The metallic clang echoed through the throne room like a thunderclap.
My arms moved before my brain could even process the threat. It was the "Squire" muscle memory Kaelen had drilled into me—a month of being hit with wooden sticks finally paying off in the most high-stakes way possible. The Sovereign, now a light and lethal rapier, met Lucian's massive obsidian blade with a shower of golden sparks.
The impact was strange. It didn't feel like he was trying to cleave me in two; it felt like he was merely... tapping a glass to see if it would shatter.
"Oh, thank the Goddess," I exhaled, my heart hammering against my ribs. "I'm not dead. Novel 101: The first strike is always a vibe check."
But as I tried to pull back to take a defensive stance, I realized something was very, very wrong. I couldn't move. It wasn't that I was paralyzed by fear—it was as if the very air around me had turned into solid ice. My boots were fused to the marble floor, and the cold, deadly aura radiating from the Grand Duke had pinned me in place like a butterfly on a display board.
"Not bad," Lucian mused. He didn't pull his sword away. Instead, he leaned in closer, the tip of Nightfall still pressed against the Sovereign's guard. His crimson eyes were inches from mine, and the sheer intensity of his "Duke of the North" gaze was enough to make my brain short-circuit again. "Your instincts are sharp, Lady Liliana. But a warrior who stares at her opponent's face instead of their blade is a warrior who wants to die."
"I wasn't staring! I was... analyzing the tactical advantage of your facial symmetry!" I wheezed, my breath hitching as the temperature in the room continued to plummet.
"Is that so?" His voice was a low, dangerous purr that vibrated right through my chest. He increased the pressure of his blade just a fraction. "Then analyze this: you are currently standing in a field of my frost mana. One more step without my permission, and your 'fragile' ankles will snap like dry twigs."
I looked down. Frost was literally creeping up my shredded skirts, sparkling like diamonds in the firelight. It was beautiful, terrifying, and exactly the kind of over-the-top power display I expected from a man of his stature.
"Brother," the Emperor called out from his throne, his voice sounding oddly distant. "Release her. You've seen enough. The sword didn't break, and neither did she."
Lucian didn't look at the Emperor. He stayed locked in my space, his cold aura swirling around us like a private storm. "She has the steel," he whispered, his eyes searching mine as if looking for a hidden secret. "But she still smells like the Prince's roses. Tell me, Little Lily... are you going to use that sword to cut your path, or is it just a new accessory for your collection?"
I looked at the frost on my hem, then up at the man who was currently the living embodiment of every "Cold Duke" trope I had ever read. My fear was being rapidly overtaken by that stubborn streak that had pushed me down a laundry chute.
"Roses?" I challenged, my grip tightening on the Sovereign. "That's funny. I thought I smelled like laundry detergent and soot. And if you don't move your sword in the next three seconds, you're going to find out exactly how sharp this 'accessory' is."
I felt the frost beginning to numbing my toes, and the sheer audacity of it finally broke my "fangirl" trance. Here I was, having survived a tower, a laundry chute, and a soot-filled duct, only to be turned into a human popsicle by a man who looked like he'd been carved out of a glacier.
I looked down at my feet, then back up into those terrifyingly beautiful crimson eyes.
"Isnt this cheating?" I blurted out, my voice echoing with a mix of indignation and breathless excitement. "Using frost mana to glue a lady to the floor during a 'test'? Where has the chivalry gone? I thought knights were supposed to give their opponents a fair chance, not turn the floor into a skating rink!"
Lucian didn't flinch. He just kept that heavy, obsidian blade pressed against mine, his cold aura swirling around us like a blizzard.
"Chivalry is for parades and children's stories, Lady Liliana," he rumbled, his voice dropping an octave. "On a battlefield, there is only the survivor and the corpse. Did you expect me to bow while you were busy admiring my cloak?"
I huffed, my breath hitching as he leaned even closer—so close I could smell the scent of winter air and old cedarwood. "No, but I expected at least a little bit of effort before the magical sabotage! You really are the Grand Duke of the North, aren't you?"
A flicker of something—was it irritation or amusement?—crossed his stoic face. "I already told you that I am."
"No, I mean you're the ultimate version!" I said, my eyes lighting up again despite the fact that I couldn't feel my heels. "The cheating, the frost powers, the 'life is a battlefield' monologue, the scary-but-handsome face that says 'I've never had a hug in my life'... You're not just a Duke; you're the trope's final boss. It's almost a crime how perfectly you fit the description!"
The Emperor let out a loud, sudden cough that sounded suspiciously like a suppressed laugh.
Lucian, however, looked genuinely baffled. The cold, deadly aura flickered for a second as he stared at me like I was a puzzle written in a dead language. "A... trope? A crime? Are you truly so fearless, or is your mind simply fractured from the Prince's 'protection'?"
"My mind is perfectly fine," I said, giving the Sovereign a sharp, defiant shove against his blade. "It's my feet that are currently having a crisis. Now, are you going to let me go so we can discuss my 'Grand' future, or are you planning on keeping me here as a decorative ice sculpture for the throne room?"
Lucian stared at me for a long beat, his crimson eyes searching mine. Then, with a sharp flick of his wrist, he sheathed Nightfall. The frost around my boots shattered instantly into a thousand sparkling crystals, and the oppressive weight on the room lifted like a curtain.
"You have spirit, Liliana de Clairmont," he said, stepping back just enough to give me room to breathe—though his presence still dominated the entire hall. "But spirit alone won't keep you alive when my nephew realizes his 'Little Lily' has grown thorns."