A Crimson Frost (37 page)

King Channing and the Sapphire Queen
Afton
of Rothbain…

begat the Princess Vanya.

The Princess Vanya wed Prince Hillton of Avaron.

King Hilton and Queen Vanya of Avaron begat the Princess Felice.

The Princess Felice of Avaron wed Prince Michael of the
Kingdom
of
Graces
.

King Michael and Queen Felice of the Kingdom of Graces thus begat the princess…

Saphyre Snow.

My heart’s desire,

My every dream come true,

The love even
I
could never have imagined!

And now, enjoy the prologue and partial first chapter of the romantic fairy tale sequel of

A Crimson Frost
—
Saphyre Snow

by Marcia Lynn McClure.

Prologue
—
Saphyre Snow

The
cool frosted
moonlight of early winter
lent
a
beautiful
and blue
shimmer
to the falling snow. There were those who had witnessed the rare and miraculous event before—the soft and quiet splendor
of indigo-laced frost drifting from a clear sky, as if the diamonded stars in the heavens sprinkled small, lustrous sapphires from their fingers to bejewel all the still earth. Indeed it seemed the soft blue moonlight and indigo frost whispered to the woods and meadows—breathed of a secret—a secret something of extraordinary worth. All who beheld this pageant of nature’s artistry believed it to be a herald of benevolence from above—a remembrance that moments of peaceful respite were of far more merit than wealth. All who lingered in the blue moonlight, all who felt the cool radiance of the sapphire frost sweet upon their faces, knew respite and hope.
Thus
,
this quiet
,
beautiful
rarity of
occurrence—
the serenity borne of the blue light and frost—became known among the people of the
Kingdom
of
Graces
as t
he
s
ap
phire
s
now
.

I
ndeed, the sapphire snow was uncommon. No man could call down from the heavens a
cool
,
blue moonlight
and downy flakes of frost. Even the king of the kingdom could not summon the mystical sapphire snow. Thus, as is often the way with rare events, i
t was on one of these uncommon evenings—an evening of beauty and peaceful wonder
, of blue moonlight and indigo frost—t
hat a young mother gave birth to an uncommon child. On
this evening of serene enchantment—of blue frost and indigo moonlight mingling to blanket the earth with beauty—
the princess Saphyre Snow was birthed.

All those living in the
Kingdom
of
Graces
wept with happiness
; each subject, common or noble, rejoiced
when King Jordan announced th
e birth of his granddaughter. A good king, beloved of his people, King Jordan was resplendent with merriment himself at the birth.
The lovely Queen Penelope was at the king
’
s side when he
heralded the coming of the princess Saphyre Snow. T
he
babe’s father,
Prince Michael
—only son of King Jordan and Queen Penelope—stood at the casement with his king father and queen mother as the king offered proclamation to the people of the Kingdom of Graces of the birth of a new royal. Prince Michael’s graceful and beauteous young wife, the Princess Felice, listened as all the kingdom cheered their joy at her daughter’s coming.
Yes
,
the birth of Saphyre Snow was
the most
blessed event in the
kingdom
—a kingdom beloved
by
her king
and queen, who were loved
by
their subjects
in return.

The father of Saphyre Snow,
Prince Michael
,
was
sole
heir to the th
rone of the kingdom. A
good and handsome prince belove
d by all his father’s subjects, Prince Michael owned much honor. He had commanded legions, warriored well in battle, and owned titles for doing so. Still, perhaps most wondrous of all, Michael had won the heart and hand of the
Princess Felice
of Avaron.

Hair as dark as midnight and eyes as violet as the velvet curtains of twilight, Felice of Avaron
was an exquisite beauty
, both of body and of spirit. T
he daughter of a king and queen in a far
-
off land
,
Princess Felice
had been greatly sought after. Many men had battled for a mere chance at gaining her favor. Yet Felice of Avaron was bred of a long lineage of honor—and of true love. Descended from a mighty line of a great kings and noble queens, Felice of Avaron did not give token of favor in light manner. Nevertheless, upon first sight of Prince Michael of the
Kingdom
of
Graces
, the Princess Felice of Avaron had known at once where her heart would ever remain. Thus, Prince Michael of the
Kingdom
of
Graces
gave full his heart to she who filled it, and a betrothal followed forthwith.

On their wedding day, the Princess Felice gifted her young husband a token—a favor of such profound worth that all who witnessed the giving of the gift knew the heart of the beautiful Princess Felice would never waver. The favored gift was a sword, forged long ago, generations before, by a master craftsman. The sword was named the Crimson Frost and had been forged in honor of a great knight who had once lived and walked the earth in such glory and honor as to birth eternal legend—a knight who had risen to king, a king who had sired progeny, progeny from whence descended Princess Felice and the babe princess, Saphyre Snow.

Thus,
though Prince Michael was handsome
,
every subject of the Kingdom of Graces hoped that
the
babe, P
rincess Saphyre
,
might
grow to be as beautiful as her mother—that the strength and honor of the royal family might mingle with the legendary power and beauty of the Princess Felice’s ancestors to craft as rare a princess as was rare the miracle of nature’s artistry for which she had been named. It was not long before the king and queen, Prince Michael and Princess Felice, and all the subjects of the
Kingdom
of
Graces
began to see that the wee princess would indeed inherit of her mother’s beauty. As Saphyre
grew
,
it was certain to all who looked upon her
that s
he mirrored her mother
’
s beautiful image and countenance
. Hair as black as silken ebony,
skin as soft and as fair as porcelain
,
and lips as sweet and as red as any
ripe
cherry or fragrant r
ose were those of Saphyre Snow—a
n immeasur
able and truly ethereal beauty. Yet
perhaps the most striking feat
ure of the Princess Saphyre
was the color of her eyes—as deep and as bright a blue as any sapphire on earth
,
with
such
a spark
of
life
in them
as to enchant
any
who might own the blessing of her gaze
.

Further, it was certain to all who knew her that her mother’s strong ancestry had fared well in her blood
.
The child Saphyre Snow owned a rare gift of empathy and compassion. An obedient child, she was yet strong of will and did not linger in despair. All who looked upon her admired her, all who spoke with her felt joy, and all who were privy to her company in any manner loved her.

Thus
the young princess grew in love and happiness
, cherished
by all her family and every soul in the
Kingdom
of
Graces
. Beautiful and happy and safe lived the princess Saphyre Snow—f
or a tim
e.

Seven Souls

Saphyre paused
, leaning against a strong pine for support. The crisp, spiced scent of the forest—of tree bark and leaf litter blanketing the ground—did little to soothe her. Brushing
a strand of ebony
hair from her tear-stained face, the princess attempted
to catch her breath before
pressing on.
Her bosom ached from breathing the cold night air
. She looked to her arm—to the wound there administered
by a mean-spirited ho
l
ly branch
she had intruded upon while running through the wood. The lesion, though not profound in size and no longer bleeding in profusion, yet
stung painfully
. Saphyre winced and determined to ignore the discomfort.
She wa
s cold and frightened and alone,
without any
conception
of
how she should proceed. No time had been allowed her—no time to consider or plan. She had known only the necessity of escape, and she had fled. And she must yet elude—run—keep far from what lay behind her—pray
it was not yet following.

Crumpling
to her knees
,
careless of the moist
pine needles,
leav
es, and other forest spoils littering the wooded ground,
Saphyre buried her face in her hands and bitterly wept. How could such things be? How could it all have come to such a dreadful spectacle? She thought of her mother and wished with all her
heart she had not died. The queen had passed from earthly life th
e year
previous, and oh, how Saphyre missed her! How she missed her mother’s loving embrace, her wise counsel, her beautiful smile. Saphyre shook her head, brushing the tears of pain and fear and frustration from her cheeks and chin. Her mother had died, and her father had altered entirely. He was so thoroughly changed—so very altered in countenance.
Her father
’
s wits had been complete about him before her
mother
’
s death. Everything and everyone—the whole of the kingdom—had been happy and safe. It seemed to Saphyre the
Kingdom
of
Graces
and all its subjects had begun to weaken as a whole.
Upon the death of the beloved Queen Felice
,
the kingdom began to transform
,
taking upon itself a dark countenance—a countenance in similitude to the one it had begun to exhibit shortly after the death of Saphyre
’
s grandmother years previous. In this
,
even King Michael had changed. Gone wa
s the tender, loving father Saph
yre had known.
In his place there lingered a stranger—one who frightened Saphyre
,
struck her with feelings of uncertainty and vulnerability.
Thus
,
how desperately Saphyre missed her mother now
. H
ow desperately she longed for the sense of safety and hope her mother had ever exuded.

Saphyre raised her head
,
closed her eyes
,
and listened.
Sometimes
,
if she endeavored with great determination
,
she
imagined she could almost hear her mothe
r’s voice on the evening breeze—nearly
feel the soothing touch of her gentle hand.
Yet
the
caution-
call of a black crow in a nearby tree startled Saphyre
. There was not time to linger in recollection or regret, for an ominous evil yet pursued the princess Saphyre Snow—fairly nipped at her heels.

Leaping to her feet, Saphyre ran—fled further into the depths of the forest—for d
arkness was fast falling
.
Saphyre knew she could not endure ano
ther night in the frigid forest
uncovered
and unprotected from the elements—
and anything else
choosing
to prey
up
on her. Autumn threatened to come early to the
Kingdom
of
Graces
and all the forest surrounding. Saphyre k
new this night would be colder and
crueler
even
th
an the night before. Nearly frantic, she looked about for a cave,
a tree w
ith a drooping branch,
anything
that
might provide her shelter for the night.
Yet
there was nothing
,
and so she pushed onward
—
onward until she thought her
feet could carry her no further—
onward until she could see nothing through the dense forest
now blocking the moon’s light. The night was cold—nearly frigid. Saphyre’s arms and legs burned with weariness borne of unfamiliar striving. Such a weariness was upon her as to cause her to wonder if she might not simply drop in her own footsteps.

Then, suddenly,
a
large and weathered structure—veiled in night’s shadows—
loomed bef
ore her. It seemed a ruin of some sort—still, a ruin with remnant walls. And even remnant w
a
lls would provide some shelter. She wondered for a moment w
hat other creatures had
considered the same—perhaps taken up residence within. The ruin broke the canopy of tall trees, and by the moonlight, Saphyre could see it looked to be the vestige of an old castle keep. Saphyre then remembered. As a child, she had heard tales of a once-great castle of the
Kingdom
of
Graces
. It was said the castle was lost—destroyed by an ancient war battled generations before. She wondered whether this ruined keep was perhaps all that remained of the place—the legendary castle of which stories were now rarely told. Saphyre frowned as she gazed at the moss-covered stones and a weathered, yet quite solid, oaken door. She fancied
the keep must once have been a great stronghold
indeed, for anything that could cling so long to pure existence must surely have known strength beyond understanding.
Reaching out, Saphyre
placed a hand against its
mossy
outer wall
. She was assured then—it was indeed real. S
he had
not fallen asleep,
exhausted from two days of running aimlessly
,
to find herself dreaming.
The musty velvet moss
grew thick
on the outer wall, further testament of a vastly
aged edifice.

T
hrough an opening in one damaged stone wall
, Saphyre tentatively
entered
the ancient keep. Without the forest of trees to impair
,
blesse
d moonlight beamed in through the nearly vanishing ceiling and roof. A ceiling there was, yet once massive beams were now rotted, and moonlight streamed through great holes and cracks.
Saphyre closed her ey
es, thankful for the full moon,
for it gave her enough light to look
about
. Several doves startled as sh
e stepped further into the keep. Saphyre gasped as they took flight,
escaping through the damaged roof
. She stood quite still as her gaze fell to
a
fire pit in the center of the room.
D
ying embers there
breathed
more warmth than Saphyre had felt in two days
,
and
though the prickle of the hair at her neck, the whispered warning in her heart, admonished caution, s
he could not resist
moving nearer,
dropping to her knees
,
and ru
bbing her hands over the still-
glowing cinders.

Saphyre glanced about her
once more,
wo
ndering who had built the fire, knowing it must have
burned hot and bright only hours before. Still
,
her
overwhelming
weariness
and need for warmth
numbed
her sense of caution
,
and she remained kneeling before the
fire,
warming herself as best she could.
She mused that
whoever had built the fire had long since taken
his leave
. Surely it was safe to linger for a few
moments more,
to perhaps l
ie
down on one of the
nearby logs and rest a moment—o
nly a
moment. It was all she was in need of—only
a few moments of respite.
Would not it be safe to merely close her eyes—for just a moment?

No sooner had Saphyre closed her eyes
,
how
ever, than she began to dream—to dream of the nightmare
her life had become. Her dreams were dis
ordered—
lovely visions of her mother
,
followed closely by ghastly ones of her
mother’s
death
—m
oments
spent
in
the safety of
her father
’s arms,
mingled with visions of
her father, the king, battling perplexity, struggling to maintain the strength of his mind
. Visions
of her grandfather, King Jordan, were in her dreams—of the great man he had once been—of the love she had once known for him. Vile v
isions of her
step-grandmother intruded—her step-grandmother, Queen Carmen—of her great beauty coupled with obsessive vanity.
Even visions of Kornelius
were somehow provoked—of handsome Prince Kornelius,
the subject of every young woman
’
s dreams.

Every young woman in the kingdom would faint away with the
bliss
at having caught
Kornelius’s
eye
. Yet
not S
aphyre. Kornelius was vastly handsome, strong, and
pe
rfect in manner—a
bit too perfect in Saphyre
’
s opinion. There was nothing unique about his perfectly press
ed, perfectly flawless attire, n
othing overly masculine in his perfect posture and perfect behavior.
Yes, he was perfectly comely—t
all
,
broad-shouldered
,
square-jawed
,
with the lightest fair hair and darkest green eyes. Still
,
he did not appeal to Saphyre
’
s heart
,
and she was sickened
as she wandered through her discomfited dreams
that
Kornelius
should be the suitor her father had chosen for her.

Saphyre
next
dream
t she was standing in a forest,
sunlight radiating warm and happy. Kornelius stood before her
,
beckoning her to come to him. But Saphyre did not wish to go to him and instead turned to find herself
staring into the gaunt, angular face of
the huntsman! He stood before her dressed in t
he green of a huntsman’s cloak,
his eyes narrowed and his appearance being overall that of a rough
ened
man
to meddle not with
. Oh
,
the expre
ssion he wore spoke of concern—
guilt
,
fear
,
and self-loath
ing. But the knife in his hand—
the knife
stained and dripping with blood—
told of his
true intent. T
he fact he had released
Saphyre—shouted at her to run,
to run for her life and never to return to the
kingdom and father she loved so—his freeing her did not atone for
his initial intention.

In her dreams
,
Saphyr
e turned back toward Kornelius,
but he was gone. In his place was only the darkness of the forest. The trees them
selves seemed to threaten harm. Yet there was no choice given the princess Saphyre Snow—no choice
but to run
—to enfold herself
in the
uncaring embrace of wooded darkness
.

In her dreams, t
he huntsman continued to shout at her as she ran
—shout at her as he truly had. “
Run
,
Princess! Run away!
” he called. “N
ever to return! For returning will find you slaughtered like an unsuspecting deer
,
your heart cut out
,
and the beasts of the forests feasting on your flesh! Run!
”