MARKED BY THE COLD KING

TERMS AND THORNS

Dinner with the king.

The words echoed in my mind long after Lucien disappeared through the towering doors of the throne room. I remained standing where he’d left me, my pulse finally slowing now that the council was gone. My legs trembled beneath the weight of the morning, and I exhaled shakily, pressing my palms together to keep them from betraying me.

Dinner.

Not a meal.

A performance.

That much I understood.

Back in my chambers, Elise helped me change into something more comfortable—still elegant, still unmistakably royal, but softer. A pale silver gown this time, simple in design but impossibly fine in fabric. Even the simple things here screamed wealth.

I sat by the balcony afterward, staring out at the frost-covered gardens below. Winter ruled this kingdom mercilessly. The trees were skeletal, their branches dusted in ice like bone-white fingers reaching toward the sky. Snow blanketed everything in silence.

Beautiful.

Unforgiving.

Just like the king.

What kind of man dined in silence after claiming a wife by contract? Did he eat with precision, every movement controlled? Did he speak at all? Or would he sit across from me, watching, measuring, waiting for me to crack?

The thought sent a nervous flutter through my chest.

I touched the ring at my neck unconsciously. My mark. My mistake. My salvation.

A knock at the door startled me.

“Elise?” I called.

“It’s Maren,” came the composed reply.

She entered moments later, her gaze sharp as ever. “Dinner is in half an hour. You’ll be escorted to the king’s private dining hall. I suggest you prepare yourself.”

“For what?” I asked quietly.

“For scrutiny,” she said honestly. “His Majesty does nothing without intention.”

That made my stomach twist.

She left me alone again, and I stood before the mirror, studying myself as if I were a stranger. I practiced holding my chin high. Practiced neutrality. Practiced being nothing.

By the time the guards arrived, my heart was already racing.

The private dining hall was smaller than the grand banquet rooms I’d passed earlier, but no less intimidating. Dark stone walls lined with silver sconces cast flickering light across a long obsidian table. One end was occupied.

Lucien.

He was already seated, dressed in dark attire that blended seamlessly with the shadows. His crown lay beside his plate, discarded like an inconvenience. He didn’t rise when I entered.

“Sit,” he said simply.

I did.

The distance between us felt deliberate. Calculated.

Servants moved silently, placing dishes before us—foods I couldn’t name, arranged with surgical precision. The aroma was rich, but my appetite had long since vanished.

Lucien picked up his fork. “You held yourself well this morning.”

The comment surprised me. “Thank you.”

“That wasn’t praise,” he said coolly. “It was an observation.”

Of course it was.

We ate in silence for a while. The only sounds were cutlery against porcelain and the faint crackle of fire. I felt his gaze on me more than once, sharp and assessing, as if he were studying a problem that refused to resolve itself.

“You’re wondering why I agreed,” he said suddenly.

I stiffened. “I assumed you needed a queen.”

“I did.” He sliced into his meal with precision. “But I had choices. Noble daughters. Women trained from birth to survive this court.”

“And instead, you chose me.”

“I chose someone desperate enough not to lie to me.”

His words landed like ice.

“You were honest,” he continued. “You didn’t pretend affection. You didn’t try to charm me. You offered a transaction.”

I swallowed. “That doesn’t make me special.”

“No,” he agreed. “It makes you predictable.”

Predictable.

I should’ve been offended.

Instead, I felt something dangerously close to relief.

“At least,” he added, “for now.”

I met his gaze then, really met it. “And what happens when I’m no longer predictable?”

A pause.

Something dark flickered behind his eyes.

“Then we’ll renegotiate,” he said.

The word lingered between us like a threat.

After dinner, he rose without ceremony. “You’ll attend your first public event in three days. A winter charity gala. You will stand beside me. You will smile when expected. You will speak only when spoken to.”

“And if I don’t?” I asked before I could stop myself.

He turned slowly, his full attention settling on me like a blade. “Then you remind the court that I am merciful.”

The implication was clear.

I nodded.

As he passed me, close enough that I could feel the chill radiating from him, he stopped.

“This marriage will not be kind to you,” he said quietly. “If you survive it, it will be because you learn quickly.”

Then he left.

Back in my chambers, I finally let myself sit on the edge of the bed. My hands shook as the adrenaline drained from my system. I stared at the door long after he was gone.

I had thought the contract was the hardest part.

I was wrong.

The palace was alive with thorns, and I was expected to bloom anyway.

I lay back against the pillows, exhaustion claiming me inch by inch. Outside, the wind howled against the stone, a reminder that winter here was endless.

But so was my resolve.

I would learn.

I would adapt.

And I would not disappear.

Not into his shadow.

Not into the cold.