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About Kingdoms of Wrath and Ice Anthology
Title: Kingdoms of Wrath and Ice
Author: Anthology
Genre: Dark Fantasy
Fifteen original tales of wrath and ice.
Curl up by a warm fire as winter’s icy fingers claw their way down your back and sink into this collection tales of icy villains.
Tales of revenge. Of dubious heroes and well-meaning winter witches. Of noble assassins and the origins of evil. You might be left questioning who really is the villain, or just whose side you’re on.
But as the ice thaws, you might see some hope left, after all…
• The Kelpie by Andrew LiVecchi
• Ashen Queen by E. Seneca
• The Third Son by Elise Berensen Meyer
• Grandmother Oak by Benjamin Sperduto
• A Forever Winter by Arwyn Sherman
• How The Sea Witch Lost Her Heart by J. D. Trebmal
• Elemental by Lily Manning
• The Dark King of Time by Tina Capricorn
• The Winter Queen by Jan Marie Reynoldson
• Glace Noir by Kimberly Grymes
• Immistar by Paul Williams
• Don’t Feed the Beasts by William Rigsby
• Cold Revenge by Maria Carvalho
• Crown of Sweetgrass by Cherie Lynae Cabrera Suski
• The Grusel Woods by Jessica Julien
Excerpt from Kingdoms of Wrath and Ice
© 2022
Elise Berensen Meyer
From ‘The Third Son’ by Elise Berensen Meyer
Three days. Three Loki-cursed days of feasting. Of looking sorrowful during sad stories he did not find depressing. Of laughing at jests he did not find funny. Of communing with courtiers he did not trust.
Leaving the revelers to enjoy their last feast day, Drek was on his way out of the great hall when he crossed paths with one of his servants turned street spy. To any passersby who happened to see the young elf walk past Drek while balancing a tray of spiced pear wine, it would seem that the prince and the servant made no contact. Yet, Drek walked through the behemoth doors into the front corridor with a note tucked into his large fist.
He opened the missive as soon as he walked through his chamber door and didn’t bother relaxing into one of the plush leather chairs in the sitting room to read it. Heading straight to his dressing room, he decoded the message, letting his feet carry him along the familiar path. It related a lead that could reveal his next victim. No, he had decided not to think of them that way. Victim was much too personal of a word. Assassins used words like target, or mark. Those were better words. Words that separated him from the sordid deeds he carried out behind the crown’s back. His own father’s back.
Black training leathers hung in the back of his closet. They were nondescript and not unusual attire for a third born warrior-prince to own. However, when Drek donned them with a black tunic, boots, and a deep hooded cloak, he truly looked like what he had become. An assassin, but not one of those evil-worshiping members of the Order of Fenrir. They were the ones he was attempting to root out of his father’s court, but sometimes you had to become your worst nightmare in order to fight it.
