swollen and throbbing with pain, she did not need to injure them further. Eventually she drifted off, her chin slowly dropping to her chin.

She stayed that way, in the dark, for a long time.