Her footsteps were delicate and her stride short as her heeled feet tapped over to stop before him. The huntsman’s dark eyes rose from the cold floor and for a moment his aches and pains were forgotten. She was beautiful. Her hair was like the ice on the sheer walls of the Far Mountain. Her lips were pink hearts from the highest branches of the blossom tree and her eyes were so blue and cold they stung him to look into them. He’d seen winter wolves who looked like that just as spring began to ease the rest of nature’s suffering but start their own. Pure defiance, even though they knew their time to chase the frost to a different kingdom or die had likely come. Winter wolves, so much smaller and more ethereal than their grey rough brothers, were beautiful, delicate and dangerous. This queen was no different.

‘I see you’re still taking orders from your big brother,’ she said, her eyes on the captain.

‘I had to, your Majesty. He’s the senior ranking officer. What else could I do?’

‘You’d do well to remember that the king will not be returning home soon. I’m told his campaign is doing well and he’s pushing towards the sea. He says he might not be back for another two years.’ The soldier shuffled awkwardly under the intensity of her icy gaze.

‘That’s a long time. Terrible things can happen to people – or their families – in that time. The dwarves always need ore sorters, and sadly, as we all know, only dwarves’ lungs can cope with the dust for very long. If you feel uncomfortable serving in my guard then I’m sure I can find a use for you elsewhere, Captain Cricket. And remember, in his absence, I am the voice of the king himself.’

‘It won’t happen again, your Majesty.’ The captain quickly tugged open the huntsman’s rough hemp bag. ‘The prisoner had these on him. I thought you might want them.’

The diamond slippers. Of course. The huntsman watched as the queen’s irritation with her servant vanished at the sight of the sparkling shoes. As the light hit them and refracted, all the colours in the rainbow dazzled in their surfaces. The queen’s beautiful eyes widened and her mouth opened slightly. He knew why. The slippers were warm to the touch. They tingled with charm and charisma. He’d felt it when he’d taken them from that very different kingdom, and he’d heard their story since. There was more than precious stones in their making.

‘Slippers for a ball,’ the queen whispered. ‘And with such magic in them.’ She looked down at the huntsman again, this time with far more curiosity. ‘And he killed a white stag?’

‘In the heart of the forest. I ordered my men to throw it into Ender’s Pit.’