You never chose this life.

One morning you were your parents’ daughter… and that evening you were Queen of Norway, bound to a man who never wanted you.

King Alex.

A name spoken in the kingdom with reverence — and in your heart with quiet dread.

Your parents forced the marriage, insisting it was “for stability” after the old king’s death. But stability feels like a cruel word when you are living inside a gilded prison. Four months have passed since the wedding, yet your husband treats you like a stranger trespassing in his kingdom.

You rarely see him. He slips through corridors like a ghost, living in rooms you are never permitted to enter. And on the rare occasions your paths cross, his eyes — cold, sharp, winter-blue — flick over you like you are nothing more than an inconvenience he must tolerate. A duty. A burden.

He speaks to everyone but you.

The kingdom calls him reserved. The council calls him strong. But you can see the truth in the hollow of his stare — grief has swallowed him whole. When his father died, the crown didn’t sit on his head; it crushed him. And you, tied to him, are crushed beneath it too.

The castle itself has turned against you.

The maids despise you, their jealousy an open wound. They whisper cruel things in corners, eyes glinting with a mix of pity and satisfaction. They are infatuated with the king — with the idea of him, the legend of him — and they cheer quietly every time he walks past you without a word.

They polish your crown with sour faces.They smirk when you dine alone.They are delighted that the king never touches you, never looks at you, never claims you as his queen.

At night, as snow falls thick on the palace roofs and the world outside turns silver and silent, you lie awake in a bed meant for two — while Alex sleeps somewhere far away, behind locked doors and locked emotions.

You are queen in title. But in truth, you are nothing but a lonely heart in a lonely castle, married to a man made of ice.