Kailin Gow - Silver Frost (Bitter Frost #3 of The Frost Series)

Silver Frost

Bitter Frost #3

of the Frost Series

kailin gow

Silver Frost

Published by THE EDGE

THE EDGE is an imprint of Sparklesoup LLC

Copyright 2010 Kailin Gow

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the publisher except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

For information, please contact:

THE EDGE at Sparklesoup

P.O. Box 60834

Irvine, CA 92602

www.sparklesoup.com

First Edition.

Printed in the United States of America.

ISBN: 159748900X

ISBN: 978-1597489003

This dedication is for my husband who has been with me through the thick and thin of life. Although 13 years has pass since we said our vows on the first release day of Silver Frost, it seemed like yesterday when we pledged to be together forever.

This dedication is for my mother, who fought three types of cancer for the last three years and is now cancer-free today. She is the strongest woman I know in mind, body, and spirit.

Last, but most importantly, this dedication is to the readers thank you for giving Silver Frost and the Frost Series a chance. It is because of you that I write.

Prologue

W hen I was younger, I dreamed dreams of Feyland. I was decked out in silk and satin warm jewel tones hugging breathlessly against my body dancing every night at the Fairy Ball. The waltzes were soft and low, my feet as light as whispers against the marble floor. I spent night after night in the arms of a fairy prince, who stared at me with eyes so piercing blue that I felt my whole body shatter and come apart ten thousand times in an evening. We would dance to the fairy waltz, tangled in each other's arms, gliding across the floor. The smell of bergamot would linger from the garden; the scent of jasmines would cloud our nostrils from so many bouquets spread across the ballroom walls. The light would sparkle as it faded into sunset, casting impish shadows through the stained glass windows. And I would be in the arms of a fairy prince who loved me, whom I loved with more power than the whole fairy kingdom could contain. But those were old dreams. I did not dream them now.

Now Feyland had become a place of terror to me, and when I dreamed I screamed aloud, and woke up gasping, with my throat raw and my eyes red and bloodshot. Now when I dreamed of Feyland, I dreamed instead of the forest where Kian first took me on my sixteenth birthday, when I had first been stolen away from my normal, mortal life, and told that I was a fairy princess, destined to become a fairy queen. The forests' trees were black with shadow and the cobwebs of night; the terrain was rocky and sharp stones nipped at my feet at every opportunity. I dreamed that I knew nothing of my power, of my birth and yet in the dream I was wearing the crown that told me that I was the Summer Queen, in charge of the whole expansive land of summer and light, crops, fertility, and sun. In my dreams I knew there was always on my heel an assassin, an assassin whose face I did not see and whose name I did not know, but whose purpose was made clear to me in the fear that throttled my throat and the terrified beating of my heart. And the assassin, I knew, wanted my blood, wanted my death.

In the dreams I ran, ran with no magic or powers to protect me for in the dream I knew none of my magic, but only how to run as fast as I could. I was alone, with no friends and no family, stranger to this even stranger place, where nothing and nobody made sense to me. The forests' tree-branches grabbed at me like so many sharp claws; the holes in the trees looked like eyes staring me down. The sound of the brook churning in the distance beat out the drumming certainty of my heartbeat, and as I ran the sound grew louder and softer in a senseless pattern, so that I couldn't even figure out where I was, or where I was going.

And all the while the assassin's footsteps grew nearer, and I could see his shadow flickering out before me whenever he came closer. I could smell the smell of death stiff and brittle in the air; I could not breathe, or else only wheeze out sharp terror.

At last I made it through the forest. I saw the Summer Palace in the distance every night a little different in my dream-memory, but always unmistakable: the orange-stained glass, the cloud-capped towers that shone with golden turrets, the endless gardens out front with their spraying fountains and the smell, ever-familiar, of bergamot. And the palace meant safety though deep in my heart it struck a chord of fear but yet I knew my mission was to get back there, to escape the assassin deep within its chambers, behind its guarded walls.

I ran, almost to the gate I ran, and began to breathe normally when the gate was just seconds away from my feet's reach, and then when I thought I was safe I felt the arrow ricochet straight through me and I fell to the ground. I fell to the ground, tasting dust and bitter earth. The assassin came closer and closer and I could make out a tall figure, a man's figure. Was it Delano? He had tried to capture me many times before, and the memories of the days spent in his dungeon fill me still with other kinds of nightmares. But no the hair was darker, for then I could make out the hair and it is anything but Delano's ashen blonde? Perhaps Flynn? The Winter Knight was known for his prowess and for his cruelty he would have done anything to please the icy Winter Queen, and receive the bounty for having won the Winter Court the War. But no as his face came closer it was clear...the hair is jet-black, and the eyes are piercing blue, and I knew then that there was no face and no hair and no eyes in the world that looked like that, except for the face and the hair and the eyes of the man I loved.

Kian.

The Winter Prince was before me, with his noble, knightly bearing and the impossible beauty that is paralytic at close range. And I wanted nothing more than to vanish into his arms, and his embrace, but I saw the look on his face and I remembered then that he was my enemy and that there was only one thing to do.

Run.

I leaped into the air, trying to escape, trying to run from him but always I knew it was futile. Kian would know my every move, my every thought. When I feinted left, he followed me. When I darted to the right, he was there first. And at last he caught me around the waist, wrapping his arms tightly around me until all breath was expelled with a sharp sigh from my body, and then I knew that I was caught; I was trapped; I was his.

I turned to face him, and then I forgot why I could ever have wanted to run. In his eyes I saw only the memory of my love for him, and my fear turned to longing, as I wanted nothing for him to hold me as he used to hold me, kiss me as he used to kiss me. His skin was cold like ice, and I shivered to touch him. When we were together, he had always been so warm....he used to tell me that I had warmed him, that it was my Summer blood that kept him flushed at the cheek and his heart beating quickly. I could feel his fingers trace the contours of my cheeks, down the length of my chin and then up again, stopping at my lips.

In his eyes I could see the same love, the same longing. I wanted to kiss him; I wanted him to kiss me, and I could feel his longing so clearly I could not distinguish between my wanting and his. And in his arms I felt safe, warm, alive.

Kian... My voice was only a whisper. I knew you would come for me.

His face betrayed no expression. His eyes seared through me. I will search for you always, Breena.

I've returned! I said. I'm back we're together...