The Frostlands King's shadow filled the doorway, cold air curling into the chamber as though it had followed him from his northern throne. His pale eyes swept over the shattered glass, the overturned chair, the dagger in her hand. They lingered there — long enough for her fingers to tighten around the hilt without realizing it.
"Care to explain," he said again, voice smooth but edged like the surface of ice, "why you're armed in the middle of the night?"
Before Aria could answer, the Verdant King stepped between them, the silvered curve of his blade still wet with blood. His stance was casual, but there was nothing casual in the way he angled his body — blocking her from the Frostlands King's direct line of sight.
"She nearly died," the Verdant King said, his tone clipped, "while your guards were supposedly patrolling."
The Frostlands King's gaze didn't shift from her. "And yet she's still breathing." He stepped inside the room, each footstep precise, as though the floor itself might be testing him.
Aria wanted to speak, to explain, but the tension between the two men crackled like a drawn bowstring. The Verdant King's hand hovered near his sword. The Frostlands King's fingers curled as if they already held a weapon.
It was like watching two predators circle — both aware of the other's teeth.
"Who sent him?" the Frostlands King asked her at last, his voice deceptively soft.
She blinked. "I don't know."
A humorless smile touched his lips. "You expect me to believe that? The assassin came straight to you — past guards, past locked gates — and you have no idea why?"
Before she could answer, the Verdant King's voice cut in like a blade through silk. "She has no reason to lie."
The Frostlands King turned his head just enough to meet the other man's eyes. "And you have no reason to be here."
The Verdant King's smirk was all teeth. "I make my own reasons."
Aria's pulse thudded in her ears. Every word felt like it was dragging her deeper into some game she didn't understand — a game where she wasn't the player but the prize.
The Frostlands King's gaze dropped again to the dagger she still held. He stepped forward slowly, his boots crunching on the broken glass. "Drop it," he said.
Her fingers tightened. "Why?"
"Because," he murmured, his voice dropping low enough to feel more than hear, "holding a blade in my presence without intent to use it is dangerous. And if you do intend to use it… it's suicide."
For a moment, neither of them moved. Then the Verdant King shifted, his shoulder brushing hers ever so slightly. It was a silent message: Don't.
The Frostlands King's eyes flicked to that contact, something sharp flashing in them. He extended his hand — palm up, patient but unyielding.
Aria's knuckles ached from gripping the weapon, but slowly, she let it fall into his hand. His fingers closed over it with the certainty of a man taking back something that had always belonged to him.
"You're coming with me," the Frostlands King said suddenly.
"She's not," the Verdant King replied instantly.
Aria's stomach dropped. "What—"
"You're not safe here," the Frostlands King continued, his attention wholly on her now. "Someone breached this wing. If they try again, I won't leave your fate in another man's hands."
The Verdant King laughed under his breath. "Another man's hands? That's exactly where you want her — in yours."
Something unspoken passed between them then, heavier than any spoken insult. She could see it in the set of their shoulders, the faint narrowing of their eyes: this wasn't about safety. Not entirely.
"Enough," she snapped, surprising even herself. "If you're going to argue over me, at least do it where I can't hear every word."
Both kings turned toward her — two very different storms aimed in her direction.
The Frostlands King stepped closer, close enough that she caught the faint scent of snow and steel. "Aria, someone wants you dead. You will either come willingly or be escorted."
The Verdant King's voice was lower, coaxing. "Or you could stay with me. I can protect you without locking you in a tower like some fragile relic."
Her heart thudded. She realized, with a jolt, that they weren't asking. They were forcing her to choose — right now, in front of them both.
She swallowed. "And if I say no to both of you?"
The Frostlands King's mouth curved in something that wasn't quite a smile. "Then we'll see which of us reaches you first when the next blade comes for your heart."
The Verdant King tilted his head. "And I'll make sure it's my hands pulling you out of the fire."
Her pulse hammered. It wasn't a choice between safety and danger — it was a choice between two different kinds of danger.
Outside the shattered window, the wind shifted, carrying the faint echo of footsteps in the garden below. Whoever had tried to kill her might not be gone.
And neither king seemed willing to leave her alone tonight.
"Decide," the Frostlands King said quietly, "before I decide for you."
The Verdant King's hand brushed hers again — deliberately this time — and for a moment she forgot to breathe.
Every instinct screamed at her to pick the one she trusted more. The problem was, she didn't trust either of them.
The sound came again — footsteps, closer now. Both kings turned toward the window.
When they looked back at her, their eyes were different. Sharper. Urgent.
Her choice was no longer just about where she'd sleep tonight.
It might determine whether she woke up at all.
The Frostlands King took one step toward her. The Verdant King took one as well.
Aria backed up — and hit the cold, unyielding wall.