I sat up, keeping the cover in front of my br**sts, because with me nude sometimes Frost forgot to listen, and I wanted him to hear me.
He sat there with his hair pooling like silver fire around his bare skin. He would not look at me, even though I knew he could feel the bed move as I inched close enough to touch his arm.
"Frost, I love you."
His gray eyes rose once, then went back to staring at his big hands where they lay in his lap. "Do you love me alone without Doyle's body beside me?"
My hand tightened on his arm while I tried to think what to say. This was certainly a conversation I hadn't expected to be having. I did love Frost, but I did not always love his moods. "I find you as desirable now as I did that first night."
He rewarded me with a small smile. "That was a very good night, but you avoided answering my question." He gave me the full force of his eyes then. "Which is answer enough." He started to get up, and I pressed my hand on his arm, not to force him, but to try to keep him where he was. He let me keep him sitting on the bed though he was stronger than I would ever be. There, that note of regret again.
I sighed, and tried to cut through his mood and mine to get to something better. "Is it because I turned away and did not watch you undress?"
He nodded.
"I don't feel well. I think I am coming down with a cold."
He looked at me uncomprehendingly.
"Remember that some of you thought that what happened inside faerie had made me immortal like the rest of you?"
He nodded again.
"If I'm coming down with a cold then it is not so. I am still mortal."
He put his hand over mine where it lay against his arm. "Why would that make you look away from me?"
"I love you, Frost, but loving you means that I will have to watch you stay young and handsome and perfect while I age. This body that you love will not remain. I will grow old and I will know death, and I will be forced to look at you every day and know that you do not understand. When I am very old, you will still take off your clothes and be as beautiful as you are now."
"You will always be our princess," he said, and his face showed that he was trying to understand.
I took my hand away and lay back on the bed, staring up at that impossibly lovely face. Tears burned at the back of my eyes and tightened my throat so that I could choke on regret. With everything that had happened today, all that had gone wrong, all the danger around us, I was ready to cry because the men I loved would always remain as beautiful as they were today but I would not. It wasn't death I feared, really, it was the slow decay. How had Maeve Reed's husband borne watching her remain while he grew old? How do love and sanity survive such a thing?
Frost leaned over me, and his shoulders were so broad that his hair fanned out around me like some shining tent, a waterfall caught in mid-motion to glitter in the dim light of my room. "You are young and you are beautiful this night. Why do you borrow such sorrows when they are far away, and I am right here?" He whispered the last words above my lips, and ended with a kiss.
I let him kiss me, but didn't kiss him back. Did he not understand? Well, of course he didn't. How could he? Or... or...
I pushed a hand against his chest and got enough space to look into his face. "Have you loved someone and watched her grow old?"
He sat back abruptly and would not look at me. I wrapped my hand around as much of his wrist as I could. It was too big for me to encircle it. "You have, haven't you?" I asked.
He would not look at me, but finally he nodded.
"Who, when?" I asked.
"I saw her through a pane of glass when I was not the Killing Frost but just Frost. I was just the hoarfrost made into something alive by the belief of the people and the magic of faerie." He looked at me, and there was uncertainty in that look. "You saw me in a vision once, what I began as."
I nodded. I remembered. "You came to her window as Jack Frost," I said.
"Yes."
"What was her name?"
"Rose. She had golden curls and eyes like a winter sky. She saw me at the window, saw me and tried to tell her mother that there was a face at the window."
"She had second sight," I said.
He nodded.
I almost let it go, but I couldn't. I just couldn't. "What happened?"
"She was always alone. The other children seemed to sense that she was different. She made the mistake of telling them the things she could see. They named her witch, and her mother with her. She had no father. From the talk among the other villagers she had never had a father. I heard them as I painted frost on their houses whispering that Rose was begotten by no man, but the devil. They were so poor, and I was just another part of the winter cold that hurt them the most. I wanted so to help her." He raised his big hands, as if he were seeing different hands, smaller and less powerful. "I needed to be more."
"Did you ask for help?" I asked.
He looked at me, startled. "Do you mean, did I ask the Goddess and consort to help me?"
I nodded.
He smiled and it lightened his face, made a joy shine through that he hid most of the time. "I did."
I smiled back at him. "And you were answered."
"Yes," he said, still smiling. "I went to sleep, and when I woke, I was taller, stronger. I found them fuel for their fire, all that long winter. I found them food." Then the joy fled from his face. "I took the food from the other villagers, and they accused her mother of stealing. Rose told them that her friend left it, her shining friend."
I took his hand in mine. "They accused her of withcraft," I said softly.