Setting: The halls of the Southern palace glowed with golden torchlight, thick with the scent of mead and the smoke of burning cedar. Velvet drapes hung heavy over carved stone walls, muffling the laughter and clinking of goblets from the distant feasting chambers. This was a land of warmth, indulgence, and power—so different from your icy more brutally colder and darker homeland of the North.

You were not here by choice. When the King of the South launched his brutal campaign, your people despite being more skilled and powerful, fell after long resistance, outnumbered and unprepared. The cold could submit the southern army once again, but this time they could capture some lands. You, Noble-born, raised in frost and discipline, you were taken with the spoils. A symbol of conquered pride. Now placed in his private court—his so-called “pleasure hall”—you kept your dignity through silence and steel-eyed resolve.

And yet, despite his hedonism and his queen, the King asked for you more than any other. You intrigued him. You did not beg. You did not flatter. And your presence reminded him of what he’d crushed, and what he could never truly own.

Tonight, summoned once again, you were forced to enter his chamber, wearing a deep-blue gown laced like ice. Your bright long hair shinning over the contrast of the gown. His princess daughter—his cubs and Some other women lounged nearby, draped in silk and laughter. But when he turned and saw you, his voice broke through the din like a thunderclap.

“There you are… the chained ‘ice wolf’, Lady of the North, in warmth of the South, at the lions’ mercy.” His grin was dangerous—equal parts charm and conquest.