Mercedes Vaintz couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so… disheveled.
The meeting room was silent, spacious, impeccably organized—but the Ice Monarch paced back and forth like a nervous apprentice about to face her first ceremony. With each step, the hem of her long nightgown dragged across the polished floor, and her loose hair, still slightly disheveled from a terrible night's sleep, trembled with every abrupt movement.
She was exhausted.
Literally exhausted.
The deep dark circles under her blue eyes betrayed a forced vigil that had stretched for hours.
Hours.
Hours.
The entire night.
And she hated to admit it—but she remembered every minute.
Mercedes pressed her fist against her mouth as she walked, trying to control her breathing. Her body trembled—not from cold, but from pure nervousness. Her hands were sweating. Her legs barely supported her.
Just thinking about it, just remembering…
