Frost: A fae romance (Frost and Nectar Book 1)

“A grand tournament of eligible fae women will be held to choose the bride,” continued the reporter. “Not every fae woman will be chosen to participate. Only one hundred will be selected from thousands of possible contestants, hand-picked by the king himself. His bride must demonstrate strength, grace—”

I rolled my eyes. “This is so outdated. Can’t he just meet someone and decide if he likes—”

“Shh!” Shalini practically clamped her hand over my mouth. “I love you, but I will actually murder you if you keep talking.”

Shalini, my completely human friend, was obsessed with the fae. I, on the other hand, was perfectly happy to keep my distance.

The fae had only revealed themselves to the human world about thirty years ago. At first, humans reacted with horror and revulsion—and unfortunately, that attitude had lasted for most of my childhood. But now? Humans couldn’t get enough of the fae. At some point, the fae had carefully crafted an image of wealth and glamour.

I had a sneaking suspicion they were still fairly terrifying behind the sophisticated façade.

“King Torin,” the reporter said, beaming, “was born twenty-six years ago. It’s been anticipated for some time that he would choose a queen, in the ancient custom of tournament…”

I’d seen his picture a hundred times before—pale, a razor-sharp jawline, close-cropped dark hair. In this picture, he wore a black suit that accentuated his broad shoulders. King Torin had a devilish grin, and one of his black eyebrows arched.

Maybe it was the beer or the heartbreak, but I felt annoyed just looking at him. You could tell he loved himself.

Admittedly, it was hard to look away from his picture.

“Cocky bastard,” I slurred. Oh, yeah. I was drunk.

Shalini sighed. “I’ve heard he’s very mysterious. He has this whole tragic air about him, and no one knows why.”

That didn’t make any sense. “What’s tragic about being the richest man in the world? Do you know how many bars he could open if he felt like it? Or schools, for that matter? How many college degrees he could get?” I realized I was shouting.

Her eyes slid to the right. “I heard he has a guilty conscience. Supposedly, he’s murdered people…but he feels guilty about it. He’s all brooding and tortured.”

“What a catch! You know, if he were ugly, no one would be charmed by him, right? Being a murderer isn’t usually considered a positive trait.” I finished my margarita. That had gone fast. “That’s the problem with the rich and powerful, isn’t it? And the stupidly beautiful. They never learn boundaries or normal empathy, and then the next thing you know, they’re sticking their dicks in actresses called Ashley.” I was vaguely aware that I’d yelled the last bit.

“Forget Andrew, Ava. Think of King Torin’s muscular arms. You’re fae! Why don’t you join the tournament?”

I snorted. “What, me? No. First of all, I wouldn’t be allowed. And second of all, I’d miss out on our fun sleepovers and Tudors marathons. And I’m going to get into baking. But maybe it could be, like, Tudor-era baking.”

She narrowed her eyes. “We’ve done two Tudors marathons already.”

“We can do Virgin Queen. Whatever.” I grinned. “I’ll make hot cross buns.”

I stared at the screen, watching the video of King Torin shot from a distance. He managed his public persona very carefully—well groomed, finely dressed, never so much as a stray lock of hair on his forehead—but there’d been a breach about a year ago. A picture had emerged from some dark corner of the internet of Torin rising from the ocean waves like a sea god, droplets glistening off his thickly corded muscles. With his sly grin and perfect features, his overall appearance was much like Henry Cavill in The Tudors crossed with Poseidon.

I mean, if you were into that kind of thing.

The image on the TV screen cut again. Now the video appeared to be a live feed from a helicopter. On the street below, a silver Lamborghini surrounded by a cavalcade of black motorcycles glided through traffic.

“The king and his host have left Faerie to personally notify each of the winners of the contest,” explained the announcer. “In the ancient tradition of the tournament.”

“Is that Highway 8?” said somebody at the other end of the bar.

“Whoa,” said another patron, “they’re close.”

I glanced to Shalini. She was staring at the TV transfixed, her mouth partway open.

“Holy shit!” someone shouted. “They’re getting off at exit 13.”

“That’s, like, two blocks from here,” said Shalini quietly.

What was everyone on about?

Oh, the fae king and his bride spectacle.

I heard Shalini’s voice next to me, breathless with excitement. “Have you ever seen King Torin in person?”

“No. I’m sure he’s perfectly acceptable looking, but…” I trailed off, as an icy sense of unease spread through my chest.

I lost focus on what she was saying as the table seemed to wobble before me. My mouth felt unpleasantly watery. The margaritas had been a bad idea.

I dropped my head into my hands, and Andrew’s perfect features bloomed in my mind. “We were going to plant apple trees.”

“What? What are you talking about?” asked Shalini.

The sound of motorcycles pulled my attention up again. Outside the windows, the first of King Torin’s host roared past. The rumble of the engines was like a small airplane taking off, but if the noise bothered the patrons of the Golden Shamrock, you’d never have known it. They pressed their faces to the windows as one, two, three, four motorcycles drove by.

I was shocked to see that it was still light outside because it felt like the middle of the night. Who got this drunk in the daylight?

“Oh, my God!” Shalini’s voice cut through the deafening noise. “He just went by—wait, is he stopping?” Her voice had become disturbingly high-pitched.

The entire bar had crowded around the glass, their collective breath clouding it, fingers smudging the window.

“Oh, my God!” Shalini said again. “There he is!”

I found myself stumbling off the stool, moving closer to the window to see if I could get a look. I shoved in between the dork who’d wanted a threesome and a woman who smelled like Lysol.

“Oh, wow,” said Shalini, completely awestruck. “Oh, wow…”

Slowly, the door of the Lamborghini slid open, and the fae king stepped out. In the late afternoon, his black hair took on a golden sheen. He was tall and well-built, dressed in a dark leather jacket and black pants. He looked like an otherworldly Calvin Klein model, gilded in the sunlight, his tan skin a sharp contrast to the icy blue of his eyes. A faint hint of stubble darkened his square jaw. His hair had grown longer since the last pictures I’d seen of him. No longer close cropped, it was dark and wavy.

With a twinge of embarrassment, I realized I had my nose pressed against the glass, and I was gawping like all the rest.

He surveyed the façade of the Golden Shamrock, his pale blue eyes glinting in the light. What was he doing here? He couldn’t be after me since none of the fae knew who I was.

He leaned against the side of the Lamborghini, arms folded. It took me a second to realize he was waiting for the rest of his host to arrive.

King Torin gestured toward the bar, and two of his guards slid off their motorcycles to head inside.

Next to me, Shalini whispered, “Do you think they’re coming for you, Ava?”

“No way. There’s gotta be another fae woman in here.”

I scanned the bar, looking for another fae girl like myself. We weren’t usually hard to spot. Our slightly elongated ears and unusual hair colors were typically a dead giveaway, but as far as I could tell, everyone in the bar was human.

One of King Torin’s host pushed open the door, a man with long black hair and bronze skin. He was built like a brick house. You could’ve heard a pin drop.

“The fae king wishes to stop for a drink.”

I stifled a giggle. The fae king was probably used to centuries-old wines from the finest vineyards in Bordeaux. He was in for a treat at the Golden Shamrock, where the only things aged were the food and the clientele.

I was about to tell Shalini this when King Torin stepped into the doorway of the Golden Shamrock, and I felt my jaw drop.

I’d known he was gorgeous, but in person, his beauty hit me like a fist. Sure, I’d seen his face on a thousand gossip magazines. The square jaw, the devilish smile, the glacial blue eyes that seemed to twinkle with a filthy secret. But those left out some of the details I could see up close: the charcoal black eyelashes, the slight dimple in his chin.

Adonis in the flesh? Godlike? Was this some kind of fae magic?

I’d always thought Andrew was a ten. But if Andrew were a ten, I’d have to invent a completely new scale, because he didn’t compare to the fae king.

The king’s gaze locked on mine, and I stopped breathing entirely as an icy chill ran down my spine. Suddenly, I felt as if frost were spreading from my vertebrae outward.

Shadows seemed to gather around him as he crossed the bar, and the patrons stepped away instinctively. I’d heard he had this effect on people, that his mere presence was enough to bend humans to his will.

The bartender’s hand was shaking as he poured King Torin a whiskey.

“King Torin,” the humans whispered reverentially. “King Torin.”

Some of them knelt. Threesome Steve pressed his forehead to the beer-stained floor.

“Oh, my God!” Shalini wheezed, gripping my arm so hard I knew she was leaving bruises.

Maybe it was because I was fae, or maybe it was the five beers coursing through my small frame, but I wasn’t about to fall to my knees. Even if I could feel the power of a High Fae sliding through my bones, demanding reverence, I’d keep standing if it killed me.

Torin accepted his whiskey from the bartender, his eyes boring into mine. As he started to walk closer, the urge to kneel was overpowering.

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “It is expected for the fae to bow to their king.” His low, velvety voice stroked over my skin.

I smiled as charmingly as I could. “But I’m not really one of you. You all decided that long ago.” The alcohol was masking the fear I should be feeling. “So I live by human rules now. And humans don’t have to bow.”

Shalini’s sharp, painful squeeze on my arm warned me to be quiet.

I winced and held up my hand. “And I don’t really like men anymore after I found Ashley on top of Andrew.”

Silence filled the room, heavy and thick.

The king’s lip quirked. “Who is Ashley?”

I sighed. “She’s not really the problem, I guess. The problem is, I’m not bowing to a pretty, rich man. I’ve had kinnndaaa a rough day,” I slurred.

He looked me over then, taking in the stains on my cat sweatshirt and the empty glass I was white-knuckling. “I can see that.”

Again, our eyes met. Behind him, the darkness seemed to gather, and the shadows grew closer. A chill swept through my bones, and my teeth started to chatter.

Honor your king. Honor your king. A voice in my head was commanding me to humble myself before him, and fear danced up my spine.

King Torin’s brow furrowed slightly, as if he was surprised by my resistance. But hadn’t he heard me say I wasn’t one of them?

The corner of his mouth twitched. “It’s a good thing I’m not here to invite you to compete for my hand. Your lack of respect would be immediately disqualifying.”

I looked into his arctic eyes. King Torin had just explicitly rejected me from a contest I had absolutely no desire to join.

“Oh, don’t worry, I have no interest in your tournament. I actually think it’s kind of embarrassing.”

King Torin’s eyes widened, and for the first time, an expression resembling actual emotion invaded his perfect features. “Do you know who I am?”

“Oh, yeah, King Torin. I get that you’re royal, from the ancient line of Seelie blah blah…” I was vaguely aware that my slurring took some of the sting out of my rant, but the king was quite simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, and he was going to have to hear it. “I don’t really know a lot about you or the fae since you all thought I wasn’t good enough to be around you. And that’s fine. Because there are amazing things here in the mortal world. But I know y’all think you’re better than humans. And here’s the thing, King.” I was ignoring Shalini’s fingernails digging into my arm. “All this pageant…pageantry you’re doing, it’s not really any better than the dumbest side of mortal culture. Your bride tournament? I know they’re ancient, and they trace back to the old world when we lived in the forests and wore antlers, and we fucked like animals in the oak groves…”

His jaw tensed, and I felt my cheeks flame red. Where had that come from? And what was I saying?

I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to recover my train of thought. “But how is this whole concept different than Hitched and Stitched?” I gestured wildly at the screen. “Your life is basically the nadir of human civilization. Your bride tournament is even televised these days. It’s all fake, isn’t it? And you’re not really any better than Chad, the pilot with absurdly white teeth on Hitched and Stitched. Just pretty, rich douchebags. Anyone who wants to join in this tournament is after two things: fame and power.”

Shalini hissed. “Ava, stop talking.”

Underneath my drunkenness, I was aware that I was doing something horrifying. “Okay, fame, power, and your…you know.” I waved at him. “Your face and abs. Never trust anyone this hot, ladies. Anyway, I will pass on bowing. Have a good night.”

The beer had unleashed a river of speech in me, and I couldn’t dam it up.

Behind me, the patrons in the Golden Shamrock stared, eyes wide as dinner plates. The shadows swirling around Torin seemed to thicken into something almost solid, confirming what I’d always known about the fae: they were dangerous. Which was probably why I should have just fallen to my knees and kept my mouth shut.

The king’s eyes seemed to grow brighter, and ice filled my veins. I felt frozen and brittle. I couldn’t have moved from my seat if I’d wanted to.

King Torin’s voice was smooth as silk, and a faint glint of amusement flickered in his eyes. “As you wish. Clearly, you have your whole life together beautifully.” His gaze swept down my body again, taking in the grumpy cat sweatshirt. “I wouldn’t want to ruin it.”

Then, before I could say another word, he turned and left the bar.

For a long moment, the patrons remained unmoving. Then the spell lifted, and the bar burst into a cacophony of voices.

“She rejected the fae king!”

“What does nadir mean?”

Shalini grabbed my shoulder. “What is wrong with you?”

“Fairy tales aren’t real, Shalini,” I replied, wincing under her touch. “And the fae? They’re not the nice creatures you think they are.”