The snow had not yet melted from the castle towers when Princess Caroline received the news that would shatter her world.
She had been summoned to the throne room at dawn, the sky still dark, the cold biting at her skin as she made her way through the silent halls of Frostmere Palace. Her heavy cloak trailed behind her, the silver embroidery glinting in the dim torchlight. Something felt… wrong. A tension in the air, a weight in her chest.
When the massive doors creaked open, her father's voice rang out before she had even stepped inside.
"You will marry the Summer King."
For a moment, she didn't breathe.
The words seemed to freeze in the air, as if time itself had stopped. She blinked, her mind scrambling to make sense of what she had just heard. Across the vast chamber, King Aldric sat upon his throne of frozen sapphire, his face as unyielding as the ice-carved pillars that lined the room. To his right, her stepmother, Queen Lysandra, watched with the same practiced detachment she always wore, her emerald gown a stark contrast to the icy blue hues of the court.
Caroline took a step forward, her voice coming out in a breathless whisper.
"You cannot mean this."
Her father's gaze was cold, unreadable. "It is done."
She shook her head, her pulse a frantic drumbeat in her ears. "No. No, you—Father, you cannot—"
"I can," he interrupted. "And I have."
A marriage. Not a union of love. Not even a strategic alliance. A bargain. A sacrifice. A desperate attempt to halt the war that had ravaged the land for generations.
And the price of that peace… was her.
Caroline's stomach twisted, nausea rising. She had heard the stories of the Summer King—whispers of a warlord crowned in fire and fury, a man who left cities in ashes, who wielded flame as easily as he wielded a blade. His conquests were legend. His ruthlessness, unmatched. And now—now she was to belong to him.
She clenched her fists. "You would sell me to a monster?"
"He is a king," Aldric said sharply.
"He is a butcher!" Her voice cracked, but she didn't care. "Do you know what they say of him? He cuts down men like wheat. He burns his enemies alive. He—"
Her father's hands gripped the arms of his throne, his jaw tightening. "Enough."
Caroline swallowed hard, her breath coming in shallow gasps. "Father, please," she whispered, voice trembling now. "I beg you. There must be another way."
Queen Lysandra finally spoke, her voice as smooth as polished ice. "There is no other way. This marriage will bind the Summerlands to us in peace. There is nothing more to discuss."
Caroline turned to her stepmother, fury lashing through her veins. "Would you say the same if it were your daughter being bartered like cattle?"
Lysandra didn't even flinch. "If it meant ending the war, then yes."
Caroline let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Liar."
Her father exhaled, a weary sound. "You are a princess of the Winter Court, Caroline. Your duty has always been to your kingdom."
Duty. That word—that cursed word—had shackled her since birth. Duty dictated who she was. Who she could be. Where she would go. And now, who she would marry.
"Have you no heart?" she whispered.
Aldric's expression remained impassive. "A heart does not rule a kingdom. Strength does."
The weight of it crashed down on her, suffocating. This was real. There would be no reprieve, no mercy. No escape.
The doors behind her groaned open.
Caroline turned sharply, ice filling her veins at the sight of the guards entering the chamber, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords.
She staggered back, her breath quickening. "What—what is this?"
Her father's voice was like steel. "You will leave for the Summerlands at first light."
The breath left her lungs in a sharp exhale.
"No," she said, shaking her head. "No, I won't go."
A flicker of something—pity?—crossed Aldric's face, but it was gone as quickly as it came. "You will."
The guards stepped forward.
Caroline's heart slammed against her ribs. She turned, ready to run, but one of them caught her wrist, his grip firm but not cruel.
"My lady," the guard said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Do not fight this."
But how could she not? How could she simply go—to be handed over to a man who would break her, who might kill her?
She looked up at her father one last time, silent, pleading. But his face was a mask of ice.
Tears burned her eyes.
The soldiers escorted her away.
And behind her, the throne room doors slammed shut.