Lightning Bound: The System Of Infinite Realms

Chapter:1 The Lightning Strike it raged outside as if the heavens were greifing. Clouds gathered across the horizon like warships,covering the sun making it seem dark. Crystal Arden pulled her coat tighter and bent against the wind. Her umbrella was a joke—five dollars from a corner store,with spokes already bending under the wind. It flipped inside out for the third time, smacking her cheek. “Perfect,” she muttered,shoving it into the trash as the thunder cracked overhead. water streamed down her face as the rain soaked her completly. She should have stayed at work-another hour filing invoices in a room that smelled like a rotten egg cofee would have been better than this. Or better yet,sheshould have stayed in bed this morning, let the world go on without her. But no. Life demanded she show up. Life always demanded and she show up, and she always delivered-quiet, reliable, forgetable crystal. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, she didnt need to look to know who it was: her landlord,probaly leaving another message about rent. Or maybe her boss, remindng her about the meeting tomorrow that could not be missed The storm swelled, growing like a libing thing. Lightning spidered across the sky, turning the river below into a sheet of molten silver. For one insane second, crystal thought: its beautiful. Even if i died right now, this would be – – The world cracked open. A blinding white s***h cut the night, and pain detonated through her body. She did'nt even have time to scream. One heartbeat she was flesh and bonr, the next she was pure elecyricity, raw and screaming through every nerve, any thought — Then nothing. No sound. No rain. No body. Just darkness. When sensation returned, it wasn't pain - it was weightlessness. Crystal opened her eyes or though she did and saw no bridge, no storm, instead, endless black streached with silver threads that glowed like veins of light. They pulsed faintly, humming with something almost alive. “Hello, Crystal". The voice came from nowhere. smooth warm. male though not quite human. it curled around her like smoke, soft and amused. Her throatworkef. No sound came out. “Oh good,” the Great—this means we’ll start writing Chapter 1 in full prose, as if it’s the real novel, using a strong narrative voice, descriptive worldbuilding, and keeping the System’s personality vivid. I’ll aim for 2,000–2,500 words per chapter in the draft, ensuring it reads like a published light novel or w******l. Let’s start with Chapter 1: The Strike in full detail. --- Chapter 1 – The Strike (Full Prose Draft) The storm didn’t wait for permission. Clouds muscled across the horizon like warships, swallowing the sunset in thick, black waves. The first raindrops fell heavy, metallic against the old iron bridge, ringing out in a rhythm that sounded almost impatient. Crystal Arden pulled her coat tighter and bent against the wind. Her umbrella was a joke—five dollars from a corner store, with spokes already bending under the gale. It flipped inside out for the third time, smacking her cheek. “Perfect,” she muttered, shoving it into the trash as thunder cracked overhead. Water streamed down her hair and into her collar, cold as a stranger’s hand. She should have stayed at work—another hour of filing invoices in a room that smelled like toner and stale coffee would’ve been better than this. Or better yet, she should have stayed in bed this morning, let the world go on without her. But no. Life demanded she show up. Life always demanded, and she always delivered—quiet, reliable, forgettable Crystal. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She didn’t need to look to know who it was: her landlord, probably leaving another message about rent. Or maybe her boss, reminding her about the meeting tomorrow that she couldn’t afford to miss. She didn’t check. What was the point? The storm swelled, growling like a living thing. Lightning spidered across the sky, turning the river below into a sheet of molten silver. For one insane second, Crystal thought: It’s beautiful. Even if I died right now, this would be— The world cracked open. A blinding white s***h cut the night, and pain detonated through her body. She didn’t even have time to scream. One heartbeat she was flesh and bone, the next she was pure electricity, raw and screaming through every nerve, every thought— Then nothing. No sound. No rain. No body. Just darkness. --- When sensation returned, it wasn’t pain—it was weightlessness. Crystal opened her eyes—or thought she did—and saw no bridge, no storm. Instead, an endless black stretched in every direction, stitched with silver threads that glowed like veins of light. They pulsed faintly, humming with something almost alive. She tried to breathe. The air wasn’t air. It was… soft. Thick, like silk brushing her skin from the inside. “Hello, Crystal.” The voice came from nowhere. Smooth. Warm. Male—though not quite human. It curled around her like smoke, soft and amused. Her throat worked. No sound came out. “Oh good,” the voice purred. “You can hear me. That saves time.” Crystal’s heartbeat—or whatever passed for it here—kicked into a sprint. “Wh-who—where am I?” “A question with too many boring answers.” The voice chuckled. “Let’s start simple. You’re alive.” “This—this doesn’t look alive,” she whispered, staring at the silver threads. They stretched into infinity, some disappearing into doors—glowing arches hovering in the void, each one humming like a held breath. “You’re welcome, by the way,” the voice added lightly. “Welcome? For what?” “For saving you from becoming extra crispy on that bridge.” Crystal’s stomach lurched. “The lightning…” “Yes. Spectacular entry, by the way. Painful, messy, a little dramatic—but it worked. You didn’t die entirely.” Her breath hitched. “Entirely?” The laugh that answered was velvet over steel. “You’ll get used to that.” A sudden flare of light drew her gaze upward. A screen—floating, translucent, shimmering in the dark. Words burned across it in letters of white fire: [System Initialization: 0% → 100% Complete] Welcome, Crystal Arden. Binding Protocol: Complete. Her knees weakened. Except—did she even have knees here? “What—what is that?” she croaked. “That,” the voice said with relish, “is me.” Another screen unfolded, spilling words like a scroll of fate: Host Selected: Crystal Arden Designation: Player Primary Objective: Survive “Player?” Crystal whispered. “Yes,” the voice murmured. “You’re my Host. My partner. My favorite project.” She swallowed hard. “You’re… some kind of program?” “Some kind,” the voice agreed lazily. “Think of me as your System. I make sure you don’t die. Well… mostly.” Crystal’s head spun. “No, no, no. This—this is a dream. I’m in a coma. My brain’s fried. This isn’t—” “Real?” The voice laughed softly. “You humans. Always so certain reality is what you can touch. Tell me, did your bridge feel real? Because it’s gone now.” Her legs gave out—if she even had them—and she sank to her knees on nothing. The silver threads pulsed brighter, like mocking heartbeats. “Why me?” she whispered. “Because you’re special.” The voice sounded like it was smiling. “No,” Crystal said, shaking her head violently. “I’m not. I’m—ordinary. Nobody. There are a million better—” “And yet,” the voice cut in, sharp and silken, “you’re here. Alive when you should be dead. That makes you mine.” The threads above shivered. One pulsed brighter than the rest, unraveling into a door rimmed in molten gold. Runes crawled across its surface like living ink. Crystal stared, throat dry. “What… what is that?” “Your first mission,” the System said. Words burned in the air, hanging like judgment: [Mission 01: Enter “The Duke’s Forsaken Bride.” Objective: Survive until Chapter 20.] Her stomach plummeted. She knew that title. She’d read that book—devoured it in three sleepless nights. “Wait,” she breathed. “That’s a novel. That’s—fiction.” “Was fiction,” the System corrected softly. “Now it’s your reality.” “No.” Her head shook violently. “No, I can’t—” The voice sharpened like a blade sliding free. “You can. You will. Or you die. Again. And this time, darling, no one’s coming to save you.” The door yawned wide, spilling golden light. The void trembled. “Ready or not,” the System whispered, warm and cruel, “Chapter One begins now.” The light swallowed her whole. --- End of Chapter 1. --- prefer? Chapter 2 – System Initialization (Full Prose) Crystal fell forever. Golden light flared like a supernova, swallowing the last threads of the void. For one dizzying instant she felt weightless, suspended between worlds. Then the light twisted—became claws of heat, air that burned, gravity that yanked her down like a predator sinking its teeth into prey. She slammed onto something hard and unyielding. Cobblestones. The breath punched out of her lungs. Her cheek scraped rough stone. “Ugh—!” She coughed violently, gasping in damp air that smelled of rain and smoke and horse dung. Voices. Dozens of them. A horse screamed nearby. Wheels thundered. Crystal pushed up on trembling arms just as a black carriage hurtled toward her. She saw the gleam of steel wheels, the flash of hooves—then someone screamed, and a driver yanked the reins violently. The carriage swerved, missing her by a hand’s breadth. Mud and filthy water splashed over her silk skirts. Crystal froze. Silk skirts? She looked down. Her hands were pale, delicate. Her nails perfectly polished. Her cheap polyester jacket and slacks were gone, replaced by an elegant gown the color of crushed violets. Lace sleeves clung to her arms. A jeweled pendant sparkled at her throat. “This—” Her voice shook. “This isn’t mine.” [Congratulations, Host. Arrival successful.] The words weren’t sound—they bloomed in her mind like molten ink. “YOU,” Crystal hissed under her breath. [Me,] the System replied cheerfully. [Still alive, I see. How resourceful of you—oh, wait. That was me.] Crystal clenched her teeth. “Where am I?” [World: The Duke’s Forsaken Bride.] Her stomach dropped. She turned slowly, her breath catching. It was beautiful. Terrifyingly so. Gas lamps glowed like amber along streets lined with towering marble facades. Ornate balconies spilled flowers down their wrought-iron rails. Carriages rattled past on cobblestones slick with rain, their wheels throwing gold-tinted reflections. Beyond the rooftops, a palace clawed at the horizon—spires of white stone rising like frozen lightning against the indigo sky. She knew this city. She’d read this city. “Oh my God,” Crystal whispered. [Close. Wrong deity. Try again.] Her hands trembled as the memory unspooled. The Duke’s Forsaken Bride. Historical romance novel. One of her favorites. A cruel Duke with ice in his veins. A sweet, innocent heroine who wins his love through endless trials. Betrayal, heartbreak, redemption. She’d loved it. And she was standing in it. “No, no, no,” she whispered. “This can’t be real.” [Reality is subjective. Isn’t this better than your pathetic old life?] Crystal ignored the jab, mind racing. If this was that novel, then—who was she? Her gaze dropped to her gown. Her memory dredged up the character descriptions, the early chapters—then hit ice. “Lady Marenne,” she breathed. [Bingo.] The System’s voice dripped amusement. [Daughter of a minor baron. Status: Disposable. Role: Plot catalyst. Fate: Death by Chapter Five. Odds of survival: Two point four percent.] Crystal’s lungs constricted. “She dies,” Crystal whispered. “She—she gets framed for poisoning Evelyn at the Duke’s engagement banquet and—” [Executed. Publicly. Messy business.] The System chuckled darkly. [And you’ve got three days until that scene. Tick-tock, darling.] Her stomach heaved. She staggered to her feet, grabbing a lamppost for balance. “You can’t expect me to survive in—this!” She waved wildly at the city, the carriages, the nobles sweeping past in glittering gowns. “I’m not her! I don’t know the rules here! I—I don’t even know how to—how to breathe in a corset!” [You’ll manage.] “I can’t! I’ll die!” [Not if you listen to me.] Crystal froze. The voice had sharpened—not cruel, but something worse: patient. Inevitable. “What do you want from me?” she whispered. A pause. Then, softly: [Everything.] Before she could respond, a chime split the air—no, not the air. Her mind. Another translucent screen unfurled before her, burning with white glyphs: --- [SYSTEM INTERFACE UNLOCKED] Host: Crystal Arden Identity: Lady Marenne d’Auvigne Primary Objective: Survive until Chapter Twenty Secondary Objective: [Locked] Failure Condition: Death → Soul Erasure --- Crystal stared. The words tilted, blurred, righted themselves. “Survive?” she whispered. “That’s it? That’s the mission?” [Correct.] “And if I don’t?” The System laughed softly. [Then you cease to exist. Not just here. Everywhere.] Crystal’s throat dried. “Okay,” she whispered. “Okay. I just—I just stay out of trouble. Don’t mess with the story. Don’t go near the Duke. Don’t—” [Spoiler alert, Host: trouble is already looking for you.] A shadow spilled over her shoes. Crystal turned—and found herself staring into eyes like winter steel. --- End of chapter 2 Chapter 3 – The Duke’s Shadow The man standing before her was a statue carved from winter’s breath. Tall, broad-shouldered, and draped in a black coat that gleamed like oil beneath the lamplight, he radiated a chill that made the damp night feel colder. His hair—ink-dark—fell in perfect waves against a collar of snow-white silk. But it was his eyes that stole her breath: silver-gray, as if the storms themselves had condensed behind his lashes. Eyes that looked through her as though she were a page in a book he’d already read, memorized, and discarded. Crystal’s heart slammed against her ribs. She knew this man. Every reader knew him. Lucien Armand Valentiere, Duke of Veyria. The male lead. The most dangerous man in the story. Oh no. No, no, no— He tilted his head, gaze sharpening like the edge of a blade. “You,” he said softly. Crystal swallowed hard. Her body wanted to curtsy, to kneel, to flee. But her limbs had turned to stone. [Smile. Curtsy. Say something before he guts you with that stare.] “I—uh—” Crystal wobbled into what she hoped was a curtsy. Her knees cracked like old furniture. “Your… Grace?” The words came out high and squeaky, like a mouse on helium. The Duke’s eyes narrowed. Sweat slid down her spine. Crap, crap, crap—why is he even here? This isn’t supposed to happen yet! In the book, he doesn’t meet Marenne until— [Chapter Four, banquet scene, yes. Congratulations, Host, you’ve officially deviated.] Her pulse stuttered. “Wait—what? I didn’t do anything!” [Didn’t you? Funny thing about fate: it’s clingy. You fell out of the sky, remember?] The Duke’s boots clicked softly on the cobblestones as he stepped closer. Each sound was a countdown, tightening like a noose. “You are… Lady Marenne d’Auvigne,” he said at last. Not a question—an executioner’s statement. “Yes,” she croaked. Then winced. i***t! Should I deny it? Pretend to faint? Play dead? The Duke studied her with the cool detachment of a scientist examining a flawed specimen. His gaze swept over her mud-streaked skirts, her tangled hair, her trembling hands. For the briefest flicker of a second, something moved in those eyes—a shadow of curiosity, gone before it bloomed. “You should not be here,” he said. “I—uh—yes, well, funny story about that, Your Grace—” He raised a gloved hand. She shut up so fast her teeth clicked. “I will overlook this… incident,” he said, voice smooth as poisoned honey. “For now.” Crystal’s lungs deflated in shaky relief. “But,” he added, and the word curled like smoke, “if I find you in this quarter again, Lady Marenne, I will assume you are seeking trouble. And I do not look kindly on trouble.” Her mouth opened. Closed. Nodding seemed safest, so she nodded like an overcaffeinated pigeon. Lucien’s gaze lingered one more heartbeat—then he turned, coat sweeping behind him like a spill of shadows. In moments, he was gone, swallowed by fog and carriage wheels. Crystal sagged against the lamppost, knees jelly, heart a war drum. [Well, that wasn’t awkward at all.] “Shut up,” she hissed. [Pro tip: when an apex predator says ‘don’t cause trouble,’ what he really means is ‘run faster, little rabbit.’] She groaned, pressing her face into her hands. “I’m screwed.” [Incorrect. You’re doomed. Screwed implies fun along the way, and believe me—fun’s not on the menu.] Crystal dropped her hands and glared at the glowing screen still hovering faintly in the air. “You’re enjoying this.” [Immensely.] “I hate you.” [You say that now.] A sudden chime interrupted the banter. New text unfurled before her eyes: --- [ALERT: PLOT DEVIATION +7%] Current Risk Level: Elevated Editor Probability: Minimal → Moderate --- Crystal froze. “Editor? What the hell is that?” [Oh, nothing major. Just creatures that erase anomalies like you. Think of them as… literary hitmen.] Her skin crawled. “You mean if I mess up again—” [They’ll hunt you down and snip you out of existence like a bad paragraph.] Crystal swayed, nausea boiling in her gut. “I can’t do this,” she whispered. “I can’t survive this.” [Wrong. You will. Because the alternative? Is silence.] The voice wasn’t mocking now. It thrummed with something deeper—weight, darkness, a gravity that pulled at her soul. Crystal clenched her fists. She thought of the bridge, of lightning ripping through her, of the endless void yawning like a mouth. And she knew: the System was right. She couldn’t go back. But could she move forward? Her gaze drifted toward the fog where the Duke had vanished. Her pulse quickened. “I just have to last until Chapter Twenty,” she whispered. “That’s it.” [That’s it,] the System echoed, soft as sin. Somewhere above, the palace bells tolled midnight. And in their iron song, Crystal heard the opening bars of a symphony she didn’t know the ending to. --- End of Chapter 3. --- Next up: Chapter 4 – The Banquet of Fate (Crystal’s first major plot event—the engagement banquet where her death was originally scripted.) This will include: The opulent ballroom scene The heroine Evelyn’s entrance The assassination attempt The System’s brutal “protection mode” triggering for the first time Should I continue immediately with Chapter 4 in the same style? It will be long, intense, and a turning point where Crystal realizes just how dangerous the System truly is. Here’s Chapter 4 – The Banquet of Fate, written in full novel prose and continuing seamlessly: --- Chapter 4 – The Banquet of Fate Crystal had never seen so much gold in one place before. The Grand Hall of House Armand was a cathedral to opulence. Light spilled from chandeliers like molten sunlight, cascading over marble columns veined with lapis and pearl. Walls draped in crimson silk shimmered under the glow of thousands of candles, and an orchestra played a melody that whispered of wealth, war, and waltzes older than empires. Crystal stood at the edge of it all, drowning in a sea of nobility. Every man glittered in military finery or jeweled cravats; every woman bloomed in gowns like captured sunsets. Diamonds winked from throats and wrists like tiny, mocking stars. She tugged at her borrowed gown—a pale lavender monstrosity that screamed I am delicate, please kill me first. Her hair, twisted by an overly enthusiastic maid, tugged at her scalp like a crown of thorns. [Smile, Host. You look like a corpse attending its own wake.] She clenched her teeth, lips stretching in something approximating joy. “This is a nightmare,” she hissed under her breath. [Correction: this is the banquet of fate. Try not to bleed on the hors d’oeuvres.] Her stomach flipped. In the original novel, Lady Marenne d’Auvigne—her body—died here. One poisoned cup of wine during a toast. One gasp, one collapse, and curtain down. Not me, Crystal vowed, heart thudding against her ribs. Not tonight. --- A fan snapped shut near her ear. Crystal flinched as a tall blonde in sapphire silk appeared like a viper uncoiling. Lady Seraphine d’Allais—patron saint of gossip and venom. Her smile dripped honey and arsenic. “My, my,” Seraphine purred, eyes sweeping over Crystal’s ill-fitting gown, lingering on the mud-stained hem no amount of scrubbing had erased. “Lady Marenne. How… quaint you look this evening.” “Thank you,” Crystal said brightly. Then, because panic made her reckless: “Your dress looks like it hates you.” A sharp inhale rippled through the cluster of courtiers. Seraphine’s smile froze like water turned to ice. [Host… you absolute maniac. I love it.] Before Seraphine could respond, a voice rolled across the hall—deep, commanding, the sound of velvet over steel. “Announcing,” the herald boomed, “His Grace, the Duke of Veyria.” The music faltered. The air shifted. And Lucien Valentiere entered. He didn’t walk so much as cut through space like a blade. Black and silver clung to him in austere elegance, his coat embroidered with threads that glimmered like frost. Every step radiated authority so cold it burned. The crowd bowed as one. Crystal, caught in the undertow, bent low, praying he wouldn’t notice her— “Lady Marenne.” Her soul left her body. Slowly—slowly—she lifted her head. Lucien stood before her, gaze cool, inscrutable, like moonlight on a frozen lake. “I trust you’ve… recovered from your evening walk,” he said softly, so only she heard. Her mouth dried to sand. “Y-yes, Your Grace.” His eyes lingered a fraction too long, something flickering behind that storm-gray calm. Then he turned away, striding toward the dais where a girl in white waited like a snowdrop blooming in winter. The heroine. Evelyn. She was luminous—hair of spun gold, eyes like spring rain, smile pure enough to baptize sinners. The hall drank her in with collective awe. Even Crystal felt the pull, the ache of perfection written into her bones. This is her story, Crystal reminded herself fiercely. I’m just background noise. Stay alive. Stay invisible— A chime rang, clear as crystal. Servants glided forward with silver trays, each bearing fluted glasses filled with wine the color of rubies. Crystal’s blood turned to ice. The toast. The moment where Marenne dies. Her fingers shook as a glass was pressed into her hand. Sweat slicked her palm. Across the hall, Lucien raised his glass. The orchestra hushed. Every gaze followed as he spoke: “To loyalty,” he said, voice smooth, low, dangerous. “And to the future we forge tonight.” The hall echoed the words like scripture: To loyalty! To the future! Crystal’s pulse roared. The rim of the glass kissed her lips. [Careful, Host. That’s not wine—it’s a one-way ticket to obituary land.] I can’t drink this. Her mind screamed. If I refuse, they’ll notice. If I drink, I die. What do I do? What— Something shimmered at the edge of her vision. A faint crimson glow, coiling around the glass like smoke. [Poison confirmed. Estimated lethality: 98%. Estimated fun: 100%.] Her breath hitched. Help me. [Magic word?] Please! The System chuckled—a sound like silk ripping—and the world slowed. --- The first scream tore through the hall before Crystal understood what happened. The man beside her—a courtier in green velvet—dropped his glass. His eyes bulged. Foam frothed at his lips as he convulsed, veins blackening like ink spilled under skin. Then he collapsed, twitching, dead. The poison meant for her had leapt hosts. Crystal gaped as chaos erupted. Nobles shrieked, skirts swirled, goblets clattered. Guards surged forward, blades flashing. And in the eye of the storm, the Duke watched her. Not the dying man. Her. --- [Protection complete,] the System purred. [Payment due.] Agony slammed into her like a freight train. Her knees buckled, breath shredding in her lungs. Every nerve burned white-hot as if lightning kissed her veins anew. She bit back a scream, teeth slicing her tongue. Blood filled her mouth. [Side effects may include mild discomfort, internal hemorrhage, and existential despair.] She collapsed against a pillar, clutching it as her vision swam. Through the blur, she saw Lucien striding toward her, silver eyes sharp as knives. No no no no— “Lady Marenne,” he said, voice silk and steel. “Come with me.” It wasn’t a request. --- End of Chapter 4. --- Chapter 5 – The Cage of Silk Crystal’s heels dragged against polished marble as Lucien guided—no, hauled—her through a labyrinth of corridors. His grip was iron around her wrist, deceptively gentle but unyielding as a vice. The chaos of the banquet hall faded behind them, muffled by doors slamming shut like a series of iron bars. Breathe, she told herself. Stay calm. Act like a proper lady. Do not faint. Do not scream. Do not— [Do not die, Host. That’s kind of the whole point of our charming little arrangement.] You’re not helping, she snarled inwardly, stumbling as he swung open another door and shoved her inside. The room was… breathtaking. Floor-to-ceiling windows opened to moonlit gardens, their silver glow spilling across a chamber draped in velvet and shadow. It smelled faintly of sandalwood and something darker, sharper—like storms over steel. Lucien released her only when the door shut with a click that echoed like a verdict. He crossed to a table laden with crystal decanters, poured amber liquid into a glass with the precision of a ritual. His back to her, he said, almost conversationally: “You seem remarkably fortunate tonight, Lady Marenne.” Crystal’s throat constricted. He knows. Of course he knows. He’s the Duke—cold, calculating, terrifyingly intelligent. A man who could gut you with a glance and make the world thank him for the privilege. “I—I don’t know what you mean,” she managed, voice a fragile reed. He turned. God help her, he smiled. It wasn’t warm. It wasn’t kind. It was the kind of smile a predator wears when the deer trips in the snow. “Don’t insult us both,” Lucien murmured, advancing with unhurried grace. His eyes—storm-gray, sharp enough to flay—never left hers. “A toast is poisoned. A man dies. And you, who should have been standing in his place…” He stopped inches from her, glass dangling from his fingers like a casual threat. “…walk away unscathed.” Crystal’s pulse hammered against her ribs like a prisoner rattling bars. Her palms slicked with sweat. Her mind screamed a carousel of lies and excuses, none of them plausible. System, she begged silently. A little help here?! [Sure. Here’s some advice: don’t confess to attempted regicide. You’re welcome.] Useless! Lucien set the glass on a side table with a soft clink and braced one hand against the wall beside her head. The space shrank. The air thickened, heavy with sandalwood and danger. “Tell me, Lady Marenne,” he said softly, almost tenderly, as if coaxing a secret from a child. “Do you believe in luck?” Her voice scraped out like broken glass. “I—I suppose so.” “Good,” he said. His fingers brushed a lock of hair from her face, a gesture so intimate it froze her breath. “Because you’ll need it.” Then he stepped back, all warmth vanishing like mist. “You’re confined to my estate until this matter is resolved.” “Confined?” she echoed, stomach plunging. “Think of it as… protection.” His smile returned, colder than winter rain. “From whoever poisoned my wine.” Your wine? she thought wildly. That was for me, you homicidal snow prince! [Correction: it was for us. Don’t forget the royal ‘we,’ Host.] Guards materialized like shadows summoned from the dark. At a flick of his fingers, they moved toward her. “Escort Lady Marenne to the East Wing,” Lucien ordered. “See that she lacks for nothing… except the freedom to leave.” The door shut behind them with a soft, final click. --- Crystal’s new prison was a suite fit for royalty—gilded mirrors, silk drapes, a bed big enough to host a diplomatic summit. It was beautiful. It was suffocating. The moment the guards retreated, she collapsed onto the mattress, clutching her temples. “I’m screwed,” she whispered. “So screwed.” [On the contrary, you’re doing splendidly. Look at,