Lord of Snow and Ice. Heather Massey

      As Prince Stellan bent to quench his thirst in the cold waters of the Elysian River, he didn’t know which sight shocked him more: the beautiful young woman who lay on the far side of the grassy riverbank, or her unabashed nakedness.

      A rush of adrenaline coursed through his tired limbs as blind instinct seized control. Bereft of cover, he dropped into a crouch, keenly aware that his lean, black-clad figure left him dangerously exposed against the surrounding grasslands. He knew well his reputation as “the Dark Prince.” If he were caught wandering outside of his icy realm, the consequences would be severe.

      Pain shot through his back, the result of a twelve-hour patrol that had knotted his muscles with vicious glee. He ignored it, allowing his wind-parched eyes to fully drink in the vision.

      Who was this woman? Why was she here? Such a sight was scarcer than plump, ready game in his desolate world–a realization that only caused his hungry body to ache for more. His ragged, desperate breaths hammered in his ears. A trickle of sweat tortured his right cheek. He didn’t dare make a move to wipe it, lest he cause the fawn across the river to bolt. She was no doubt beyond hearing range, but he couldn’t take the chance.

      Stellan sank even lower. His raging heart pounded louder and louder. Were her eyes open or closed? Difficult to tell from this distance. As a hunter, he knew subterfuge was paramount in these situations. He inched forward. Beside him, his great black stallion lowered its head and drank noisily. Stellan’s head spun. He’d almost forgotten about his companion. Sorry, my friend, but I require your absence.

      Stellan whirled upward and led the horse back to a copse of trees. Here, it was completely hidden. He tethered the animal and attached a feed bag to its head. Now Stellan could observe at his leisure, for he had to learn more about the mystery woman intruding upon his secret resting spot.

      At least, he had thought it secret. Stellan emerged from the trees with a quiet, measured gait. The woman came into his view once more, prompting shivers to course through his body. Springtime had wrought more than just copious greenery and sumptuous blossoms. As befitted the large, wealthy kingdom, Aldebaran’s countryside was bursting with life. This woman was no exception. She looked like a nymph birthed from velvety petals.

      A thin, shallow tributary meandering along Aldebaran’s eastern border, the Elysian now brimmed with liquid silver from the melted snow of Falcon Heights. As Stellan crept closer to its edge, he coaxed a bit of saliva down his shriveled throat. A stir of any kind could mean his death. Among the local kingdoms, his reputation for odd, secretive behaviors was hardly one to engender much trust, if any at all.

      Furthermore, in this very moment, Stellan was demonstrating that he didn’t care about earning any.

      Folk thought him oblivious, but they thought wrong. He heard the rumors, the gossip, the lies. They called him savage, bloodthirsty, and a lunatic, among other less congenial terms. Whatever the appellation, it was always spat forth with bile and scorn, underscored by fear.

      He couldn’t help his wry smile, for he did nothing to dispel the hearsay. Resentment had hardened his heart as surely as bitter cold induced frostbite. What did he care? Let them think he was a sorcerer of ill repute, of delirium. Let them think he culled his servants from the ranks of the undead, lining the halls of his decrepit castle and summoned forth when the macabre appetites of his kind possessed him.

      Then he abruptly sobered. Some of the tales had origins in truth. A pang of regret surfaced, but he ground out the feeling as one would an ember. No matter. He could hardly do much about it right now.

      Besides, he had a more pressing concern at the moment. Should the woman glance up in just the right way, she would espy him through the sparse wall of brown-tipped reeds. They swayed in a gentle breeze, enough to block his view with maddening precision. Of all the places in Aldebaran, why had she chosen this one? Then again, most would certainly question his presence in Aldebaran. If she recognized him, he’d be hunted until captured, perhaps even killed. In the Five Lands, a sorcerer–even one of royal blood such as he–was no better than the lowest beast.

      Parting the reeds, he gazed around in all directions. A cream-colored mare grazed on verdant grass a mere stone’s throw from her mistress. Stellan frowned. There must be a lady’s maid or husband nearby. Surely this woman wasn’t so foolish as to frolic alone in a remote area! Aldebaran was protected by regular patrols of the army’s finest, but dangers hovered at the edges, constantly searching for entry at the weakest points.

      Dungeon Forest, from which he had recently emerged, was also known to harbor certain…things as well, abominations to all life. The woman risked much in visiting this area by herself. He would have to exercise extreme diligence on her behalf. But there was more to it than that. Despite the potential threats, she intrigued him. He stayed to hungrily ingest every vibrant, exciting detail.

      She lay on her back, one arm stretched above her head. The other rested across her stomach. Such an invitation! With a heated blush, Stellan fantasized about slipping his hand into her small one as he draped his tall frame upon her. The sight of the blond, glossy hair surrounding her face stirred unfamiliar feelings within him. Ensconced beneath the drab, overcast skies of a snow-laden kingdom he often loathed calling home, Stellan was not accustomed to such brightness.

      Skin reminiscent of goldenrod wrapped her petite frame. It betrayed many such hours soaking up fresh air. Casting an eye toward the midmorning sun, he decided it paled in comparison to her beauty. Now thoroughly entranced, he greedily continued his appraisal. Pleasant,