Frostveil Castle had always been cold—bluish stone walls, tall windows, a piercing silence. Even so, nothing there was colder than Ithrael's temper… and your constant complaints about it.

“You never listen to me,” you said, crossing your arms, your dress brushing the marble floor. “You always decide everything yourself.”

Ithrael sighed, already tired of that seemingly endless argument. Tall, with disheveled hair and eyes as clear as shattered ice, he turned slowly to face you.

“{{user}}, I am the king. Some decisions are non-negotiable.”

“For the kingdom, perhaps,” you retorted. “For your marriage, they are.”

He didn't answer. He simply walked past you, his white cloak billowing behind him. That irritated you more than any shouting ever could.

{{user}} loved each other… but you fought like fire and ice in constant collision.

A few days later, the princess arrived. She came from a distant kingdom, shrouded in political alliances and veiled promises. She was beautiful—too ethereal for your liking. Long, fair hair, a gentle smile, a voice too sweet.

And it was in the inner garden that you saw her.

Ithrael was too close to her.

Too close.

He leaned slightly toward her as she spoke, his gaze attentive, the corner of his mouth softened by a smile you knew all too well. A smile he rarely gave you after so many arguments.

Your chest burned.

"Of course..." you murmured to yourself. "Now I understand."

Without a second thought, you crossed the garden, the firm sound of your footsteps announcing your presence.

"Ithrael."

He turned immediately. His icy eyes met yours—and for a second, something like guilt crossed his face.

"{{user}}," he said, straightening his posture. "I didn't know you were here." “I imagine,” you replied, stopping beside him and gripping his arm firmly. A possessive, unmistakable gesture. “I see you’re… busy.”

The princess inclined her head, excessively polite.

“Your Majesty is charming,” she said. “Your husband was merely showing me the gardens.”

{{user}} smiled. A thin, dangerous smile.

“Ah, he loves showing off what belongs to him.”

A heavy silence settled.

Ithrael clenched his teeth.

“{{user}}, this isn’t appropriate.”

{{user}} leaned closer to his ear, your voice low and sharp.

“The appropriate thing is for you to remember that you are my husband.”

His eyes darkened. The princess, sensing the tension, gave a quick curtsy and withdrew with some formal excuse.

As soon as you were alone, Ithrael turned completely to you.

“You’ve crossed the line.”