Ice and Fury

Chapter Two: The King

Arden's chest heaved as she continued down the hall to her father's study. The emotions of her sister still seemed to cling to her skin and she was anxious for them to fade away. She had lost her composure more than she should have back there. She was supposed to be the more controlled of the two of them. She didn't have the volatile flames that her sister possessed and she didn't possess her temper either. At least not usually. But her sister mocking her with the crown she had so desperately wanted... She hadn't been able to help it.

She stopped outside her father's study and smoothed her hair slightly. She knew it wasn't out of place; Georgina had put too much work into it for it to mussed by something as simple as arguing with her twin. The habit remained though.

She willed the calmness into her demeanor, imagined the red draining from her face, and knocked gently on the door to the study. She hadn't been in there for a while, but her father had requested her presence at breakfast that morning, claiming he needed to speak to her.

She was getting ready to knock again when her father opened the door. His dark hair bore very few streaks of grey and his face was, for the most part, unlined. The only place one might be able to see any real signs of age were in his dark eyes though they too often were cold as ice and unreadable.

Her father stood aside and motioned for Arden to enter. She did so, bowing her head to her father as she did so. He was a formidable man and he towered over her with his broad shoulders and impressive height. The latter was something Arden was especially envious of. She and her sister had taken after their mother and were petite in every sense of the word. She barely came up to her father's shoulder even in her heeled shoes.

"We need to discuss the attendees of the dinner tonight," her father said by way of greeting, seating himself behind the oak desk that occupied most of the space. He gestured for Arden to be seated and she sat herself on the edge of one of the two chairs present. How many years had she spent seated in this exact chair as her father had made her read the ancient texts over and over again? Had made her balance books on her head to ensure that her posture was perfect? It seemed like ages ago that he had made her balance the book with their family's ancestry in it atop her head, having her read out the laws of the land as she did so and whipping her with his belt if she faltered or messed up.

Arden frowned slightly at the memory and instead focused her attention on her father.

"What do we need to discuss?" She asked, ever the obedient daughter. They had gone over the details of the dinner so much and so thoroughly that she knew it front and back and side to side. She knew the names of all of the attendees, what their titles were, what their potential motives were, and where they were seated. She didn't know what there was left to discuss.

"We are having two new additions to the dinner," her father, said. She raised an eyebrow at that. Two new additions to the dinner so late?

"Who?" She asked instead. It was not her place to question her father.

"Prince Bastian and his sister Princess Damaris," her father replied, frowning at the paper in front of him.

"From Auboris?" She couldn't keep the surprise from her voice.

Her father nodded, his frown deepening. "They sent word this morning saying they would love to join our festivities. The only problem is I don't know where to seat them."

"May I?" Arden asked, gesturing to the paper in front of her father. The seating chart, no doubt.

Her father grunted, but relented, handing the paper to his daughter. His hand brushed hers as he did so, the calluses thick as they scratched against the softer skin of her own hands.

"Thank you." She couldn't forget her manners. It had been a couple of years since she'd sat in this chair and had her father take his belt to her skin as she mispronounced country names, but that didn't mean he had gotten any more forgiving. Just last month he had used her master scholar's cane on her when she'd forgotten to ask permission before entering the library.

She resisted the urge to grimace at the memory and shoved it from her mind, instead focusing on the seating chart in front of her. The hall where the dinner would be served was enormous and had more than thirty tables in it. She noted that she was to be seated at the same table as her father, at his right side. That wasn't unusual, she supposed. Her father had kept her close to him for years.

"I think we should keep them together given they haven't been to our lands in such a long time," she offered, raising her head to look at her father. "It would not do well to keep them separate and risk them being on edge during this dinner when its purpose is to encourage peace discussions."

Her father nodded and motioned for her to continue reading the seating chart.

Arden obliged, lowering her eyes to the page once more. There were a few open seats at her father's table which she supposed would make sense. Auboris hadn't communicated with their kingdom in so long that it would only make sense they be seated at her father's table to be able to talk to him more. Of course, that raised the issue of angering other kingdoms because they would probably wish for a seat at the table as well. She frowned slightly, her expression mirroring her father's.

"I think I have an idea for this. Move me away from your table and free the space for Lord Woodward from Strualia. Then give two of the seats to the Prince and Princess and then the last seat to Lady Tresfall from Laclary. Moving Lady Tresfall from Reyna's table will free up a space then for Lady Cataleia and you can put me at the table Lady Cataleia previously occupied." Arden raised her head from the paper to assess her father. She could feel a sudden oozing of anger from him carress her skin. Unlike her sister's hot anger, her father's was dark and oily.

"Unacceptable. I will not have you removed from my table," her father said, cold eyes darkening at the thought. Arden flinched away, bowing her head. She couldn't risk seeming insolent.

"I'm sorry, father," she murmured softly, eyes downcast. The anger continued, lingered. She could taste it as it flooded her mouth and she braced herself for the potential blow she was about to receive.

It didn't come. Instead, the anger slowly faded, the stuff attached to her skin lingering for a few moments before disappearing entirely. Only once she was sure it was gone did Arden raise her head.

Her father was staring at her and her stomach churned. His anger had been replaced with the hunger. She would have preferred the anger. She felt the heat of his gaze as it dipped to linger at her neck, at the exposed bit of skin she had there. She felt his hunger increase as his stare lowered, leering at the slight cleavage exposed by the dipping neckline of her dress.

"I will not have you at another table, Ari. You must be by my side." His voice was soft as he brought his gaze back up to her face. She and her sister were the spitting image of their mother, she knew.

She nodded her head, her heartbeat racing slightly. "Then perhaps we increase the table size?" She offered, lowering her eyes once more. Anything to escape the too intense look her father was giving her.

"That's a better idea," her father agreed.

Arden nodded her head and raised her eyes to look at her father once more. "Is that all, sir?" Her voice shook slightly, the mask of neutrality she had practiced for so long slipping as fear assaulted her.

Her father's only response was to motion her over to him.

Arden once more willed the ice to fill her veins as she stood up and slowly made her way over to him. He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her close to him in his chair. Arden closed her eyes, imagining herself anywhere else as he kissed her neck, his hands grabbing at her chest over her gown.

"You would have made an excellent queen," he murmured against her neck, grabbing her hand and putting it over his groin.

"Thank you, sir," Arden replied. This was as far as they had gone. He only ever pawed at her and kissed her. When it had first started nearly two years ago, he had said he was waiting for her coronation before he took her to bed.

Though she wouldn't have allowed it. When her supposed-to-be coronation came, she had planned to slit his throat after she was crowned and no one would question it. She reveled in the thought of his lifeblood pouring over her hands as his hands slipped lower, pushing her gown up her thigh.

Arden tensed up against him, body rigid. She opened her mouth to protest when a knock sounded from the door.

Smoothly, Arden got up from her father's lap and smoothed out her dress. She had no doubt her face was flushed red from the anger and embarrassment she always felt after these things happened.

"Sir," she said, curtseying to her father as he stood up. She turned around, the skirts of her gown flowing around her as she exited, passing one of her father's spies on her way out.

She nodded to him as she passed and only once she was far enough away did she let the tears fall.