Finding Her Magical King novel · Chapter 11 of 24

Chapter 11: Iron

Sorrel's POV

Ivor opened the door and said, "He asked for you," and the two guards in the corridor stepped back without a word.

I had been on the floor for two hours.

My white gown was ruined, and my cat had refused to move off my lap the whole time.

I carried Soot in with me, because nobody was going to take him away.

The king's bedroom was freezing.

Frost covered the walls and the ceiling and the carved posts of the bed.

Anselm lay in the middle of it, grey-faced, with white veins creeping up his throat.

I crossed the room and took his hand.

It was ice.

Then the mark on my wrist flared, and under my fingers I felt the cold ease out of him, just slightly.

He drew a long breath.

The frost on the pillow crackled and drew back an inch.

"There you are," he said. His voice was a rasp.

"Don't talk."

"I have to. Ivor, would you..."

"I'll be in the corridor," Ivor said, and went.

I sat on the edge of the bed with Soot still in my arm.

The cat looked at the king's chest, then climbed up the blankets and lay down across it.

Anselm let out a shaky laugh.

"Sorrel," he said. "Today's question."

"You can't do that now."

"I can. I'll go first. Did you want to do it? In the hall?"

I could have lied.

The terms said the answer had to be true, and the room was so cold that lying felt like a waste of breath.

"Yes," I said. "I came to do it. I put a knot in the crown's lining and I carried it down the aisle. And then I couldn't."

"I know."

"You know?"

"I saw the thread hit the stone." He looked at me steadily. "I could have said something. I let you put it on my head anyway."

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