A summons arrived that afternoon.
A formal invitation from King Casimir.
For a private audience.
Princess Caroline stared at the parchment for a long moment, her fingers tightening around the edges.
She could refuse.
But that would be unwise.
So instead, she called for her maids, dressed in storm-silver silk, that complemented her cold blue eyes and long silver streaked blonde hair. She made her way through the winding halls to the King's private chambers.
The guards outside did not announce her. They merely stepped aside, pulling open the heavy gilded doors.
King Casimir stood near the arched windows, golden light spilling over him.
He had changed from the formal attire of court into something looser, more relaxed—a tunic left undone at the throat, dark trousers that fit him too well.
Princess Caroline ignored the warm energy radiating off him touched her.
She was here for answers, not distractions.
King Casimir glanced at her, his amber eyes sharp.
"You came."
"You asked." She tilted her head. "Shall we skip the games and get to the part where you tell me why I am here?"
A slow, wolfish grin. "So impatient."
Princess Caroline crossed her arms. "So dramatic."
King Casimir chuckled, stepping closer. Too close.
His scent cedarwood, mint and spices coiled around her.
Princess Caroline held her ground.
King Casimir studied her, his voice turning softer. "They are waiting for you to fall."
She blinked.
He continued, "Seraphina. The court. The nobles who see you as nothing more than a peace treaty that I choose to honour with your father."
Princess Caroline kept her face unreadable. "And what do you see me as, Your Majesty?"
King Casimir's gaze flickered—something dangerous, something heated.
Then he smirked. "A challenge."
Princess Caroline refused to react.
If he wanted her flustered, he would be disappointed.
Instead, she merely arched a brow. "How tragic for you."
King Casimir let out a low laugh. "Indeed."
Then, suddenly, he moved—a brush of fingers beneath her chin, tilting her face upward to meet hie eyes
A deliberate touch. While his eyes seemed to burn as though thirsty, drinking in her deep blue eyes.
A test.
The heat of his skin sent a shiver through her.
Princess Caroline should have stepped back. She should have ended this here and now.
But instead—
She met his gaze head-on and refused to look away.
King Casimir's eyes glowed as if lit with fire.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then—just as quickly—he released her, stepping back with a smirk.
"I have arranged something for tonight," he said casually, as if the tension between them had not been brewing like a storm leaving destruction in its wake.
Princess Caroline exhaled slowly. "And what, exactly, would that be?"
King Casimir's smile was all sharp edges.
"A ball."
By the time night fell, the Summer Palace had been transformed.
Torches and enchanted lanterns cast a golden glow over the grand ballroom, where courtiers and nobleman moved like glittering waves in silks of scarlet, gold, and emerald.
Music swelled through the air—a melody both seductive and lethal.
Princess Caroline stood at the entrance, dressed in a gown of the lightest shade of blue it looked almost a brilliant white, the colour of snowflakes kissing the wind in Winter's defiance.
Let them look. Let them whisper.
She would not be forgotten.
The moment she stepped inside, eyes followed.
But it was King Casimir's gaze she felt the most.
He was already waiting in the center of the room, dressed in brown and gold, a king among mortals.
Their eyes met across the ballroom.
And then—he held out his hand.
A silent command.
Princess Caroline did not hesitate.
She walked forward, placed her hand in his, and let him pull her into the first dance.
The music swirled, and so did they—fire and ice locked in a battle neither wanted to lose.
King Casimir's grip was firm, his touch unreasonably warm against her waist.
"You play the part of a queen well," he murmured.
Princess Caroline met his gaze. "And you play the part of a king too well."
His lips curved. "Too well?"
She arched a brow. "A king does not have to be cruel to be powerful."
King Casimir hummed. "And yet—cruelty has built empires."
Princess Caroline's pulse quickened. "And destroyed them."
A beat of silence.
Then, he spun her—fast, unexpected.
She gasped, her heart lurching as he pulled her back against him.
Too close.
King Casimir leaned in, his breath a whisper against her ear.
"Careful, little queen," he murmured. "Lions bite."
Princess Caroline did not shiver.
Instead—she smirked.
"And wolves hunt."
The song ended.
They did not move.
Did not look away.
Somewhere, Lady Seraphina was watching the exchange, her fury palpable.
But Princess Caroline did not care.
Because tonight, she had won.
And she would keep winning.
No matter the cost.
Later that night, after the ball, Princess Caroline found herself alone in the palace corridors—her mind still spinning from King Casimir's touch and his words.
She had just turned a corner when—
A hand clamped over her mouth.
She reacted instantly, slamming her elbow into the attacker's ribs.
A grunt. A stagger.
She spun, ready to fight—
And froze.
Dorian Vale stood before her, his expression grim.
"Forgive me," he said quietly, "but I needed to speak with you in private."
Princess Caroline lowered her fists. "You have a habit of lurking in the shadows, General."
A faint smile. "And you have a habit of walking into danger."
Princess Caroline exhaled, steadying her breath. "What is it?"
Dorian glanced around, then leaned in.
"There are forces at play beyond Seraphina," he murmured. "The rebellion moves faster than you know."
Princess Caroline's pulse skipped.
Dorian's gaze hardened.
"And if you are not careful, Princess," he said softly, "you may not survive it."