Frozen Fear Book. 2

❅Chapter 8❅

"So you're who Nicola has been talking so much about." Drake's father was just like him: large, golden hair, and a strong voice that seemed to make the marrow in your bones vibrate. It was as if every word he said had a meaning that was as heavy as the world.

I sat across from the General of the Dragon Guard, the only thing separating us was a large wooden desk crafted from thick, rich wood covered in loose leaf parchment and mounds and mounds of books that looked more important than me. The General sat in a black leather chair, his fingers drumming on the soilder wood.

"You've created quite the rouse."

I jerked my chin. "I guess."

I stared at him for a moment as I thought of a reply. He wasn't ugly by any means. In fact he was actually quite handsome with a strong nose and square jaw. His eyes were slightly sunken in, but they gleamed with the same green fire as his son's. "Silly girl." The General folded his large hands under his chin to rest his head. He gazed at me for so long, completely silent, that I began to fidget. "You're not sure of many things, are you, Eve Scotts?"

I bowed my head to stare at my hands. Blood had dried under my fingernails, now a rustic brown color. Mud and dirt had settled into the caresses of my hands, and I used my thin and brittle nails to scrape it off. "No, I'm not."

"That much is clear," he scuffed. My cheeks flushed a scarlet red. "You' think the daughter of Mab would be a little... more."

A little.... More.

I closed my eyes and let the memories take over. The world around me faded away, whisking me back to the past when I'd first met Foster.

My spine locked, the muscles in my entire body clenching. I wasn't alone after all. I knew I had come here openly, but the thought of a faerie with the intelligence to kill me where I stood and cover their own tracks sent a nasty chill spider-walking down my spine.

I turned slowly, shocked when I was greeted by darkness. "Who are you?" I whispered, though I knew it was a stupid question, I just hoped he would show his face. I knew who he was. Foster Quinn, General of the Aubrie Army of Elven Knights. And I was nothing but a human with a witch's power.

I snickered at that now. If only I knew. I wasn't a witch at all.

A soft chuckle met my ears, close enough to raise the hairs on the nape of my neck, his voice as soft and smooth as honey. He sounded only inches away. "I must admit, I was expecting quite a bit ... more."

I was tired of people underestimating me. I was the only one in a millennia to escape Queen Mab and her plot. I was the only descendant ever to be able to use iron against the faerie queen and kill her. I hadn't yet, but it would all come in time. And why did everyone seem to forget that I was still the Princess of the Winter Court? I may not be the most beautiful, or the most talented, but I'd been through more shit than I'd like to admit.

My eyes popped open and I looked up with a heated stare towards the General. He seemed surprised by my sudden change of mood. "If you've summoned me here to just insult me, please pardon my candor but I couldn't care less. If I wanted to be insulted I would stand outside the Bairfell Palace, and I sure as Hell wouldn't be here."

Much to my surprise the General's thin lips spread into an amused smile before he burst out laughing. It was a deep and mountain moving sound that reminded me of the heat of a summer sun, the intensity of its energy.

When he was finished he wiped something for the corner of his eye before looking up at me. "Akan was right. You just need to push the right buttons."