CHAPTER SIX
812 Words
: "Day Six: The Ice"*
The once dark face became enraged.
I could see it in every sharp line of his jaw, in the way the muscle twitched beneath skin that looked carved from marble. One could see just how angered he was.
And it was my fault.
I had angered His Royal Highness himself.
All because I refused to prepare for the ball.
A maid had come around 5 pm, I suppose. Her footsteps were soft against the cold stone, but her presence felt like chains. She carried silk and perfume and pins meant to turn me into something presentable. Something for display.
I turned her down.
“Go tell your master,” I told her, voice low but steady, “that I am not going to a ball.”
The words had barely left my mouth before the air in the room changed.
The door slammed open.
A man appeared in the doorway, and rage poured off him like smoke. His eyes found me immediately — I was on my knees, tired, worn down to nothing, and still I lifted my chin.
The pain came before I could think.
A hand. A shove. My back slammed against the wall. The breath was knocked from my lungs and stars burst behind my eyes.
He stood in front of me.
He was not beautiful in a soft way. No. His beauty was the kind that cut.
His chin was sharp, cut like it had been sculpted by someone who believed perfection should hurt. His lips were full, yet thin at the edges, the kind of mouth that could ruin a woman with a single word. Any lady, and probably many men, would be captivated by him if they only saw that mouth.
His nose was straight and proud, pointed but not delicate. It was regal. It was cruel.
His mustache was trimmed with precision, dark against pale skin.
And his eyes.
His eyes were deadpan. As always.
No warmth. No light. No emotion lingering in them.
But tonight, there was something else.
Rage.
His stare could make the bravest person shiver. It made the walls feel smaller.
I was jerked back against the wall again. My head snapped forward and I tasted copper.
Was I scared?
No.
Was I surprised?
No.
My emotions had been locked up a long time ago, buried somewhere he could never reach. What was the worst he could do to me? He couldn’t kill me. My powers would die with me, and that was the one thing he needed.
_Oh, how I wished he would kill me._
At least then it would end.
Better than hoping. Better than waiting for _one day_.
With every second that passed, his anger grew. Who wouldn’t be furious? I had just disobeyed him. His Royal Highness. The man who owned the castle, the crown, and me.
He charged at me again.
This time he threw me across the room. My shoulder hit the floor with a crack that echoed. Pain shot through me, but I didn’t cry out. I wouldn’t give him that.
Where did this strength come from?
I didn’t know. Maybe it was desperation. Maybe it was pride.
I stood. Slowly. My legs shook, but I stood.
I glared at him. Fiercely.
He gritted his teeth. The sound was sharp in the silence.
“Get a bucket of ice,” he ordered the maid, without looking away from me.
I heard him clearly.
But I wasn’t going to bow.
I wasn’t going to let him see the pleasure of my defeat flicker across his face.
We held eye contact.
It felt like hours. Like years. The world narrowed to just him and me and the storm between us.
Even when I heard the maid walk back in, the slosh of water, the clink of ice, I didn’t blink. I didn’t look away.
Not until I felt it.
The piercing cold hit my skin like knives.
Water and ice were dumped over me. My dress, thin and useless, soaked through instantly. The cold bit into my bones, stole the air from my lungs, and for one second I couldn’t breathe.
I blinked.
But I didn’t break.
I straightened my posture. Back straight. Chin up. Eyes on him.
It was too much.
The cold seeped into my skin, into my blood. My body began to tremble despite me.
So I did the only thing I could.
I curled into myself. Not in surrender. Not in defeat.
I curled to conserve what little warmth I had left. To remember that I was still here. Still me.
The room was silent except for the drip of water and his breathing.
He watched me. Rage still burning, but now mixed with something else. Confusion? Frustration?
I didn’t care.
Let him rage.
Let him freeze me.
Let him try to break what was already shattered.
- Writer
