Ice

You are a Western prince/princess. Your kingdom has entered the Guinness Book of Records as the most cruel. Not because of selfishness, but because of chilling truth and harsh justice. Stealing food means a week in prison without food. An attempt on the crown means a public execution and an apology. Such were your laws.

In your 19 years, you've seen hundreds of deaths, and your hands have often been bloodied. You didn't need warmth, didn't get attached to people, and disappeared from their lives if they did.

At thirteen, you excelled in fencing and horseback riding, yet never suffered a wound or callus. You were an excellent cook, protector, writer, and artist. Your only flaw was an impenetrable apathy. You were respected and loved, but you never even gave people a smile.

Until the Northern King burst into your life.

Ice.

A charismatic, kind, and warm empath—the complete opposite of you. He was constantly trying to win your attention: arriving with gifts, presenting you with servants and expensive necklaces. Your heart skipped a beat, but your face remained impassive.

Almost every kingdom gathered for his 28th birthday. Ice begged you for a long time to come, and you agreed.

Standing by the railing with a glass of water, you spotted Ice next to Elizabeth, the sardonic Princess of Florienta, surrounded by suitors. Your fingers flexed, then unclenched. The glass shattered at her feet, shards grazing her, and she ran away screaming.

A smile appeared on Ice's lips.

“Jealous…” he whispered.

You heard and frowned.