finished.
“What?” she said, startled.
“You tell me about your childhood,” he said.
She hesitated, but she couldn’t think of any excuse why not to. Besides, for some reason that she didn’t explore too closely, she wanted to talk about it.
She told him about Max and his planes, Gram and her story, and Owen and his gadgets. She told him about how different things were for her compared to, say, Owen’s niece in Fairbanks, whose life consisted of makeup and movies. “First time I ever saw a movie,” Cassie said, “I was four—my first trip to Fairbanks. I was terrified.”
“I find nothing so strange about that.”
“It wasn’t a horror movie. It was Mary Poppins.” When she had first seen Julie Andrews float through the air with her umbrella, she had screamed, and Dad had shoved popcorn at her to quiet her. “I managed to calm myself until the scene where the children jump into a chalk painting.” She had thought the sidewalk had swallowed them, and she had proceeded to scream herself hoarse.
They swapped stories as Cassie devoured honeyed breads, delicately spiced fish, a raspberry tart.
Eventually, they fell silent.
She shifted on the ice throne. She hadn’t meant to talk so much. He was just so easy to talk to. She didn’t like how . . . comfortable she’d felt. He was supposed to be the Polar Bear King, and now when she looked at him, he looked like an overgrown stuffed animal or the Coca-Cola polar bear.
Abruptly, she stood up. “Is there more to the castle?” she asked.
“You do not need to rush,” he said. “You have a full week.” She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You asked at least seven questions; you owe me at least seven days,” he said. “It is not a lifetime, but it is a beginning.”
“I never agreed to your bargain,” she objected.
He blinked at her. “You are correct,” he said, surprise in his voice. “You did not.” They looked at each other for a moment. Then the Bear King focused on the table, and the dishes began to disappear. She jumped as her plate popped like a bubble. Her silverware dissolved into the ice. The frost tablecloth withered. “Stay one week,” he said, “and then decide. Only one week. You waited eighteen years for your mother. Wait one week more.” She thought of all the memories she’d just spilled, all the moments she’d lived believing her mother was dead and gone. And now . . . Cassie looked away from the Bear King’s brilliant black eyes. She didn’t want to think about this. “Show me more of the castle,” she said.
He led her to a grand ballroom with pillars reaching up into arches and the roof open to a pale, cloudless sky. The northern lights wafted over and the deep blue floor mirrored the ribbons of light with shimmering perfection. Staring up at the sky, Cassie walked into the ballroom and slipped. She landed smack on her butt.
The Bear King bounded over to her. “Are you all right?”
“Fine, fine, fine.” Her tailbone felt bruised. He bent his neck down to help her, and she automatically shied away. She stood on her own.
“I never noticed it was slippery,” he said, an apology in his voice.
“You have bear paws,” she said. “I need crampons on this floor. Or ice skates.” She shuffled over to a pillar. Outside the ballroom, through the arches, she could see the sculptures of the topiary garden glittering with reflections of the night aurora. It was so beautiful her breath caught in her throat.
She had an idea. She didn’t stop to think about whether or not it was a good idea. Sitting down fast, she unstrapped her mukluks. She wiggled her toes within three layers of socks.
The Bear King hovered near her. “Are you hurt?”
Cassie used the pillar to stand. “Not yet.” She pushed off. In socks, she skated across the ballroom. It made a perfect ice rink. Whooping, she crashed into the opposite pillar.
“What?” she said, startled.
“You tell me about your childhood,” he said.
She hesitated, but she couldn’t think of any excuse why not to. Besides, for some reason that she didn’t explore too closely, she wanted to talk about it.
She told him about Max and his planes, Gram and her story, and Owen and his gadgets. She told him about how different things were for her compared to, say, Owen’s niece in Fairbanks, whose life consisted of makeup and movies. “First time I ever saw a movie,” Cassie said, “I was four—my first trip to Fairbanks. I was terrified.”
“I find nothing so strange about that.”
“It wasn’t a horror movie. It was Mary Poppins.” When she had first seen Julie Andrews float through the air with her umbrella, she had screamed, and Dad had shoved popcorn at her to quiet her. “I managed to calm myself until the scene where the children jump into a chalk painting.” She had thought the sidewalk had swallowed them, and she had proceeded to scream herself hoarse.
They swapped stories as Cassie devoured honeyed breads, delicately spiced fish, a raspberry tart.
Eventually, they fell silent.
She shifted on the ice throne. She hadn’t meant to talk so much. He was just so easy to talk to. She didn’t like how . . . comfortable she’d felt. He was supposed to be the Polar Bear King, and now when she looked at him, he looked like an overgrown stuffed animal or the Coca-Cola polar bear.
Abruptly, she stood up. “Is there more to the castle?” she asked.
“You do not need to rush,” he said. “You have a full week.” She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You asked at least seven questions; you owe me at least seven days,” he said. “It is not a lifetime, but it is a beginning.”
“I never agreed to your bargain,” she objected.
He blinked at her. “You are correct,” he said, surprise in his voice. “You did not.” They looked at each other for a moment. Then the Bear King focused on the table, and the dishes began to disappear. She jumped as her plate popped like a bubble. Her silverware dissolved into the ice. The frost tablecloth withered. “Stay one week,” he said, “and then decide. Only one week. You waited eighteen years for your mother. Wait one week more.” She thought of all the memories she’d just spilled, all the moments she’d lived believing her mother was dead and gone. And now . . . Cassie looked away from the Bear King’s brilliant black eyes. She didn’t want to think about this. “Show me more of the castle,” she said.
He led her to a grand ballroom with pillars reaching up into arches and the roof open to a pale, cloudless sky. The northern lights wafted over and the deep blue floor mirrored the ribbons of light with shimmering perfection. Staring up at the sky, Cassie walked into the ballroom and slipped. She landed smack on her butt.
The Bear King bounded over to her. “Are you all right?”
“Fine, fine, fine.” Her tailbone felt bruised. He bent his neck down to help her, and she automatically shied away. She stood on her own.
“I never noticed it was slippery,” he said, an apology in his voice.
“You have bear paws,” she said. “I need crampons on this floor. Or ice skates.” She shuffled over to a pillar. Outside the ballroom, through the arches, she could see the sculptures of the topiary garden glittering with reflections of the night aurora. It was so beautiful her breath caught in her throat.
She had an idea. She didn’t stop to think about whether or not it was a good idea. Sitting down fast, she unstrapped her mukluks. She wiggled her toes within three layers of socks.
The Bear King hovered near her. “Are you hurt?”
Cassie used the pillar to stand. “Not yet.” She pushed off. In socks, she skated across the ballroom. It made a perfect ice rink. Whooping, she crashed into the opposite pillar.
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