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The story came out in bits and pieces. From the small snippets that Crispin fed him as he was given a tour of the castle and told of all the many places that were off limits to monsters like him. From the biting comments the Baron casually dropped in their conversations, every syllable dripping with condescension and contempt even as Rivoltante was ordered to hunt down yet another rabid dog that had encroached upon their territory. From the droll remarks of Arcanum as she stood hautily at the Baron’s side, somehow looking both disgusted and intrigued whenever they crossed paths, as if he were a peculiar insect that had gotten stuck beneath the sole of her boot.

The world had changed since he had been frozen in ice. The land he once knew was gone, and in its place stood a fiefdom of crystalline spires reaching towards the heavens. It was deceptively beautiful and delicate, glittering like a diamond chandelier, until a closer look showed all the jagged cracks and shadowed secrets. The darkness better left untouched.

The places he’d once visited were long leveled to the ground, the people he’d known dead or buried or since traveled away from this frozen wasteland. And here Rivoltante was, alone in a household that ran red with blood and cruelty.

In the beginning, the Baron kept him at arms-length like a wild animal that hadn’t yet learned not to bite its handler. Extraneous and disposable when Arcanum filled the role of guard so readily already.

He was tasked with simple things that kept him away from the comforts of the brightly lit castle, patrolling the outer walls at odd hours of the night and defending the border against intruders. But as time passed, his orders became more nuanced, the leash around his neck falling slack as the Baron turned his attention to more interesting things than his tamed guard dog.

After all, ‘remove any threat’ left a lot of room for interpretation.

When Rivoltante took to wandering the halls under the guise of patrolling, the steward glanced in askance at him, but didn’t comment. When Rivoltante took to silently entering rooms uninvited, Crispin startled with a muffled curse while the Baron watched on amused. When Rivoltante took to following the Baron, always a step behind and never intrusive, the Baron only raised a brow and let it pass.

Sometimes Rivoltante could imagine something more. The world they lived in was loveless and stolid, like a still water-painting and glimmering reflections marred by faint imperfections. But during the quiet hours of the day, when all was done for the night and the few scant moments it was just the two of them, when the Baron was relaxing in front of the warm fireplace the very picture of sophisticated grace, there was something. A fissure in the air, an undeniable presence. Rivoltante was unnaturally aware of every movement the Baron made, the way his hands clasped delicately around the armrest of the chair, the way his eyes glowed with reflected firelight as he spoke.

It was simple, companionable. With no barriers between them and free to be themselves.

Sometimes the Baron talked about his day, recounting all the bits and pieces that Rivoltante hadn’t been around for, all the little things that the others weren’t aware of. Like the way the Baron knew Crispin was still absolutely terrified of him despite the steward’s stoic exterior. The way the Baron knew that Vodyanoy was growing antsy again from the way his claws scraped against the ground when he walked.

Sometimes Rivoltante talked instead, about his most recent escapades in defending their territory, about some particularly interesting tidbit that he’d come across that morning. Watching the subtle curve of the Baron’s lips when he mentioned something particularly amusing, that glint in his eyes that said he was pleased.

And sometimes, when the night came to a close and they parted for their individual lodgings, the Baron’s gaze lingered, a touch of a hand on his for a second too long.

It wasn’t open and easy. No warm and fuzzy feelings—there was no room in this glacial land to feel anything like that—yet Rivoltante knew something had changed. The distance between them was no longer a gulf, but a traversable stream. And while the Baron was as cold as ever, and while Rivoltante was still a monster that served as a glorified executioner, there was something there. A small spark so minuscule in the grand scheme of things.

It was just as well that a single spark could set the world ablaze.

Some part of him yearned for greater and better things. Ambitious, they said of him in his youth. Driven, they said in his adolescent years. And now, the celestial ruler of his own slice of land, his to mold and bend and break, there was no one to say otherwise.

It seemed odd that he was so fond of this place when there were others who scoffed at him and turned their noses up at his meager holdings. They saw the Ice Sheets Colony as nothing more than a barren wasteland filled with criminals and vicious beasts. A menagerie with him its sole keeper and toiler.

Perhaps if they had seen what he had done their views would change. The inner workings that lay beneath the rough and stony facade. But Rolec kept his plans hidden, his motives buried, a spider in his very web of mechanisms. After all, it wouldn’t do for the King to realize what lay just beyond his reach, to see the frozen expanse as the treasure trove it truly was.

Oh, let dear Rolec handle those creatures, the court would say, sending away yet another incorrigible soul into his clutches, his land nothing more than the nation’s trash can for all the vermin and scum they were too wont to keep. Just another place lock them up and throw away the key. But men forgotten had a way of coming back like the rot that poisoned the town’s well supply, or the plague that crept stealthily in.

While they had been off celebrating their marvelous idea, patting themselves on the back for finally getting rid of this worthless piece of ice, Rolec had been dealing in secrets. The shadows whispered to him, tidbits and news and back parlour deals.

There were many backing the throne with less than savory ideals, many who hid their past misdeeds behind rosy smiles and dainty laughs, all vying for some form of control, an edge up without making a ripple in the pond.

It was just as well Rolec could make ripples into waves with them none the wiser.

“Baron Rolec,” his steward Crispin said, staring straight ahead and trying not to fidget. Rolec had seen him when he’d first arrived, a sniveling wreck that jumped at every shadow. And while Crispin had grown in that time, as cold as their surroundings, still Rolec could hear the trace of a tremor in his voice, his words too hollow to be easy true. A chicken trying so valiantly to live in the fox den.

“Yes?” Rolec asked, all sanguine and honey, a king on his throne.

“A prisoner is revolting.”

His armies were steadily growing, his beasts faithful and loyal. With every one he defrosted from these icy catacombs, Rolec grew wiser and stronger. It was only a matter of time now until he would decide to act. Until he razed the kingdom to the ground and toppled it to its knees.

Until then…

Rolec hummed noncommittally, waving a hand lazily. “Give it to Rivoltante to handle,” he said, utterly unconcerned. “He deserves a treat.”

Crispin wasn’t quite quick enough to hide his grimace, but the steward nodded all the same and left to do as he bid.

The door shut quietly behind him, the clock chimed above the mantelpiece a single haunting and echoing tune, and Rolec didn’t move. There would be another corpse to clean up that night, an appetizer and precursor for the many more to come by the time he was finished.

This world was his to mold and bend and break. And if the rivers ran red and the fields were salted… well, it was his divine right to rule them all.