Ah, dear reader, if you have ever witnessed two storms colliding, you might understand what it was like to watch Caelen Caldrith and Soren Nivarre cross the ballroom that night. The air itself seemed to hold its breath. The chandeliers trembled ever so slightly, as though even flame feared what might follow.
It began, as all tragedies often do, with something deceptively simple, a look.
From across the glittering expanse of fire and gold, the King Consort of Solmire excused himself from his lover's conversation with a smile too thin, too sharp. His jaw was steel beneath civility. His stride cut through the crowd like a blade through silk, the sea of nobles parting instinctively as though guided by instinct older than reason.
And there, awaiting him near the Eternal Pyre, stood the Ice Emperor... magnificent, unbothered, and altogether too aware of the chaos he inspired.
Their meeting was quiet at first. Dangerous things often are.
