The Cold King

CHAPTER NINE


CALIA WAITED IMPATIENTLY FOR THEIR guests and finally, just before dusk, a long train of black coaches came rattling into the cobbled courtyard. She watched from the window as they pulled to a stop and the drivers jumped down to help the cloaked figures out.

She ran to the king’s room and found him waiting. He stood just inside the door, wearing a perfectly black suit over his silken white shirt. He had freshly shaved and his face looked almost boyish until her eyes wandered back up to the mask. In the growing darkness the rubies seemed to glow.

Calia swallowed hard and reminded herself it was still the same Cold King in there, not some new monster.

With shaking legs she went to stand behind and slightly to his right and followed him out of the room and down the stairs. The hours of practice hadn’t been for naught as she found her knees strengthening, her spine straightening. She smoothed her face, wiping away any trace of emotion and tilted her chin up.

The guests stood in the entryway. Standing in the forefront was a man both older and taller than the king. But his red, bulbous nose and ugly streaks of coarse grey in his otherwise dark hair dulled what had probably been good looks in his youth.

Two girls, both appearing to be near the same age as Calia, stood behind the man. Calia compared their upturned noses and heart shaped faces and determined they must be sisters. They had the same dark hair as the man but clearly had taken after what must have been a beautiful mother. The older one stood ramrod straight and fixed her eyes on a point above all their heads while the younger simpered and batted her lashes at the Cold King.

Calia barely kept from glaring at her. Was she insane? Batting her eyes an immortal mad man that hid behind his demon masks? But she kept her face smooth and stopped when the king stopped, the perfect servant.

The ugly man bowed deeply. “King Valanka,” he said, his deep voice rumbling. Calia’s brow furrowed for an instant. She hadn’t known the Cold King had a real name, she had never thought to ask. Or perhaps the title ‘The Cold King’ suited him so perfectly she had just never wondered.

Her king returned the man’s bow with a shallow one of his own. “King William, what a pleasure to have you here. To what do I owe the honor?” His voice was bright but flat.

King William rose up with a grin on his face. “Please, let me introduce my daughters.” He gestured and the older one came forward stiffly, still not looking at anyone. “My eldest, and soon to be married, Sola.” The young woman curtsied and quickly stepped back, never meeting eyes with Calia or her king. The younger sister eagerly took her place and dipped a low curtsy, putting her surprisingly ample cleavage on display. “And my youngest, my jewel, Justine.” The girl curtsied again and her dress strained to contain her chest.

Calia heard a quiet, exasperated sigh come from the king.

“Lovely to meet you both,” he said in that same, false voice. He turned back to their father. “You are very welcome here. My staff has prepared a meal. Perhaps you and your daughters would like to freshen up before hand?”

“You are too generous, King Valanka,” the man said. The grim twinkle in his eye made Calia uneasy.

Marchello gave a discreet cough and led the unwanted guests away.

Calia was brimming over with questions but held her tongue and followed her king into the main dining room. He plopped down onto one of the casual couches as if already exhausted. Calia, not forgetting her role, poured and served him a glass of wine. “Anything else, my lord?” she murmured.

He said nothing for a long moment, just swirled the dark drink in his glass. “What do you make of our guests, Calia?”

She started a little at that. She wasn’t sure he had ever said her name before.

“Speak plainly,” he commanded.

Needing no further invite, she laid out her impression. “He doesn’t seem as nice as he wants you to think. His older daughter is terrified of you and the younger is a floozy.”

The king turned to her with a smirk. “Very good. You will find I will come to rely on your impressions of my guests and our conversations. You seem to have a natural talent for reading people but I think you are wrong on one account. Watch closely tonight and when this dreadful evening is over we’ll discuss it.”

Calia nodded then straightened up as she heard the clicking of heels coming down the long hallway. The Cold King groaned then stood.

Marchello seated the guests for dinner and Calia watched closely from her spot behind the king. King William poured his wine freely and was soon noticeably louder and more boisterous. His oldest girl, Sola, sat perfectly straight in her chair, neither eating nor drinking. Her eyes cut over to her father every time he opened his sloppy mouth and Calia began to wonder if it really was the Cold King she feared. She had yet to acknowledge him even though she sat next to him.

The younger girl was a nauseating show. She had changed into an even more daring dress that squeezed her chest up and out, like a flabby shelf. The only thing more pushy and offensive was her hair. Great piles of looping curls perched precariously on her head and drooped down to her bare shoulders. She simpered and smiled and tittered and blinked more than she did anything else. Calia wanted to slap her then cover her up.

The meal seemed to last forever even though nothing of importance was discussed, as far as Calia was concerned. King William regaled the Cold King with tales of a virulent firstborn, a son. He referred to his wife numerous times as ‘built for birthing sons’. Not to leave his children in tow out of the bizarre compliments he pointed out all their remarkable feminine charms while Sola sat like a stone and the younger giggled.

“Now,” the king said drunkenly, “my Sola here is quite spoken for. I had to beat the men off with a stick! It took sometime but I finally found the perfect husband for her.” He sighed dramatically. “And now, so soon, I have to do it for my precious baby. It’s heartbreaking, really, to have to give a child up, even for marriage. So what’s a father to do other than make sure she has the best match?”

The Cold King murmured a reluctant agreement and William seemed to find that encouraging.

Finally the meal dragged to an end. “Surely your fair and delicate daughters need their rest after such a strenuous trip,” the Cold King said through gritted teeth after the other man failed to get his more polite attempts at ending the occasion.

“Ah yes, so soon,” the drunken king said. “And I fear we must be off again tomorrow. But there is one matter I should like to discuss before we leave.”

“Of course. I would be happy to hear you in the throne room before you leave in the morning.” From her vantage point, Calia could see his lie in the tightness of his shoulders.

Marchello appeared to lead the ‘guests’ back to their rooms. As soon as they were out of the dining hall Calia let out long pent up breath.

The king, Valanka, she reminded herself, turned to catch her eye. “My sentiments exactly.”

“Do you have to do this sort of thing all the time?” she asked warily.

He gave a weary laugh and stood from his chair. “Yes, much more than I would like to. Come, let us have our discussion in private before you retire for the night.”

Calia followed him back up the stairs, still trying to play the role of a perfect servant. But once through the doorway of his rooms she could do it no more and kicked her shoes off with a sigh of relief and slumped into her chair.

The king eyed her curiously but did not berate her.

“My feet hurt,” she said defensively. “You try standing in a corner for hours in shoes like that.”

“I do not have to. I am the king,” he said drily. “Now tell me what your impressions are after that lovely meeting.”

Calia settled back in her chair and gathered her thoughts. “The father is a boisterous drunk. His older daughter is afraid of him, not you, and the younger one is still a floozy.”

The Cold King laughed and took the chair next to her.

“What else?”

Calia frowned. “Well, he spent most of his time bragging about his family.”

“About what in particular?”

Calia shuddered. “His virulent son, his big hipped wife…He really is trying to marry off the floozy. To you?”

The king nodded, not taking his eyes from the low fire.

“But why? Surely he wouldn’t want his daughter tied to you for the rest of her life,” Calia sputtered. “I mean, you never take off that mask, you will never die.” She winced, suddenly realizing what she had just said.

“I am going to pretend not to be incredibly insulted. But yes, he is trying to marry her off to me.”

“But why?” Calia pressed.

“Because I am wealthy, I am seemingly immortal, I keep the peace, I get whatever I want.”

Calia shrugged. “But surely he wants more for his daughter than that.”

The king sighed. “Think, Calia, and not with your kind little heart. Think with that sharp little mind I know you have hiding somewhere in there. It’s not about what he wants for his daughter; it’s what he wants for himself.”

“A powerful ally?” she guessed.

“Exactly. He wishes to align himself with me. In a way that I could not undo should I grow tired of the backward and sometimes evil way he runs his country.”

“So he would just offer his daughter up like some kind of tempting bait?” She shuddered again.

“I wouldn’t call her tempting. And I also wouldn’t count her out of the scheming. She should be frightened of me and yet she acted like a strumpet.”

“But what would she get? Other than you,” Calia added hastily.

“Wealth. Her own castle and staff to boss around. Freedom from her father.”

“That’s disgusting,” Calia finally commented.

He just shrugged. “That’s life. I’ve been avoiding scummy men throwing their viscous daughters at me for years.”

His words reminded her of his earlier promise. “How many years?”

“Three hundred.”

Calia gasped and twisted in her chair to face him. “You are three hundred years old?”

“No, I was cursed three hundred years ago. I was twenty three when it occurred.”

“Who did it? Why?” Calia demanded.

The king got up and poured two glasses of wine. Calia looked up with surprise when he handed her one but he just sat back down in his chair and kicked his feet up.

“My father did.” He fell silent for a moment and Calia bit back all her questions. She could not see his face but clearly it was a hard story for him to tell.

“My father was the king then. He was a wonderful ruler. Everyone loved him. He was fair and kind to all his people. No one went hungry, we never went to war. He was harsh but just. Those are easy qualities to appreciate in a king but much harder to appreciate in a husband or father. He had no time for us, no time for my mother and sister. When I was seven and my sister eleven our mother fell ill and did not have the spirit to rally against it. She died without the comfort of her husband, as he was too busy being king.” He leaned his head back against the chair and his eyes slid closed under his mask. “That was when I first began to hate him, but it wasn’t until years later that I truly reviled him.” Calia leaned closer, taking in every word.

“When my sister was just fourteen he pledged her to be married to a king from a neighboring land. He was a vile fifty year old man that had already been through three wives. He was stupid and brutish and clung to his post with the aplomb of a rabid dog. My sister was terrified and begged my father not to make her marry him but he did anyway.” The king fell silent again.

“Why?” Calia asked. “How could he do that to his own daughter?”

The king huffed. “He said he was doing it for the good of everyone, that if he tied the two kingdoms together he could use his influence to improve the lives of the people living under the king.”

Calia bit her lip. “How very…noble?”

The king shook his head. “No, it was selfish. The neighboring kingdom was a drain on all of us surrounding it. So my father offered up my sister as a sacrifice to gain some control and improve the crumbling situation.”

“What happened then?”

Calia saw the muscles in his jaw bunch and his hands tightened on the arms of his chair. “She became pregnant. She was little more than a child, a tiny thing and he was a brutish beast, much larger than even my father. She died in labor.” He turned his face towards Calia and she could almost make his eyes out from under the hooded lids of the mask. “I loved my sister very much. She cared for me in much the same way that my mother did.”

He turned back towards the fire and took a long drink of wine. “I had just turned twelve and already my heart was a stone in my chest. My father began trying to teach me everything there was to know about being a successful king and I ignored him or rebelled at every turn. I hated him and everything he stood for. Thankfully he was usually too busy to notice my disdain or lack of character. But as I grew older it grew worse. I threw parties, drank too much, got into fights and had more lady friends than I could count.”

Calia shifted uncomfortably at that but he did not seem to notice.

“I knew he was growing tired of my childish antics but I did not care. Why should I have? So I could grow up to abandon my spouse and send my children to a purgatory? No. So instead I partied and reveled and everyone liked me because I was just so much fun,” he said in a tired, bitter voice.

“What happened?” Calia whispered.

“He left to meet with a neighboring kingdom and I threw a party to top all the other parties. Everyone was invited. The castle, the old castle, was filled to the brim. Wine literally flowed and we celebrated whatever it was we celebrating until well into the night.” He leaned forward in his chair and rubbed at his temples. Calia wondered how many times he had had to tell his painful story. After a moment he continued. “I never figured out how the fire started but when it sparked it spread in an instant. The old castle had been built mostly of wood. It was much smaller than this one but was filled to the brim with people. Most everyone was so drunk they could not have found their way out of a barrel.”

“Did they all die?” Calia whispered.

“Not all but a lot. There were members of our elitist families, our staff and villagers. It seemed every family was touched by death, except for mine of course. My father was away when I threw the party and obviously I did not die.’

‘When he returned and saw how I had laid to waste everything he had worked so hard to build he was devastated. His kingdom was not just riches and a castle. He truly was a leader to our people and I knew he was heartbroken to have lost so many of them. But he was also very, very angry. As his only heir, he could not have me killed or imprisoned and he could not leave his kingdom to anyone but me.”

Calia bit her lip. “So he cursed you?”

The king nodded. “Back then there was much more magic in the land. He paid a wise old woman a small fortune for her services. So yes, he had me cursed with immortality. But first he had me bound to this land and to my role as king. I can never die and I can never leave. He knew I would never strive to be the leader he was because it wasn’t in my best interest. But if I was bound, and had to live here forever…”

Calia shook her head. “So if you had let everything go to ruins you would have been stuck in ruins?”

“Yes. His way of making sure I would be the best king I could be was to make sure I had to live with all the consequences of my actions. Forever.”

“But all curses have cures, do they not? I mean, you run things pretty well around here. Maybe if you become a good enough king the curse will break?”

He rolled his head back over to face her. “And how could I possibly improve on the land and lives of my subjects?”

“Perhaps you could not enslave some of them,” Calia hinted.

“Is that how it feels to you?” he asked.

She hesitated. “Sometimes. Not always. But that’s what this is, isn’t it?”

The king sighed. “I take in the people who are the least wanted in the town, or who want to be there the least, and give them a home, a purpose. I put a roof over their heads and food in their bellies. In order to run this country I need to have absolutely loyal servants. I think that’s very little to ask of my people in exchange for freedom from war and famine.”

“I have no freedom, I can never leave,” Calia said bluntly.

“You will come to feel differently,” he promised her.

She did not think so.

“So that is my story,” he said and gulped down the last of his wine.

“Wait, that cannot be all. How is the curse broken? If not by realizing your mistakes and correcting them, then how? True love?”

The king waved a hand and gave a rueful grin. “I’ve tried that—several times. It definitely doesn’t work.”

Calia rolled her eyes. “Somehow I think if you tried ‘true’ love several times none of them could have been very true.”

The king laughed but it died quickly. “There is no breaking this curse. And truly, I’ve gotten used to it. I have a meaningful job, a purpose, a roof over my own head.”

She looked at him doubtfully. “You do not have your freedom either,” she finally said.

“Correct. And it took me a while, but I finally realized it wasn’t such as an important thing as I thought.” He stood from his chair just as the tenth bell sounded. “And now, if you will excuse me.”

“Of course,” Calia murmured. She wished she had something comforting to say but could think of nothing. All she had were more questions.

She walked over to her room as if in a fog and shut the door before leaning back against it. She felt so sad for her king. She thought about his sister and mother and wondered if he had loved them as much as she had loved her father.

She thought about all the people that had died in the fire and wondered about the king. Perhaps what she had thought to be merely coldness was something more; perhaps it was grief and consuming guilt. If she had been able to see his face while he told his story maybe she would have been able to tell. Her thoughts drifted and Calia wondered if one day she would be allowed to see his face and what it looked like. She wondered if it was as handsome as the rest of him.

A noise in the hallway caught her attention and she pressed an ear against the door. She heard the king’s door snick shut and she eased her own open to peek her head out. The king was walking down the hall with a thick towel roped over his shoulders. Curiosity burned but she ducked back into her room before she was caught spying.

Calia crawled into her bed but could not get comfortable. She tried to imagine living forever, cursed, immortal, a king, but could not. Surely there was a way to break the curse. As she finally drifted off she promised herself she would help him find a way.