An epic fantasy of forbidden romance that chronicles the coming of age of a princess who is possessed by the Snow Queen and fated to rule her kingdom with a strong hand and icy heart.
As a child, Princess Freyja looked into the Snow Queen’s cursed mirror - and was changed.
Now an aloof and difficult young woman with a wit as sharp as her tongue, the future monarch is in need of a tutor. And Ambrose, a failed poet, is in need of a teaching position. He just never suspected how dangerous the extracurricular activities would be!
Soon, Ambrose finds himself on a grand adventure fighting to save the vexing but alluring princess from the court occult conspiracies that have targeted her. He is opposed not only by sorcerers and the evil Snow Queen, but also the icy royal damsel who holds his heart.
Will Ambrose’s love cause Freyja to thaw…or will she put him in the deep freeze instead?
Sensuous, suspenseful, supernatural and filled with witty banter, this romantic fantasy will both turn up the heat and leave you thoroughly frost smitten!
A 2019 Critters Readers Poll top ten finalist in the category of Science-Fiction and Fantasy.
~ Universal Amazon Link ~ The price of this book as been steeply discounted on Amazon for this event! Check it out!
Micah S. Harris is the Author of the epic fantasy romance Portrait of a Snow Queen, which took third place in the category of science fiction and fantasy in the Critters Readers Poll. Strong female protagonists and banter are trademarks of his work. Portrait of a Snow Queen is no exception and is recommended for older fans of Frozen and lovers of the witty verbal sparring in The Princess Bride.
He won the 2016 Pulp Ark Award for best novel for Ravenwood, The stepson of Mystery: Return of the Dugpa. He is also the Author - Along with artist Michael Gaydos (Marvel’s Jessica Jones) - of the graphic novel Heaven’s War, a historical fantasy pitting the Oxford Inklings against Aleister Crowley.
His lifelong love of movies also influences his fiction, whether a fairy tale retelling, horror story or paranormal mystery. He taught film on a collegiate level and has chronicled, both in print and via podcast, fascination lost genre gems.
“All right,
Freyja,” I said. “Time to take the classroom outside.”
She
clasped her hands before her and licked her lips. “Really?”
“You just
be sure you are dressed warmly.”
She could
not get out of her chair fast enough. “Goody!”
“What was
that?” I asked. “Did you just
squeal?”
Her back
was to me as she wrapped up. “My…right shoe pinched my foot.”
“The
royals of Aarastad cannot afford shoes that fit? Is that what you are telling
me? That would certainly explain my less than sterling accommodations as the
ruler tutor….”
“That is not what I am telling you…”
“I didn’t
think so. Because it sounded to me
like you said, and I quote, ‘goody’.”
“My shoes are new, schoolmaster, and I am
still breaking them in, as if it’s any of your business.”
Now she
had sat down in another chair and was pulling the allegedly offending article
of apparel from first one foot, then the other, and then began tugging on her
boots.
“Pantaloons
tucked in,” I said and pointed.
She
looked up at me. “I can mind my own
pantaloons, schoolmaster,” she said, squinting at me. “And you can look the
other way.”
I waved
her off, then turned my head. “My word, girl! Please. Forgive me for daring to
be so familiar with your opulence.”
“Don’t
call me that…especially with that tone you use on ‘opulence,’” she said, and I
could hear the pout in her voice.
My head
still turned, I grinned as I said, “Well, it’s either that or Edelle Wei –.”
“Stop it!
You may turn around now.”
She
stood. “Do I pass inspection?” she asked, holding up her palms which were now sheathed
in gloves.
I made a
stirring motion with my forefinger. “Turn around,” I said.
She
did.
“Hood
up.”
“I
already wear a hood….”
“It’s
cold outside, so you’re putting on the one that goes with your cloak over the
one attached to your gown.”
She cocked
her head and stared at me. “I am the Snow Queen.”
“You are Freyja Edelle Weiss—”
“Stop
it!” she said. “Don’t you dare call
me that ridiculous, undignified –”
“I’m
sorry…Are you addressing me, Princess
Edelle Wei—”
“Stop!”
She drew the heavier hood of her cloak over her head. “There! Satisfied?”
“I am.
See that you keep it up and secured tightly, or it’s back inside.”
“Do you
truly appreciate, Ambrose,” she said, “what a rare privilege you enjoy in
ordering a future queen about? And that she deigns to obey?”
I had
been putting on my own outer winter garments as we spoke. “That’s because, per
our agreement, as long as you are my pupil, in my class, you are under my rule.”
“You wait
until I take over,” she said. Then, with a flicker of a smile, she added, “You might consider saying something nice to
me. It might go a long way toward mitigating your future sentence.”
“All
right, then. I will tell you, my pupil, that in all our academic pursuits
together, I have discovered that my favorite subject…is you.”
She
looked at me. “Ambrose, that was terrible.”
“That’s
the best you’re going to get when you go fishing for compliments, my lady.”
“But,
Ambrose, really…don’t you consider yourself to be a poet?”
“I do.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“And
that was it?” she said.
“What did
you expect?”
She shook
her head slowly. “Your beloved metaphysical poets always go for the unexpected
metaphor. I should have thought you would at least try to follow their example.”
“Who said
I should have tried anything? I was giving a girl a compliment. I wasn’t
attempting to compose Paradise Lost off
the cuff!”
“Yes, but
‘you are my favorite subject?’ Under any circumstances, you have to admit that
was reaching for the low hanging fruit.” She beamed. “There!” She pointed at
me, then put her hands on her hips. “I just did better than you, and I wasn’t even trying.”
“You
didn’t have to try anything, because
that was hardly original!”
“Oh,” she
said and tapped her chin with her forefinger. “Yes, you are right. That wasn’t
my own. Your status as the true visionary of mediocrity remains unchallenged.”
I looked
her up and down. “Well, maybe I just rose to the height of my inspiration.”
“Now,
Ambrose. Don’t be cruel.”
“Oh no, my lady…you are not going to stand there after that unnecessarily rude estimate of
my lack of mastery of language and pout because now I’ve wounded your feelings.”
“I was not being rude.”
“Oh no?
What was that then?”
“I
was being frank.”
“Well,
Frank, I was trying to be nice, as
you requested.”
“I never
said it wasn’t sweet.”
“Wait a
moment…now you’re backing up and saying you liked
it?”
She
raised her palm and gave her head a quick shake. “No, no. Not your poetry. That was truly terrible. I liked the
sentiment.”
“Then
next time you might want to start out with that! Not that there’s going to be a
next time. I’m never saying anything nice to you again!”
I pointed
toward the door. “Outside, your
highness!”
“Well!”
She expelled a puff of breath. “Talk about a temperamental artist!”
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