Sitting by the frosted window, Alicia's fingers moved rhythmically as she knitted a winter scarf. The soft clicking of the needles was the only sound in the room, a monotonous symphony that echoed her solitude.
Her gaze lingered on the snow-covered landscape beyond the glass, hoping against hope for a figure to emerge from the whiteness. Her brown hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing her pale, tear-streaked face.
Her eyes, glassy and hollow, reflected the bitter ache within. Even as the needle pricked her finger, drawing a small bead of blood, she felt no pain. The room around her was cold and lifeless, a place that had once been hers but now felt like a suffocating prison.
The sound of footsteps broke the silence. A man entered, his blonde hair gleaming in the pale light. He carried a tray of food, setting it down beside the untouched lunch from hours earlier. His smile was gentle, as if nothing was amiss, as if their lives were still whole.
"Alicia," he said softly, his voice almost tender. "You should eat something."
She didn't respond, her hands continuing to knit, the scarf growing longer with each passing moment. Her silence filled the room like a tangible weight, suffocating and oppressive. His smile faltered but didn't vanish entirely.
"Please," he coaxed, stepping closer, "just a little. You'll feel better."
Her hand stopped mid-stitch. Without looking at him, she reached for the plate and flung it across the room. It shattered against the wall, the remnants of food splattering onto the man's shirt. He froze, his gentle demeanor fracturing.
"Alicia," he muttered, his tone sharpening, "what is wrong with you?"
Still, she said nothing, her icy glare cutting through him like a blade. His hand twitched, rising as if to strike, but her expression stopped him cold. There was no fear in her eyes, only contempt.
"Don't make me hate you, love," he murmured, his voice a plea rather than a threat. He reached out to caress her cheek, but she slapped his hand away, her touch as harsh as her glare.
"Love?" she spat the word like venom. "You lost the right to call me that long ago."
The man's face hardened as he grabbed a fistful of her hair, forcing her to look at him. She didn't flinch.
"You're my wife," he hissed. "You swore an oath before the gods."
"And you swore fidelity," she countered, her voice cold and sharp. "How did that turn out, Edward? Was your mistress worth it? Was her child worth betraying me?"
His grip on her hair loosened, and for a moment, he seemed lost for words. "It wasn't like that," he said finally, his voice faltering. "You know it was for the family, for power—"
"Spare me your excuses!" she interrupted, her voice rising with fury. "I gave you everything, Edward. My loyalty, my patience, my forgiveness—again and again, I tried. And what did I get in return? Humiliation. Betrayal. You turned me into the villain of your story, accusing me of poisoning your precious mistress."
"I never believed those lies," Edward said, his voice low. "You're my wife—"
"Were your wife," Alicia corrected, her tone biting. "We're divorced, Edward. Do you remember that, or have you erased that detail like you did my worth?"
He clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "I still love you, Alicia," he said, his voice trembling. "That's why I'm here."
Alicia laughed, a cold, bitter sound that echoed in the empty room. "Love? Don't insult me. You only love what you can't control."
His face twisted in pain, but she didn't stop. "I have someone else now," she said, her voice steady. "Someone who will come for me, who won't leave me to rot in this miserable life."
Edward's eyes narrowed. "You mean that commoner?" he sneered. "Do you think he'll save you? He's nothing, Alicia. A nobody."
"Then why are you so afraid of him?" she shot back, her voice cutting like a knife. "Why are you here, Edward? To drag me back into your world of lies? I'm done with you. My heart belongs to someone who values it, not someone who tramples on it."
For a moment, Edward said nothing, the tension between them growing. Then he turned on his heel, striding toward the door. "You're making a mistake," he said, his voice laced with warning. "You'll regret this, Alicia."
"I've already regretted every moment with you," she replied.
As the door slammed shut behind him, Alicia let out a shaky breath. Her hands trembled as she picked up the knitting needles again. She would wait, as she always did, but this time, it was for someone worth waiting for. Someone who would see her not as a jewelry but as a partner.
The snow continued to fall outside, blanketing the world in a cold, pristine silence.
*****
The dimly lit tavern was a scene of chaos, its usual rowdy patrons replaced with a group of panic-stricken men and women. Chairs were overturned, mugs of ale forgotten, and hushed whispers of fear filled the air. Among them was Glenn, Lucien's right-hand man and the legion commander of the underworld. He paced in circles, tugging at his hair, his face pale.
"Sister-in-law has been kidnapped! My neck... ughh, the stress!" Glenn groaned, clutching at his throat as if the pressure of impending doom were physically choking him.
A nearby subordinate, who was frantically scribbling notes, muttered, "Commander Glenn, maybe you should sit down before you collapse. You're looking a little green…"
Glenn spun toward him, eyes wild. "Sit down?! Do you think I have time to sit down? Do you know what this means? If we don't get her back soon, I might as well dig my own grave! No, no—forget digging. Lucien will handle that personally."
Another soldier, a burly man with a scar over his left eye, tried to interject. "But, Commander, Lady Alicia is strong. Surely she'll—"
"It's not Alicia I'm worried about!" Glenn cut him off, throwing his hands in the air. "You think I'm panicking because of her safety? Hah! You fool! The problem is Edward! That slippery Duke is from the second prince's faction, which, in case you've forgotten, is backed by the Empress. Meanwhile, our Lord Lucien—oh, sweet merciless Lord Lucien—is the king of the underworld and secretly aligned with the crown prince. Do you know what happens when those two factions clash? Civil war! And guess whose head will roll first when that war starts? Mine!"
The scarred soldier scratched his head. "But aren't you exaggerating a little? It's just one lady—"
Glenn grabbed him by the collar, shaking him violently. "Just one lady? JUST ONE LADY? That 'one lady' is Lady Alicia, Lucien's soft spot! She's the only person who's ever made him act remotely human. If anything happens to her, Lucien won't just start a war—he'll redefine war. You don't know the man like I do. When he's angry, snowstorms aren't metaphors; they're reality!"
As if summoned by Glenn's words, the tavern door burst open, letting in a gust of icy wind and a flurry of snow. Every head turned as Lucien strode in, his dark cloak billowing behind him, his boots crunching against the wooden floor.
Blood dripped from his gloved hands, leaving a trail of crimson in his wake. His piercing eyes scanned the room, freezing everyone in place. The air grew heavy, suffused with the scent of iron and frost.
Glenn's subordinates exchanged nervous glances, their faces pale. One of them nudged Glenn forward. "Say something! Stop him before he kills us all!"
Glenn gulped, adjusting his collar as he forced himself to speak. "L-Lord Lucien! Uh… w-welcome back?"
Lucien's piercing gaze silenced the entire room. "Glenn." His voice was low, smooth, and utterly devoid of warmth. "Report."
Glenn straightened, trying to maintain a semblance of composure. "Y-Yes, my Lord. W-We've confirmed Lady Alicia was taken by Duke Edward's men. They… uh… they're likely hiding her within the empress's faction territory. We're working on locating her exact—"
"Spare me your excuses." Lucien's tone was razor-sharp. "What measures have been taken?"
"Well, we've sent scouts to—"
"Scouts?" Lucien interrupted, his voice rising like a deadly storm. "Scouts? You think scouts will retrieve what belongs to me?"
Glenn winced, sweat trickling down his back. "My Lord, please understand—diplomatic tensions are already high. If we escalate without proper—"
"Enough." Lucien's cold fury sent shivers through everyone present. "Diplomacy has failed the moment Edward laid his filthy hands on her. Prepare the troops."
Glenn's jaw dropped. "T-Troops? My Lord, you can't be serious! If we march into empress territory, we'll spark a civil war!"
Lucien's eyes narrowed, his voice like ice. "Did I stutter?"
Glenn waved his arms frantically, his panic bubbling over. "B-But my Lord, think of the consequences! The economy will collapse, the nobles will riot, and—my neck will be on the line!"
Lucien leaned in, his gaze cold and unflinching. "Then pray it stays attached long enough to see my wrath delivered."
Glenn's lips quivered, but he tried a different tactic—humor. Surely, a little levity would calm the storm. "L-Lord Lucien, perhaps we can take a deep breath? Maybe count to ten? Or… consider a less murdery approach?"
Lucien raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Do you think this is a jest?"
"N-No, of course not!" Glenn stammered. "But, uh, war isn't exactly a casual afternoon stroll. It's messy, unpredictable, and—dare I say—expensive. Perhaps we could… send a strongly worded letter?"
Lucien's lips twitched into a ghost of a smile, but it was far from reassuring. "You wish to negotiate with a snake?"
"Well, snakes are slippery," Glenn mumbled, scratching his head. "But they're less likely to bite if you—"
Lucien's patience snapped. "Enough, Glenn. I will not debate strategy with a man who compares royal politics to wrangling reptiles. My decision is final."
Lucien turned to address the room, his voice booming. "Prepare for war. This is an order—absolute and irrevocable."
The tavern fell silent, the weight of his words sinking in. Glenn buried his face in his hands, groaning. "I'm too young to die in a civil war…"
Lucien shot him a cold glance. "Then find her before I do."
As Lucien swept out of the tavern, the snowstorm seemed to follow him, leaving behind a room full of terrified subordinates and one very stressed commander.
Glenn groaned, his head in his hands. "If I survive this, I'm retiring. No more underworld politics for me. I'll start a farm, grow turnips, and live in peace. That's the dream…"
The room collectively sighed, knowing full well that dream was as distant as peace in their world.