Princess Caroline had barely settled into her new chambers when a sharp knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.
One of King Casimir's attendants stepped inside, bowing slightly. "His Majesty requests your presence for dinner."
She turned away from the balcony, arching a delicate brow. "Requests?"
The servant hesitated. "It would be… unwise to refuse."
Caroline bit back a scoff. So, not a request at all, then.
"Tell your king I shall be there shortly," she said, waving a dismissive hand.
Once the servant left, she turned to Elise, who was already fussing over her gown. "Are you truly going?" the maid asked, worry laced in her voice.
Caroline smirked. "I would hate to be unwise."
Princess Caroline had never taken such care in preparing for a meal.
She told herself it was strategy. A queen did not walk into battle unarmed. And tonight—dining alone with the Summer King—would be nothing short of battle.
The gown chosen for her was unlike the modest, structured dresses of the Winter Court. This was silk, flowing like molten silver against her skin. The bodice clung just enough to be daring, the neckline dipping lower than was proper by Winter standards.
She studied her reflection in the gilded mirror. The flickering candlelight caught on her bare shoulders, her throat.
Let him look. Let him see that fire did not belong only to the Summerlands.
A knock at the door.
Beria, her maid, entered and gave an approving nod. "He will not be able to look away."
Princess Caroline smoothed her skirts. "That is the intention."
Beria grinned. "Shall I escort you, Your Highness?"
"No need." Princess Caroline straightened her shoulders. "I will find my own way."
The dining hall was not as grand as she had expected.
It was intimate—warm light from wall sconces, a single table laid with golden plates and deep red wine. The air was rich with the scent of roasted meats, spices that reminded her of fire and warmth.
There, at the head of the table, sat the Summer King.
King Casimir had discarded his usual armor and heavy royal garb. Instead, he wore a simple white tunic, the collar open just enough to reveal the hard lines of his throat and collarbone.
He looked up as she entered. And he did not hide the way his gaze traveled over her.
Slow. Intentional.
Princess Caroline forced herself to move forward with the same careful grace, though the weight of his attention felt like a torch against her skin.
"You came," he said smoothly.
"You requested," she replied. "For now."
His mouth quirked. "Then sit, before you begin making demands of your own."
She did, keeping her posture perfectly poised as a servant poured wine into her goblet.
King Casimir dismissed the attendants with a flick of his fingers.
Leaving them alone.
Princess Caroline lifted her glass, swirling the wine slowly. "No courtiers tonight? No nobles to weigh my every move?"
King Casimir leaned back in his chair, watching her. "Would you prefer an audience?"
She held his gaze, then took a slow sip of wine. Sweet. Dark. Like Summer itself.
"I prefer," she said carefully, "to know what it is you want from me."
He chuckled, taking a sip of his own drink before setting the goblet down. "And here I thought we were simply enjoying a meal."
"Lies do not suit you, Your Majesty."
King Casimir exhaled, his fingers drumming against the arm of his chair. "Very well. You wish for truth?"
"Always."
His amber eyes gleamed. Dangerous. Knowing.
"The truth is, I do not know what to make of you, Princess." He tilted his head. "You walk into my court as if it does not terrify you. You face my nobles as though you were born among them. And yet…"
His gaze flickered down, tracing the line of her bare throat, the exposed skin of her collarbone.
"You dress like this," he murmured, "and tell me you do not play the game."
Princess Caroline placed her goblet down, slowly. Deliberately.
"I never said I did not play," she said. "I simply said I preferred truth."
King Casimir smiled. A slow, wicked thing.
"Then tell me a truth, Princess."
She met his gaze. "And what would you have me say?"
He leaned forward slightly, the candlelight casting sharp shadows over his face.
"Tell me," he murmured, "why your hands trembled when you picked up your glass just now."
Heat rushed through her.
She had been careful. Had not allowed any weakness to show. And yet—he had seen.
She lifted her chin. "You mistake calculation for hesitation."
King Casimir chuckled, low and knowing. "Do I?"
He was testing her. Pushing to see if she would flinch.
She would not.
Instead, she leaned forward as well, just enough that their faces were close, their breaths mingling in the warm air.
"Tell me a truth, then," she murmured.
He did not pull away. "Ask."
Her fingers traced the stem of her goblet. "Are you truly as cruel as they say?"
The amusement in his gaze flickered. For a moment, there was something else. Something unreadable.
"Do you want me to be?" he asked softly.
Her breath caught.
He was close. So close that if she tilted her head just slightly, their lips would almost—
Princess Caroline exhaled slowly. Control. Always control.
She sat back. "A king should not answer a question with a question."
King Casimir studied her for a long moment. Then, with a lazy, practiced motion, he tore a piece of bread and placed it on her plate.
"A queen," he said, voice smooth as silk, "should learn to be patient."
She picked up the bread, breaking it between her fingers.
"And a king," she countered, "should learn that patience has its limits."
King Casimir grinned. And this time, she knew she had won something.
They ate in tense silence. A different kind of tension.
The kind that lingered in glances. In the brush of fingers as he handed her a dish. In the warmth of the wine, loosening the edges of her thoughts.
By the time the meal ended, the air between them was heavy with something unspoken.
King Casimir stood first. A predator rising from his throne.
Princess Caroline rose as well, smoothing her skirts.
"Tomorrow," he said, watching her carefully, "you will begin learning the ways of my court in earnest."
Princess Caroline met his gaze. "I look forward to it."
A chuckle. "Do you?"
"I am not afraid of you, Your Majesty."
King Casimir's smile was slow, dark. "You should be."
And then, before she could react—he reached out.
A single, gloved finger beneath her chin, tilting her face up just enough.
Not a kiss. Not yet. Just a whisper of contact. A warning.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
And then, just as easily, he released her.
"Rest well, Princess," he murmured.
She watched him go, breath unsteady, the warmth of his touch lingering long after he had disappeared.
Princess Caroline lay awake for a long time that night.
Not because she was afraid.
But because she had learned something tonight.
King Casimir wanted her afraid.
But she would not give him that.
She would give him something far more dangerous.
A Queen.
Worthy of a King.