Court of Ice

By Tabitha M. Corvin

 In a world of airships and kings, Prince Adrian makes a promise that tears him away from his love. Elina, an ordinary baker's daughter finds herself caught in the middle of a game where the winner earns the queen's crown. They both want what they can't have as they struggle toward a seemingly impossible happily ever after.

The Queen's Trials pit princess against princess in a winner-take-all challenge to earn the crown and the chance to win King Adrian's heart. The only problem...he's already given it away to Elina and has no desire to offer it up again. When his love is offered a job in the castle and forced into the games against her will, she has no choice but to compete. 

If she wins, she destines him to marry the princess forcing her to play this ridiculous role. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tabitha Bouldin
• Release date: May 16, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224517893

Book preview

Chapter 1

Adrian

Iswore an oath to a dying man.

Worse yet, I swore an oath to a dying king. My father.

Hot bile presses in on the back of my throat. The Queen’s Trials will endure another season.

Your Majesty. The warm voice attempts to console, but there is nothing I want less than sympathy.

Do not call me that. I throw off the hand suddenly gripping my shoulder and spin to face my father’s secretary.

Roland lets his hand fall to his side. He’s known me since the day I was born, and his familiarity is acceptable. Was acceptable. When I was a prince.

He’s right, though. I am now the ruling king of Kalmadra. Apologies, Roland.

None needed, Yo— He pauses and bites off the remainder of the title. Breath rushes out in a huff and his blue armor clanks when he shifts, causing his sword to slap and rattle. He’s never careless, so this slip is intentional. I must say it.

He is right. My father is hardly cold in his bed, and I must take on the mantle of ruler. I was raised for it. I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin. So be it. Prepare the announcement. I spin on my heel and press a fist into my sternum to keep the pain at bay. Loss lashes at my heels as I speed away from the bedchamber. I cannot bring myself to look upon my father one last time. His final moments are etched into my mind and are likely never to come loose.

I’ve been unmoored by his death. An airship loosed from its berth and dropped into a cold abyss, where she must flounder to make it to the sunlight of another day.

My steps rattle down the hallways. Lights flicker from the lamps ensconced in the walls, sending shadows to weave and create pockets of warmth in the chill air. Moonlight gives way to the rising sun streaming in through the windows.

I need to find Elina. She must hear the news from me.

Your Highness. A servant steps from a side door, platter in hand, and is almost crushed beneath my untempered attempt to escape the pain ravaging my insides.

I careen to a halt and work to still my thumping heart and the blood singing with heat from my headlong dash.

The young woman dips into a curtsey while managing to keep the platter within hand. Apologies.

Her use of my previous title closes my throat against argument. She does not yet know of my father’s—her king’s—passing. Rumor will spread throughout the castle soon enough. The moment the royal physician sees to father’s last rites and his body is shrouded, the castle will be abuzz. I have an hour, at most, before the whole blooming place will be forcing a crown on my head.

I will be allowed a fortnight to breathe before The Trials begin. A fortnight to put my dreams of marrying Elina to rest and accept yet another fate decreed by long-dead kings, who strove to gain the best for their kingdom by pitting twelve women against each other over the course of twelve days and twelve arduous tasks. The one to complete them all wins the king’s hand, a crown, and a throne. Twelve days to judge twelve women who are not Elina. Women who have been raised to rule and carry noble blood.

Father wanted this for me. Then he died.

I’ve never felt more alone.

Is there anything you need, Your Highness? The maid stares at the stone floor, as they all do, though I’ve pleaded for them to treat me as more of an equal.

No. Thank you. My heart races for a solution to the problem I’ve created. All I had to do was say no. But I could not. Blast my never-ceasing need to make Father proud. I owed him this, though. This one thing he asked for as he lay dying.

I make it to the great hall before a guard catches up with me. May I be of service, Your Majesty?

The title rankles, but I withhold the growl pulsing at my throat. I’m going to the village. You may stay here.

Apologies, Majesty, but we are under strict orders to keep you within sight. Royal Secretary Sir Roland has insisted you stay within the castle walls.

Roland. The blasted man knew my plans before I did and has already thwarted them.

I could force them to stand aside or allow them to accompany me. Or I can sneak out as I’ve done for years. I put on the bland expression that says I’ve accepted my fate. I expect you to adhere to those rules. I may be within your sight, but I want you out of mine. I keep my words firm yet soft. These men are doing their duty. I would never encourage them to do less, for there are no heirs following me. Their duty is to the king. Me.

Savior help us all.

* * *

Elina

A missive from the castle arrives with a whoosh from the airtubes. I ignore it and continue my work. Most likely, the parchment is nothing more than another order for father. Most arrive through the massive system of tubing that connects each home and business to the castle. All our news arrives this way, and all correspondence follows. The push of a lever and whoosh, machines deep within the ground syphon the parchment to its designated area.

I’ve never truly understood the machinations. Give me a good, hearty lump of dough any day over the click and clack of steam machines.

Sunlight peppers the counter. Specks of flour drift and float amid the beams. Fairy dust if I’ve ever seen it. Nothing says magic like the taste of father’s sweet rolls. Or his famous Christmas bread.

I can almost taste it as I knead the lump between the heels of my hands.

We’ll begin baking for the Christmas season in a fortnight. Peppermint rolls and pound cakes.

The animatronic clock on the counter dings and chirrups. Bread is done.

I clean my hands and push the button to stop the little beast from repeating its missive. I pull the bread from the oven as a sharp rap lands on the door of Father’s bakery.

Father leaves the counter, brushing his fingers across his apron and leaving smears of flour across the already muddled material. He’s never been a clean baker, but his bread is marvelous enough to receive the king’s praise.

My lungs seize on a breath. Adrian. Prince to the throne. The other half of my heart suffers alone in the castle as his father slips into the forever sleep. May the Savior hold him close. I wish Adrian did not suffer so.

Elina. My father’s voice lilts across the room.

I swipe the back of my hand over my forehead and straighten my apron before lifting my head. Everything in the room goes warm and hazy as I meet the dark eyes of Adrian’s personal guard. His lips are pressed flat, making them all but disappear under his thin nose. I rush around the counter, banging my shin on the trolly as it rolls past on steam-powered wheels. I resist a yelp and hobble my way through a curtsey. If this man is here, then Adrian cannot be far behind.

May we speak? The guard directs the question to my father, who dips his head in acquiescence.

Adrian Casimir Mitrea is the crown prince. My father could