Frost.
It’s
so much more than a name.
It’s
what happens to your soul after millennia of starvation from the
simplest warming contact. It’s what you become when your
life is subsumed into nothing but your duty. It’s what your
heart turns into after so much pain.
I
don’t think my mother meant for the name to be some sort
of self-fulfilling prophesy. How could she know I’d become
the Killing Frost, second in command of the queen’s guard,
nothing more than an efficient murderer who delights in his job,
for those are the only delights left. To her, I was a beloved
child with hair the color of spun platinum, shiny and metallic,
with eyes like stormy skies of roiling grey. To her, my name was
just a name, nothing more.
I
don’t know when I became so frozen from the inside out.
Maybe it was when I finally realized I would never beat Doyle,
her majesty’s Darkness. I would always be second best, trapped
in the Ravens like so many others, forbidden even the barest release.
Not even that by my own hand was permitted. Yes, it was probably
then.
How
long ago was that? I don’t remember. Time seems to blur
together now, the monotony of staying sane, what a chore that
was. It would have been so much easier to go slowly mad, finding
relief in retreating to my own mind, but I wouldn’t let
it go. So unusual in the sidhe, having hope. Hope implies a connection
to the world that most Fae do not acknowledge. But maybe I’m
not like most Fae.
For
certainly she is not. The reason the ice started to crack. All
it took was one kiss, awkward and hungry in the back of the Coach,
and I fell apart. Not that it was obvious then, but she had my
heart. Princess Meredith. The not quite sidhe who holds the hopes
and fears and fates of us all. For if she is to become pregnant
then she is to become queen.
And
there is the painful blade of hope. If, if, if. It is always if.
How desperately we want it to be when. How desperately I want
it to be me. For once, I have that chance, a real chance, to be
first. To be king.
And
it is all because of her. Not that the others know the depths
of our feelings, not really. Doyle sees the love we share, and
it makes him unhappy. Not that he wishes either of us ill, but
he knows what will happen if one of the other guards is the father.
Himself, he could stand, though perhaps Merry could not. The others
have not the strength to rule, though they would not admit it.
If, if, if. He knows and it makes him unhappy.
The
new princess as well, Cordelia. She watches us across the table,
spinning impossible tales of her life, and she smiles. What a
strange creature to come into our lives now and it makes me wonder
if Meredith’s promise to protect us all has been answered.
Regardless of why she’s here, she knows, this perceptive
new princess, how close I came to losing not only my life, but
my hope and my love.
Maybe
it is her nature, to be sidhe and not, that makes Meredith so
precious. Made up of human, brownie and sidhe. A mortal with powers
designed to last for eternity. Maybe it is the blood red flames
of her hair that wove through me and melted my defenses. The true
red of the Unseelie court brands her before everyone, announcing
to the world that she is of the darkling throng. Maybe it is finally
my time, ever hoped for, ever despaired for.
So
I hope and praise the Lord and Lady that this strange new sidhe
princess had the vision that saved us both, whatever the reason.
And I wonder, what happens if the ifs come true. If the child
will be mine and I am king, what will be my name then? For it
surely cannot be Frost any longer. That Frost will have melted
away and I will stand forth a shining new thing.
That
day, I shall ask Meredith for a new name, a name fit for a king,
and I will love it as I love her.