Chapter Two – Fire and Frost
1058 Words
Chapter Two – Fire and Frost
The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was him.
Riven leaned against the wall opposite my bed, arms folded, silver eyes fixed on me with the same cool indifference he’d worn the night before. His armor caught the early sunlight, the dark steel swallowing the gold of dawn. He looked like he hadn’t moved all night.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded, my voice still rough with sleep.
He tilted his head, unbothered. “Guarding you.”
“I don’t need guarding.”
“You say that,” he replied, voice smooth as stone grinding against stone, “but half the court would see you dead before the wedding binds the clans. I’d rather not fail my task on the second day.”
My fists clenched beneath the covers. His arrogance him. The way he spoke to me was as though I were some fragile thing, a jewel to be kept in a box. He didn’t bow. He didn’t avert his gaze. He looked at me straight at mein a way no one else dared.
And the worst part? A traitorous part of me didn’t hate it.
“Leave,” I ordered.
He didn’t move.
I sat up sharply. “I said leave.”
“You can order the council,” he said calmly, “or the servants. Not me. I’m not here by your command. I’m here by the treaty.”
My blood boiled. If he hadn’t been wearing that cursed sigil of House Varr, if he hadn’t been a reminder of everything I despised, I might have admired his fearlessness. Instead, I wanted to drag him from the room and lock the doors behind him.
But I couldn’t.
So instead, I threw back the covers and stood. “If you insist on shadowing me,” I said, “then you’ll follow me to the training yard. Let’s see if you can actually do more than talk.”
For the first time, something flickered in his eyes. Amusement.
“Gladly.”
The training yard buzzed with the clang of steel and the grunts of soldiers. Morning drills had begun, and rows of guards moved in unison, blades flashing beneath the rising sun. I strode across the packed dirt, chin high, ignoring the way their eyes followed me. I wasn’t here to spar against them. I was here to face the storm shadowing my every step.
I tossed a wooden practice sword at Riven’s chest. He caught it with insulting ease.
“Let’s see if your mouth is sharper than your blade,” I said.
He twirled the sword once, testing its weight, then planted his feet opposite me. “I don’t fight princes,” he said.
“Then fight a man.” I lunged.
The clash was immediate, jarring. My blade met his with a c***k that echoed across the yard. For a heartbeat, triumph surged through me. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he knocked my sword aside and sent me stumbling.
I snarled, regaining my stance. Again.
Strike. Block. Counter. Every move I made, he dismantled like it was child’s play. His expression never changed. Calm, detached, as if he were sparring with a boy who had just picked up a sword for the first time.
Rage coiled in my chest. I pressed harder, faster, slashing, thrusting, desperate to land a single hit. And then
Thwack.
My back hit the dirt, and the practice sword ripped clean from my hand. Riven stood over me, blade pointed down, silver eyes cold.
“Dead,” he said simply.
Gasps rippled through the yard. The soldiers had stopped their drills, watching with barely concealed shock. Their prince, thrown into the dirt by the enemy.
Humiliation burned hotter than dragon fire in my veins. I scrambled to my feet, brushing dust from my tunic. “This means nothing. You caught me off guard.”
“You came at me screaming like a child,” he replied. “If I were an assassin, your blood would already be on the ground.”
I wanted to strike him. To wipe that calm, unshaken mask from his face. But my fists trembled with fury, and something else I couldn’t name.
He tossed the wooden sword at my feet. “Learn. Or die. Those are your choices.”
I stormed from the yard, leaving whispers in my wake. My lungs ached, my pride shredded. How dare he? How dare the council? To place me beneath this man, to humiliate me before my own soldiers
A shriek cut through my thoughts.
It came from the stables, sharp and panicked. I broke into a run, rounding the cornerand froze.
A dragon hatchling thrashed against its tether, wings flailing, teeth snapping. The stablehands scrambled back in terror, shouting for help. Dragons were not toys. Even young, their strength could shatter bone.
“Stay back!” one guard shouted, drawing a spear.
But before he could move, Riven was already there.
He stepped calmly into the stall, unarmed, his presence steady as stone. The hatchling reared, eyes wild, flames crackling at its throat. Any sane man would have fled.
Riven lifted a hand.
“Easy,” he said, voice low, steady, the same voice he had used when he first spoke to me. “Easy, little one.”
To my shock, the dragon stilled. Its wings twitched, its growls softened. Slowly, it lowered its head toward him, pressing its snout into his palm.
The stable fell silent. Every man stared as Riven stroked the hatchling’s scales, murmuring something too soft to hear. The dragon that would have torn any of them apart now purred like a kitten under his touch.
I couldn’t breathe.
Who was he?
When he stepped out of the stall, the dragon was calm once more, and his eyes met mine. For the first time, there was no frost in them. Only fire.
“Your people don’t understand dragons,” he said. “You rule them with fear. But they don’t bow to fear. They bow to strength.”
My heart pounded. My tongue felt heavy. I wanted to speak, to demand answers, but all I could do was stare.
And for the first time since I’d met him, I wasn’t sure if I hated him or if I feared him.
- Writer
