Serenya was given chambers carved entirely from ice.
The walls shimmered with pale blue light, etched with ancient runes that pulsed softly like a living heart. The bed was layered with thick white furs, warm despite the frozen surroundings, yet Serenya felt no comfort in them. This was not a room—it was a gilded cage.
A servant entered silently, her head bowed low. "You are to be prepared for court tomorrow, Your Grace."
The title felt heavy. Unreal.
"I am not your Empress," Serenya said quietly.
The servant froze. "The court believes otherwise."
When the door closed, Serenya sank onto the edge of the bed. Her parents' faces haunted her—relieved, proud, untouched by guilt. They had sold her future with smiles on their lips.
A sharp knock cut through her thoughts.
The temperature dropped.
Vael entered without waiting for permission.
He removed his gloves slowly, placing them on the table, his eyes never leaving her. In the low light, he looked less like a monster and more like a man carved from winter itself—beautiful, terrifying, unreachable.
"You will be presented tomorrow," he said. "The court will kneel. You will not."
Serenya looked up. "Why?"
"Because kneeling is surrender," he replied. "And I did not buy a broken bride."
Her heart thundered. "You didn't buy me at all."
A corner of his mouth twitched—almost a smile. "Careful. Words can shatter ice."
He stepped closer, stopping just short of touching her. The cold wrapped around her skin, but beneath it… something else lingered. Power. Loneliness.
"They expect you to obey," Vael continued. "They expect fear."
"And what do you expect?" she asked.
He held her gaze longer than necessary. "Survival."
When he turned to leave, Serenya spoke before she could stop herself.
"You hate them," she said. "My parents."
Vael paused at the door. "I despise greed."
Then, without looking back, he added, "And yet… it brought you to me."
The door closed.
Serenya exhaled shakily.
She was not a prisoner.
Not yet.
But she was standing at the edge of something far more dangerous than chains—
the slow, terrifying pull of the Ice Emperor himself.