Princess Caroline wept as she lay curled upon her bed, the silken sheets beneath her crumpled from her trembling fists. Her tears soaked into the pillows, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths as she tried to contain the storm inside her. But it was useless. The grief and fury clawed at her, suffocating, relentless.
Above the fireplace, the portrait of her mother gazed down at her with soft, knowing eyes. Queen Evelyne, the woman who had once been the heart of the Winter Court, the only warmth in a kingdom of ice. How many nights had Caroline sat before that very painting, seeking comfort in its presence? And yet now, it offered none.
Her fingers dug into the fabric of her dress as she whispered, "How could he do this?"
Her father—her own father—had condemned her to a fate she could not escape. To be married off to a man of fire and fury, a man whispered about in fear, a man who would break her as easily as one might break an icicle in the palm of their hand.
Her fists pounded the mattress as a sob tore from her throat. "Why, Mother?" she whispered. "Why did you leave me? If you were here, he wouldn't—he wouldn't have—"
Her voice broke.
Footsteps. The soft creak of the heavy wooden door.
Caroline barely turned her head as the scent of roses and myrrh filled the air—a scent she had grown accustomed to over the years. A scent that no longer brought her comfort.
Queen Lysandra entered the room, her emerald gown brushing the cold stone floor as she moved toward the bed. She did not speak right away. Instead, she watched.
Finally, she sat on the edge of the bed and reached out, stroking Caroline's tangled hair with slow, deliberate tenderness.
"I know this is difficult," Queen Lysandra murmured.
Caroline flinched away from her touch, her breath ragged. "No, you don't."
A sigh. "I do."
Caroline let out a bitter laugh, rolling onto her back so she could glare at her stepmother. "You agreed to it. You sat there beside him and nodded like this was nothing—like I was nothing." Her voice shook. "And yet now you come to comfort me?"
Queen Lysandra's gaze did not waver. "You think I do not care for you?"
Caroline shot up, her blue eyes blazing with grief and fury. "If you cared for me, you would have stopped this! You would have—" Her voice faltered. "You would have fought for me."
Silence stretched between them.
Then, Queen Lysandra reached out once more, this time not to soothe but to clasp Caroline's hands between her own. Caroline almost pulled away, but something in her stepmother's touch—steady, firm, unyielding—kept her still.
"I know you believe I have betrayed you," Lysandra said softly. "And perhaps I have. But I have also kept you safe all these years, Caroline. When your mother died, I swore I would not let you wither beneath the coldness of this court. That promise has not changed."
Caroline swallowed the lump in her throat. "Then why—why did you let him do this?"
Queen Lysandra hesitated. Then, with a sigh, she said, "Because this is the only way to save you."
Caroline stiffened. "Save me?"
"You think this is cruelty," Lysandra continued, searching her face. "That I stand by while your father casts you away. But Caroline, listen to me." Her grip tightened. "The Winter Court is not safe for you anymore."
Caroline shook her head. "I don't understand."
Queen Lysandra exhaled, her gaze flickering toward the door as if ensuring no one else was listening. "Your father may sit upon the throne, but his enemies are growing bolder. His hold on this kingdom is not as strong as you think. There are those who would rather see you dead than wed to the Summer King."
A chill ran through Caroline's veins. "That's absurd."
"Is it?" Lysandra tilted her head. "How many noble houses have lost sons and brothers to this war? How many look at you and see a symbol of their suffering? They believe this marriage is a disgrace—that our court should never bow to the Summerlands, not even for peace. And if you remain here, they will make sure you never take another breath."
Caroline's blood ran cold.
She wanted to argue, to deny it, but deep in her heart, she knew Lysandra was right. The Winter Court was filled with whispers, with hidden daggers cloaked in silk and smiles. She had always known that danger lurked behind these palace walls.
But she had never thought it would turn on her.
Her fingers curled into the sheets. "So my father sends me away," she said bitterly. "To save himself from the backlash. To be rid of me."
Queen Lysandra's expression was unreadable. "Perhaps. Or perhaps he truly believes this is the only way you will survive."
A heavy silence filled the room.
Caroline turned back to the portrait of her mother, her heart aching. Would Queen Evelyne have agreed to this? Or would she have fought to keep her daughter safe here—not in a foreign land, not in the arms of a king made of fire and war?
She did not know. She would never know.
But Queen Lysandra's words had planted a seed of unease inside her, growing like frost creeping over glass.
This wasn't just a marriage. It was the only way both the Winterlands and the Summerlands could secure peace.