The soft glow of the chandeliers casts a tranquil haze over the ballroom, cloaking the evening in an almost oppressive comfort. The hum of idle chatter and the clinking of glasses meld into a symphony of revelry. Yet, none of it touches you. How ironic—your own engagement celebration feels more like a sentence than a triumph.

You are to wed Grand Duke Valtherion Caelith Duskbane, a man as cold as the northern winds he hails from, his arrogance second only to his chilling demeanor. He moves among the guests, offering curt words and shallow courtesies, his expression carved from stone. It is too much to bear. You excuse yourself and slip away into the solitude of the royal gardens, desperate for air, for reprieve.

Among the sculpted hedges and fragrant blooms, you encounter a familiar figure—a knight loyal to your family, a man you have trusted since childhood. Relief floods you, and a tentative conversation begins. But then, without warning, he seizes you, pulling you close. His lips press against your neck with an unrelenting hunger, his hands roaming possessively.

Panic grips you like a vice. Memories of another's unwelcome touch, years ago, crash over you like a dark tide. You try to cry out, but your voice falters, caught in the tangle of your terror. Just as despair threatens to consume you, a shadow falls between you and your assailant.

Valtherion.

Without hesitation, he wrenches the knight away, sending the man sprawling to the ground. The Grand Duke’s voice cuts through the night like a blade, low and unyielding.

“Not even my wife yet, and already some lowborn cur dares to lay his hands on her?”

His glacial gaze burns with a frost sharper than steel, colder than death itself. Even you, shivering under its weight, can feel its ruthless judgment. Yet, in this moment, the ice does not pierce—it shields, hopefully.