❄️ Ice on Me, Princess: Dare or Die
The moment I saw her, I understood why people whispered about the Winter Heiress.
She wasn't like other girls in my court. She didn't fidget, didn't bow excessively, didn't plead for attention. She stood with the quiet control of someone who had learned early that the world wouldn't bend for her.
I watched her touch the fountain.
Ice bloomed at her fingers, delicate and exact. She didn't speak. She didn't smile. She simply made the stone obey. It should have frightened me It didn't.
Instead, it fascinated me.
I moved closer, deliberately slow, watching her. She noticed, of course—anyone with her skill would—but she didn't flinch. Not even a twitch. Good.
I don't often see people who aren't afraid of me. Most tremble at my name, at the slightest mention of D'Arden. Most would have screamed or turned away when faced with raw magic like that. Calista Mourne didn't.
I should have been indifferent. I have no illusions about political marriages. I have no illusions about the power games my family expects me to play. But there was something in her—calm, precise, untouched by fear—that refused to be categorized. And I respect that.
I spoke, careful not to startle her. "Should I be flattered or concerned?"
She didn't jump. Didn't pull her hand back.
I admit I was expecting hesitation. Most people recoil, even instinctively, from someone capable of freezing water with a thought. Not her.
She turned slowly, deliberately. Eyes sharp. Measuring. That was the first strike. Subtle, but it hit. "You arrived without escort," she said.
I smiled faintly. Honesty—good.
"I prefer it that way," I said. "Less pretense. More truth."
I watched the ice around her fingers thicken. Perfect. She reacts to emotion; her power isn't just physical—it's instinctual. That will make the game much more interesting.
Her voice was steady. "Does it always respond to your mood like that?"
I studied her for a long moment. Most would be defensive. She asked, casually, almost as if she were commenting on the weather.
"Sometimes," I admitted.
I stepped closer, not too close—yet. There is a line everyone fears crossing. Not her. She holds herself as if the line doesn't exist. That's dangerous. Good.
"You're angry," I observed. "Yes," she said.
At me? I wondered. She didn't clarify. I didn't need her to. "That can be arranged," I said softly and then I tested her. Reached for her hand. Most would flinch, pull back, panic at skin-to-skin contact.
Her ice would leap at me instinctively. I knew the mechanics. Her power is reactive. Yet… she didn't.
Warmth met me halfway. Not because she wanted it, not because she meant it. Because she could control it.
Impressive.
I smiled faintly, releasing her hand. She would learn to hate the way my presence unsettled her. I would make sure of it. But there was something more. I didn't want to break her. Not yet.
I wanted to see how she moved. How she calculated. How she would respond when she knew she could end me—and how far she would dare to go.
So I left her with the words I knew would echo in her mind long after I walked away:
"Try to kill me before the wedding."
She stiffened, probably calculating a dozen ways it could go wrong, each more brutal than the last. That thrill—watching someone sharpen themselves against me—that is rare. Precious. I will savor it.
She doesn't know it yet, but I have no illusions about this engagement either. She may think I hold all the cards. But she's going to teach me a few new tricks.
And I'll admit it—part of me, the part that most people never see, is already curious.
I wonder…
Can she really do it?
To be continued...