The gate sprang wide open. Footsteps crunched loudly in the snow and then stopped. Clarysa strained to gather her wits. Had she really heard those sounds or only imagined them? With stiff fingers, she rubbed the coating of ice from her eyes.
Black boots, black cape. Definitely Stellan. He said not a word, only motioned for her to stand. She lurched to her feet. With a wobbly gait, she followed him back through the entrance.
The prince led her to his study. Pointing to the fire, he said, “Warm and dry yourself here. Dinner will be served in half an hour. After eating, you will leave.” He turned sharply on a heel and left.
She stared after him in dismay, ignoring the fierce needles of pain as her limbs began to thaw. Nothing in this kingdom came even close to matching Stellan’s icy demeanor.
Gretchen appeared bearing hot towels. She busied herself by warming Clarysa back to life.
* * * *
White linen draped a hastily prepared table in the throne room. Candles glittered upon gnarled bases. A fire blazed in an imposing hearth. Stellan slumped in his chair, exuding an air of guarded sullenness. He refused to meet anyone’s gaze.
Next to him, Clarysa sat straight with folded hands while Gretchen ladled soup into porcelain bowls. The gypsy attended to them like a skittish cat. Silence held the room firmly in its unyielding grasp.
“I like what you’ve done with the place,” Clarysa said after Gretchen left.
Stellan crouched low over his bowl, shoveling the vegetable medley into his mouth. No answer came.
Clarysa gazed at him undaunted. She began to eat. Every so often she would speak, complimenting the dishes or posing idle talk, but Stellan ignored her each and every time. It was as if she were nothing more than a pesky spirit.
Gretchen served the main course. Large platters crowded with hearty slabs of pork, roasted garlic mashed potatoes, savory greens and other root vegetables landed on the table. It was truly a feast fit for a king, as this was the same type of food so painstakingly prepared for her father. Clarysa thanked Gretchen effusively, prompting her to prattle on at length about her recipes. A warning grunt from Stellan quieted her, his face now masked in a constant scowl.
Time passed slowly. Clarysa became bored with carrying on a one-sided conversation. Craving Stellan’s interest more than refreshment, she started playing with her food. The only explanation possible was that the snow and ice must have addled her mind. As she pushed the food around on her plate, she giggled under her breath. She couldn’t help it. The tension filling the room threatened to suffocate her.
After this went on for some time, Stellan pounded the table so hard a few plates crashed to the floor. “What is so infernally funny?”
Clarysa showed him her plate. “Remind you of anyone?” Laughing, she pointed at her plate. By now, she didn’t care how powerful a sorcerer he was–the man was acting like a sullen twit. And he had a thing or two to learn about how to properly receive a guest.
Stellan shot her an astonished look and then glanced down. His brow furrowed. He looked at her again. Then back to the plate. “You dared… I can’t believe you did that.”
“It’s my best work yet, don’t you think?” She collapsed into giggles and snorts.
His lips twitched. Then they spread into a wide smile, for Clarysa had shaped her vegetables and mashed potatoes into a face bearing an exaggerated grimace boldly rivaling his own.
She looked into his eyes, and soon they were both wiping away tears of mirth.
Taking a deep breath, Stellan spoke in a resigned voice. “My deepest apologies, Clarysa. I’ve been a terrible host.” He met her gaze, and his words came aloft like a warm summer breeze. “I’m glad you came.”
Clarysa placed her hand over his. His skin felt warmer than she expected. “Me, too.”
The meal progressed much better after that.
* * * *
They finished dessert an hour later. Immediately, Clarysa stood. As was her kingdom’s custom, she offered Stellan poetic thanks for his hospitality. After her speech ended, she gave her leave.
Stellan set down his wine goblet. “Wait, where are you going?”
Halfway across the room, Clarysa stopped. She spoke over her shoulder. “Your instructions were to leave once I ate.” She shrugged nonchalantly even though her heart was breaking. “Dinner is over. Now I’m leaving per your order. Good night.”
Clarysa had barely reached the doorway when Stellan rushed over and blocked her way. “You’re not going anywhere right now. There’s a storm. Naturally, you must stay. End of discussion.”
“But you said–”
“Forget what I said. I was acting like a fool.” He smiled, his cheeks bearing a hint of warmth. “Come with me,” he said with a proffered arm. “There’s something I want to show you.”
Clarysa gladly accepted. Her heart thumped hard as she grasped his elbow. “What is it?”
“A surprise.” He began escorting her upstairs.
Clarysa held a hand to her chest. She was being taken–alone–deep into the lair of a mysterious, unpredictable warlock. Much as she craved adventure, this encounter was propelling her into new territory. Was she ready for whatever surprise Stellan meant to show her?
Chapter 19
“Oh, how beautiful!” Clarysa gazed in wonder at the ancient pipe organ before her. So this was his surprise. He was a musician, too?
She sat on the organ’s bench, running her fingers lightly over the keys while Stellan tended to the fire across the room. I wonder what it sounds like? A sidelong glance revealed Stellan’s back was to her. She pressed a key.
A pipe shrieked in protest. Clarysa covered her ears and screwed her eyes shut as the noise continued to reverberate again and again in her head.
Stellan turned around, chuckling. “I guess I should have warned you.”
Clarysa cracked open an eye. “Now you tell me!”
Stellan joined her on the bench. It hadn’t been built for two, which forced their thighs to meet. Clarysa shivered.
“Are you warm enough? That’s
