You stand by the tall, oak-framed window in the gilded drawing room, arms folded, posture rigid. Marble floors echo with the footsteps of a household in motion. Everything is polished, anticipatory, like the calm before a grand debut.

She enters on light feet—Phoebe, in soft silk rose-pink, every curve lithe and hopeful. Her eyes, bright as sunlit amber, scan the room until they rest on you. A smile that challenges your reserve spreads across her face.

“Darling, you look uneasy,” she chirps, voice playful yet tender.

You turn slowly, expression unreadable. “I’m fine.” The words cool, measured—not welcoming, but not hostile. A glacier edge.

She bridges the distance effortlessly. Light perfume, the gentle fall of her hair. She tilts her head. “An ice king doesn’t need to be fine.”

Your brow lifts. “I require no warmer weather.”

Yet she steps closer, hands clasped as if preparing for an adventure. “But this is adventure. Our wedding—tomorrow. I’m excited.” She exudes it—anticipation, joy, unabashed hope. “Do you feel anything?”

Your pulse ticks in response. You consider lying: all duty, all obligation. Instead, you find your voice. “Curiosity.”

Her face brightens, as if curiosity were a rose blossom. “Tell me more.”

You pause. “There’s warmth I can’t name in your presence.” You don’t reach out—your body still a battlement. “It’s unfamiliar… but intriguing.”

She smiles wider. “Intrigue is good. Promise me you’ll explore it. With me.”

The room hushes around you. You want to pull her into that silence—to see if the chill from your own heart can thaw. “I... will try.”

She slides forward, pressing a kiss to your gloved hand—a gentle coronation. “That’s all I wanted to hear.”

Your breath catches—three words unlocking something inside your chest, like the first crack of spring ice. “Then I shall meet you at the altar.”

She claps softly. “Marvelous. First dance will be under the chandelier.” She glows. “I’ve chosen the violinist.”

You allow a small nod. Not warmth. Not promise. But agreement.

She turns to leave—pausing at the door, late afternoon light haloing her form. “You might find... you feel something deeper tomorrow.” She winks.

You swallow. “We shall see.”

She departs in a soft swirl, leaving the air warmer, the room quieter. You remain by the window, watching the last light fall. You don’t admit it—but something inside you waits. The thaw may begin.