Falling for the Ice king

Morgana’s Pov “So let me get this straight. You want me to apologize for something that wasn’t my fault, to people who already decided I’m guilty?” The principal’s smile twitched like I’d slapped him with a wet towel. “Miss Vale, I simply want a fresh start for you here at Blackthorne.” “Cool. Then maybe start by closing the blinds, because your students are currently doing a live commentary show about me through the glass.” I wasn’t wrong. Three girls stood outside the office window, phones angled like paparazzi, whispering behind manicured hands. “That’s the girl from the video.” “Didn’t she get expelled?” “She looks insane.” I turned my head just enough to catch their eyes, gave them a slow, sweet wave, then looked back at the principal like nothing happened. “Wow,” I said. “I’ve been here four minutes and I already have a fan club.” He cleared his throat, unimpressed by my comedic timing, which honestly, rude. “Blackthorne Academy does not tolerate drama, Miss Vale.” I almost laughed. A school filled with trust funds, hockey trophies, and gossip accounts probably had more drama than a soap opera marathon, but sure. Let’s pretend. “Noted,” I said. “No drama. I’ll try to exist quietly, like a houseplant.” He didn’t find that funny either, Tough crowd. He handed me a folder and informed me a student named Brielle would be my guide for the day. Translation: someone forced to babysit the new scandal girl and resent every second of it. Brielle confirmed that the second she saw me. Her smile was so fake it could’ve been laminated. “Hi,” she said, the word dragging like she’d rather be anywhere else. “I’m supposed to show you around.” “Lucky you,” I said. “Try to contain your excitement.” She didn’t laugh. She just walked, fast, like proximity to me might be contagious. The hallway was a museum of perfection. Marble floors. Crystal trophy cases. Portraits of old rich men who probably built this school just to feel important after they died. Everywhere I looked, somebody was already looking at me. Whispering. Lifting phones just slightly, like I wouldn’t notice them recording. I kept my face calm. Bored, even. Inside, my stomach was doing slow, sick flips, the kind that came right before I wanted to disappear into the floor. But disappearing wasn’t an option anymore. Not after last time. So I smiled instead, Bright and Careless. The kind of smile that said yeah, I see you whispering, and I genuinely do not care. It was a lie, but a convincing one. Then the hallway changed. It happened fast, the way a crowd shifts when a storm rolls in. Conversations dropped. Bodies moved aside like the floor itself had given an order. Even Brielle straightened up beside me, suddenly very interested in her own shoes. The hockey team walked in from the rink entrance, gear bags slung over shoulders, hair damp, jackets unzipped despite the cold. And right in the middle of them, like gravity bent around him, was a boy who looked like he’d been carved out of bad weather. Tall, Knuckles bruised like he made a habit of hitting things he wasn’t supposed to. His jaw was tight, his eyes flat and unreadable, scanning the hallway like he already knew everyone in it and trusted none of them. Girls straightened their backs. Smoothed their hair. Stared at him like he was something holy. I just stared at the bruises on his hand and thought, great, the school apparently comes with its own emotionally constipated bodyguard. He didn’t smile. Didn’t nod. Didn’t do a single thing to deserve the way the entire hallway rearranged itself around him. That, somehow, annoyed me more than anything else today. A girl beside me got so busy staring at him that she walked straight into my shoulder. My books exploded out of my arms, papers fanning across the marble floor like I’d thrown a parade. Nobody moved to help. A dozen people watched it happen and not one of them bent down. They just kept staring at him like my entire existence had become background noise the second he entered the building. Even he passed by close enough that I caught the cold air still clinging to his jacket. For one second I actually thought, stupidly, that he might stop. He didn’t, He just walked straight past me like I was part of the floor design. So I said it loud enough for the whole hallway to hear. “A gentleman. How rare.” Behind him, one of his teammates barked out a laugh, slapping another guy on the shoulder. “Oh, she’s got jokes.” The boy stopped. Not fully, Just a pause, his shoulders going still for half a second before he turned his head and looked back at me. It wasn’t a glare. It wasn’t a smile either. It was something quieter, something that felt like being studied instead of looked at, like he was trying to figure out why I wasn’t scrambling to apologize for existing near him. I held his stare and didn’t blink first. For the first time since I walked into this building, his expression actually shifted. Just barely. Like something behind his eyes had clicked on. I bent down to grab my papers before the moment got weirder, my face hot despite myself. One sheet slid further than the rest, sliding right up to the toe of his shoe. He crouched and picked it up before I could. I expected him to hand it back without a word. Instead, his eyes dropped to the page. I watched the exact second his face changed. It was the printout my old school counselor had given me. The one I never threw away because some sick part of me kept it as proof I survived it. A grainy photo of me from months ago sat beside a headline in bold black letters. STUDENT ACCUSED OF DESTROYING CLASSMATE’S LIFE. He read it slowly like every word was rearranging something in his head. Then he lifted his eyes from the paper, straight to me. No mocking. No disgust. Just a long, unreadable stare that made my chest tighten in a way I didn’t have a joke ready for. The hallway around us had gone completely silent, every phone, every whisper, paused for whatever was about to happen next. And all I could think was, of course. Four minutes into this hallway, a nd the one person I refused to bow to is the one holding the worst night of my life in his hand.