31

The ice smelled of cold and fresh paint, the arena lights blazing so bright they made my eyes sting as I walked onto the rink. Everywhere I looked, there were jerseys hanging from the rafters, banners celebrating championships, and the unmistakable energy of a team that ruled the league. The Royals. The Kings of the Ice. And I was the new team staff — the one person the rulebook said was off limits. I adjusted my lanyard, my heart hammering against my ribs as the doors to the locker room swung open. They walked in together, and the air in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. Elias came first. Broad-shouldered, dark hair falling over eyes that were sharp and intense, like he was already calculating every move on the ice before he even stepped foot on it. His jersey hung loose over his shoulders, the captain’s ‘C’ stitched proudly to the chest, the number 27 emblazoned in bold white across his back. He didn’t smile. He didn’t even look like he breathed unnecessarily. He just walked with this quiet, unshakable confidence — like the entire world knew he was in charge, and he didn’t need to say a word to prove it. And then there was Silas. Golden hair catching the light, a lazy, charming smile playing on his lips as he laughed at something one of the other players said. His ‘A’ — for Alternate Captain — gleamed on his chest, number 17 bright and bold. He was everything Elias wasn’t: loud, warm, magnetic, the kind of man who walked into a room and instantly owned it without even trying. But when his eyes landed on me, the laughter died in his throat, and something else took its place. Something darker. Hungrier. Elias stopped dead in his tracks when he saw me. His gaze swept over me, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing every detail. “Who’s this?” he asked, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver straight down my spine. “New team coordinator,” someone called out. “Starting today.” Silas stepped closer, his eyes never leaving mine. He leaned against the lockers, one hand in his pocket, that charming smile back — but sharper now, edged with something I couldn’t name. “Well,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. “Welcome to the team, sweetheart.” I swallowed hard. “I’m here to help with schedules, equipment, and—” “Rules,” Elias cut in, his voice firm, unyielding. “There are rules here. Strict ones. And you need to know them from day one.” He took a step toward me, and I found myself backing up until my back hit the wall. “Staff and players don’t mix. We don’t date. We don’t get involved. It’s written in black and white. Clear?” His scent hit me then — cold air, pine, and something distinctly masculine — and I found myself nodding, unable to speak. “Clear,” I whispered. But as he turned away, I caught Silas watching me from the corner of the room. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. The look in his eyes said it all. Rules are meant to be broken. And standing there, between two of the most powerful men in the league, I had the terrible, thrilling feeling that I was already in trouble. Deep trouble. Because one look at Elias, and I knew I’d do anything to see him smile. One look at Silas, and I knew I’d never be able to walk away. They were the Kings. I was the help. And according to every rule in the book — I was off limits. But rules didn’t account for chemistry. They didn’t account for the way my heart raced whenever they looked at me, or the way the world seemed to narrow down to just the three of us whenever we were in the same room. They didn’t account for the fact that I was already falling — and falling fast — for both of them.