The sun had barely risen when a knock echoed through Caroline's chamber.
She had slept poorly, her mind turning over every word spoken at dinner, every glance exchanged. Casimir was not what she had expected. There was cruelty, yes, but also something sharper, something more calculating. He was a man who had ruled by force but held his power by wit.
And now, she would be thrust into the world that surrounded him.
Caroline sat up as Beria, her most trusted maidservant, entered. The older woman carried a fresh gown of soft golden silk, embroidered with delicate silver thread—a clear attempt to blend her into the Summer Court's warmth.
"The King has summoned you to the solarium," Beria said, setting the gown on the bed.
Caroline raised a brow. "Summoned?"
Beria's lips twitched. "Requested."
She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "And what does he want?"
"The court wishes to meet its future queen."
Caroline bit back a scoff. They did not wish to meet her. They wished to weigh her. To see if she was weak, if she could be pushed, manipulated, discarded. She would not let them.
Rising from the bed, she let Beria and another servant help her into the gown. It was lighter than the layered silks of the Winter Court, the fabric whispering against her skin as she moved. When she was ready, she pinned her hair back with a silver comb—a small defiance against the gold.
Then, she squared her shoulders.
She had spent a lifetime among wolves. She would not fear the lions of the Summerlands.
The solarium was a marvel of glass and gold, a vast circular chamber with towering windows that let in the morning sun. Climbing roses and flowering vines curled around carved stone pillars, their fragrance mingling with the citrus-sweet scent of the Summerlands.
At the center of the room was a long table, already filled with nobles dressed in rich fabrics of amber, crimson, and gold. The men wore embroidered tunics and leather vests lined with fur, their fingers heavy with rings. The women draped themselves in silks, their hair adorned with jeweled pins that glinted in the sunlight.
At the head of the table sat Casimir.
The King was dressed in deep crimson, a color that made his golden eyes burn brighter, his dark hair falling loosely around his shoulders. He looked utterly at ease, as if he had not just placed her in a viper's den.
Every pair of eyes turned toward Princess Caroline as she entered.
She did not falter.
She walked with measured grace, every step careful but not timid. She met their gazes head-on, offering neither warmth nor submission.
Casimir's lips curled slightly. He did not stand, nor did he gesture for her to sit.
A test.
Fine. She had spent her life passing tests.
Caroline reached the table and did not wait for an invitation. She sank into the chair beside Casimir, folding her hands in her lap with all the regal ease of a queen.
A murmur rippled through the court.
The first blow had been struck.
Casimir leaned slightly toward her, his voice low enough that only she could hear. "Bold of you."
Caroline did not look at him as she replied. "You wouldn't want a queen who is weak, would you?"
His smirk deepened, but he said nothing more.
A woman across from them cleared her throat.
She was beautiful, though in a sharp, practiced way. Her dark auburn hair was braided in an intricate coil, and she wore a dress of burnt orange, its bodice laced with golden embroidery. The rings on her fingers were not just decorative—they were meant to be noticed. A woman who wielded power.
Caroline knew exactly who she was before she even spoke.
Lady Seraphina Vale.
The niece of Casimir's most powerful general. A woman whose name had been whispered across the Winter Court for years. Some said she had been the King's lover once. Others said she had ambitions beyond that.
Seraphina smiled, though it did not reach her eyes. "So, this is the Winter Princess we've all heard so much about."
Princess Caroline matched her expression, tilting her head slightly. "That depends. What have you heard?"
A chuckle from somewhere down the table.
Seraphina took a slow sip of her tea. "That you were a beauty, of course." She let her gaze drift over Caroline's gown. "Though I must say, gold doesn't quite suit you."
Princess Caroline smiled, reaching for a glass of chilled wine. "Perhaps. But then, not everyone looks good in gold."
The slight stiffening of Seraphina's shoulders was satisfying.
Casimir exhaled a quiet laugh.
The tension at the table was a living thing, stretching and coiling between them.
An older man, Lord Callan of House Verran, leaned forward, stroking his graying beard. "Tell me, Princess, how does it feel to be here in our warm lands after a lifetime spent in frost?"
A polite inquiry. A trap hidden beneath it.
Caroline took a measured sip of her wine before answering. "I find it… illuminating."
Callan chuckled. "And how so?"
She smiled, letting her gaze flick around the table. "It is interesting to watch a court that prides itself on its warmth—and yet feels so very cold."
A beat of silence.
King Casimir turned slightly toward her, his expression unreadable.
Then, he laughed.
Not a quiet chuckle. Not an exhale of amusement. A full, rich laugh that filled the chamber.
It shattered the tension in an instant.
Lady Seraphina's nails tapped lightly against her goblet, her expression unreadable.
Callan merely chuckled again, shaking his head. "Sharp tongue, this one."
Casimir took a sip of his wine, still watching her. "I did warn you all."
More laughter. But this time, it felt… different.
Not mockery.
Something closer to acceptance.
Princess Caroline relaxed, only slightly. She had survived the first strike.
But this was only the beginning.
As the conversation drifted to politics and trade, she kept her posture poised, listening carefully. The court was a battlefield, just like any other. And she was determined to learn its rules.
King Casimir leaned toward her again, voice low. "You handled them well."
Princess Caroline did not look at him. "You shouldn't sound so surprised."
His golden eyes glinted with something almost approving. "I'm not."
She met his gaze then, the warmth of the room pressing in around her.
She had survived the solarium.