The grand dining hall of the Summer Palace was a place of power and indulgence, built to remind anyone who dined within it of the strength of the Summerlands. Its towering walls were adorned with golden murals of battles won, and the air was heavy with the scent of roasted meats, honeyed wines, and exotic spices.
Yet tonight, it was quiet.
The long banquet table, made to seat dozens, was mostly empty. Only two places were set—hers and the King's.
Princess Caroline stepped into the room, her gown a deep shade of sapphire, a defiant contrast against the warmth of her surroundings. She had not worn the colors of the Summerlands. Not yet.
Casimir sat at the head of the table, golden eyes gleaming in the candlelight. He looked relaxed, almost lazy, but there was always something coiled beneath the surface, a fire banked but not extinguished.
"You came," he remarked, swirling the dark red wine in his goblet.
Caroline arched a brow. "Did you think I wouldn't?"
"I thought you might enjoy keeping me waiting."
She smirked. "Tempting, but no. I was hungry."
A low chuckle escaped him, rich and unhurried. "Then sit, Princess. Eat."
She moved toward her chair, keeping her steps deliberate. She would not show hesitation. This was not just a dinner—it was a test. A game. And Caroline did not intend to lose.
The first course was brought out—roasted lamb drizzled with citrus glaze, a spread of fresh figs and honeyed almonds, steaming bread laced with exotic herbs.
Caroline took a sip of her wine, the taste stronger and richer than what she was used to.
Casimir watched her with amusement. "Is it to your liking, or shall I fetch you a bucket of snow from your homeland?"
She set her goblet down, meeting his gaze. "I wouldn't want to deprive your kingdom of something so rare."
A slow, knowing smile. "Your wit is sharper than I expected."
"And your kingdom is warmer than I expected."
"You'll adjust," he said, echoing his words from earlier.
She tilted her head. "Will I?"
His smirk faded just slightly. "You seem determined not to."
"Perhaps." She lifted a piece of bread, tearing it carefully. "I find it difficult to warm to a kingdom built on my suffering."
The air shifted, tension curling between them like an ember waiting to spark.
Casimir leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "Is that what you believe? That I take pleasure in your suffering?"
Caroline met his gaze unflinchingly. "You did not ask for my hand, yet you took it. You waged war against my people for years, yet now you claim this union will bring peace. Forgive me if I find it difficult to trust the intentions of a king whose legend is built on cruelty."
For a moment, he didn't speak. The firelight flickered, casting long shadows across the hard lines of his face. Then—he laughed.
It was not a cruel laugh. Nor was it particularly kind.
It was something else entirely.
"You speak so boldly," he mused, shaking his head slightly. "Most women tremble in my presence."
Caroline took a deliberate sip of wine. "Then they must bore you."
His amusement did not fade. If anything, it sharpened. "And you, Princess? Do you intend to entertain me instead?"
She refused to react, though her stomach twisted at the weight of his gaze.
"I intend to survive you," she said simply.
Something flickered across his expression. Interest. Amusement. Something far more dangerous.
"Good," he murmured. "I would hate for my queen to be fragile."
She stiffened slightly. "I am not your queen yet."
He reached for his goblet, taking a slow drink before replying. "No, not yet."
The words were quiet but final, a promise, a warning, a certainty.
The second course arrived—spiced venison, roasted figs, pomegranate seeds glistening like rubies.
For a moment, they ate in silence, the weight of unspoken words settling between them.
Then, Caroline set down her knife, watching him carefully. "You did not deny it."
Casimir arched a brow. "Deny what?"
"That you are cruel."
Something dark flickered in his eyes. "Would you believe me if I did?"
Caroline tilted her head, considering him. She had expected arrogance, power, perhaps even cruelty. But this? This was something else.
"No," she admitted. "I wouldn't."
A shadow of a smile. "Then I won't bother lying to you."
She leaned back slightly, studying him. "And what of your court? Do they tremble in your presence as well?"
His expression cooled. "My court is filled with men and women who would slit each other's throats for a seat at my table. Trembling is a luxury."
Something about the way he said it made her pause. For all his power, for all his ironclad control, there was something else beneath the surface. A man who had spent his life watching his back. A king who did not trust easily—perhaps, not at all.
"And yet you rule them," she said.
Casimir smirked. "And yet, I rule."
She set down her goblet, leveling him with a cool gaze. "And me, Your Majesty? Do you expect me to tremble?"
He exhaled a quiet laugh, golden eyes glinting with something unreadable. "I expect you to surprise me."
The words sent an unbidden shiver down her spine.
The final course was brought out—golden pastries filled with spiced cream, a platter of glistening fruits, candied nuts dusted with sugar.
Caroline reached for a fig, her fingers brushing against Casimir's as he did the same. The touch was fleeting, but it sent a jolt through her, unexpected and unwelcome.
She withdrew her hand, meeting his gaze.
For the first time that evening, he looked at her differently. Not as a pawn. Not as a duty.
As a challenge.
Casimir sat back, studying her for a long moment before lifting his goblet once more.
"To the future, then," he murmured.
Caroline hesitated. Then, slowly, she raised her own goblet.
"To the future," she echoed.
The crystal clinked softly.