Chapter Four
Morning comes dressed in iron and frost.
Jei's still asleep when I slip out of bed and pull on the training clothes folded at the foot of the chest a dark tunic and leggings, both too big, the sleeves cuffed at my wrists.The air outside bites. My breath clouds in front of me as I walk across the frost bitten courtyard toward the training yard.
Klus waits there, exactly as I expect him to: early, serious, and sharp enough to cut silence.His black armor glints beneath the rising sun, steam curling from his hair like a creature born in smoke."You're late," he says.
"I didn't realize queens were expected to keep soldier's hours," I reply, stepping onto the frost slick ground. "I thought my job was to look beautiful and behave."I said coyly.
He arches one of his brow. "Do you plan on doing either?"he says.
"Neither," I say, smiling. "I came to learn how to fight."I said.Klus crosses his arms. "Sword or staff for your first lesson?" he said."Neither," I say again. "Hand to hand."I say calmly only because I know I will be underestimated.
He studies me for a moment, unreadable. "That's not what southern royals usually request."
"I'm not like most southern royalty."
The words come out harsher than I mean them to. "I just wear their skin well."I say.He nods once, turns his head, then gestures toward the training ring. "Then let's begin." he says.
The ground is frozen solid, rimmed with frost and shadow.
Klus moves like a man who's been fighting wars his whole life.every motion controlled, every step calculated. Me, on the other hand, I moved like someone who has spent her life trying not to be caught.
"Your stance is wrong," he says."My stance is how I fight when need be."I say.
He circles me, eyes steady on me. "You're thinking about surviving the next hit. You should be thinking about winning."
He lunges.
I dodge barely but he's faster, stronger, and when his hand catches my wrist, I feel the difference in our worlds. My back hits the ground hard. The air rushes out of me. Before I can think, he's kneeling beside me, one hand pressed lightly to my shoulder.
"Again?" he asks.
I grin up at him through the sting. "You really have to ask?"
He lets me up, and we start again. And again.
Each time, I fall slower. Each time, I hit harder.
At one point, I wipe blood from my lip and say between breaths, "You're beautiful, you know."
He blinks, thrown off. "What?"
I tilt my head, smirking. "Beautiful enough to be a consort. Or a mistress. But I suppose your size and strength doomed you to the wrong profession."
For the first time, I see a real smile ghost across his face—quick, dangerous.
"I'm not sure if that's an insult or a compliment."
"Maybe both," I say. "You can choose which one keeps your pride intact."
He moves closer, too close, until I can see the faint scar at his jawline. "You shouldn't toy with your guard, Mwei."
"Then maybe you shouldn't make it so easy."
The air thickens between us.
Something in his gaze softens, just for a breath—then the frost returns.
He steps back. "Enough for today."
"Already?" I stretch, ignoring the ache in my ribs. "I was just starting to enjoy it."
He doesn't rise to the bait, but his voice lowers as he turns away. "You learn fast. That's dangerous."
"Everything about me is," I reply.
By afternoon, the castle bells summon me to the council chamber. I clean the dirt from my skin, twist my hair up, and trade my training clothes for a fitted gown of crimson silk that catches every beam of light. Jei fusses over the clasp at my shoulder until I tell her to stop.
Inside, the council waits—half nobles, half soldiers, all suspicion.
Raelix sits at the head of the table, one elbow resting on the dragon-bone armrest, the other hand holding a wine cup like a weapon.
"Your Majesty," says a lord from House Halden, "the southern bride requests audience with the council. Perhaps she believes herself already queen."
Raelix doesn't look at him. He looks at me. "Perhaps she does."
The council murmurs. I walk to the table's center, spine straight, voice even.
"I only request what I've already been promised—a seat in the room where my future is being decided."
Lady Inara hides a smile behind her fan.
Halden bristles. "War strategy is no place for—"
"Women?" I finish. "Or Southerners? Because it seems the last strategy you approved left three villages starving and a trade route frozen over."
All eyes swing to me. I keep going.
"If you reroute the iron caravans through the river pass, you can avoid both snowdrifts and raiders. You'll lose fewer soldiers and gain more profit before spring."
I lift a brow. "Unless, of course, you enjoy losing men and money."
Raelix's cup stills midair. The room goes quiet.
Then, slowly, he sets it down and leans forward.
"Explain the math," he says.
I do—clear, quick, precise. I've spent my life around merchants and liars; numbers were the only truth I could afford.
When I finish, even the priests look rattled.
Raelix studies me for a long moment. "She's right," he says finally. "Do it."
The lord from Halden flushes crimson. "But—"
"You heard your queen," Raelix says, voice low, dangerous. "Do it."
Silence. The council bows.
When the room empties, only the two of us remain.
Raelix rises from his chair, his presence a weight that fills the space.
"You play politics like war," he says. "And you play war like a game."
"I play to win," I answer.
He takes a slow step closer. "The North doesn't bend easily, Mwei."
"Then I'll break it beautifully."
He almost smiles. "You're reckless."
"I prefer alive."
We stand there, heat and frost caught between us, until he finally turns toward the door that connects our chambers.
"Your wedding will be held within a week," he says. "Try not to terrify the priests before then."
"No promises," I say. "They started it."
He stops at the threshold, glances back once. His voice drops lower.
"You looked like fire when you stood before them."
"Good," I whisper. "That means they finally saw what they invited into their hall."
He leaves, and the door closes softly behind him.
I don't move for a long time.
Maybe I was sold here as a lie.
But if the North wants a queen, they'll have to learn what truth feels like when it burns
The connecting door hums.
It's been doing that since dawn — a soft vibration through the metal, like something alive on the other side. I lie in bed staring at it, wondering if he's awake, if he's thinking about me, or if I'm just imagining the warmth that seeps through the seams.
Finally, I sit up. Enough waiting.
I brush my hair until it falls sleek and bright as frost-lit silk. I smooth the wrinkles from my nightgown — crimson, the color of power dressed as softness. The cherry bowl sits on the side table. I press the fruit between my fingers, stain my lips red, and dab color over my cheeks and eyelids. The mirror catches the glow and throws it back at me.
Not a princess. Not a servant.
Something else entirely.
Something built for thrones and daggers.
Jei stirs under the blankets. "You're up early."
"I'm delivering breakfast."
Her eyes fly open. "To the King?"
"Mm." I lift the covered tray, still warm from the kitchen hearth. "He didn't ask for it, but that's how wars are won—unexpected attacks."
Jei sits up, half horrified. "Mwei—"
"Don't worry." I wink at her. "I'll be polite. Mostly."
The connecting door opens with a faint sigh.
His chamber is darker than mine, lit only by the fire and the winter light spilling through the tall glass panes. Raelix sits on the edge of the bed, still half-dressed — black trousers, shirt undone to his chest, flame-colored hair a tangle around his shoulders. Even resting, he looks like a weapon that hasn't decided who to kill yet.
He glances up, amber eyes catching mine. "You could have knocked."
"I did," I say. "You just didn't answer."
I walk in, set the tray down on the small table near the hearth. "I brought you breakfast."
He studies me for a moment, then the tray. "Is that what southern queens do? Serve kings their own food?"
I tilt my head, meeting his gaze without flinching. "I know you didn't want to marry me, Your Majesty. But since we have to, we might as well not be strangers."
That earns the faintest flicker of something in his eyes — not surprise, not amusement exactly. Interest.
I keep my voice calm, steady. "You can think of this as a peace offering. Or an opening move."
He stands, and for a heartbeat the air feels too tight between us.
He's taller than I expected up close. Broad shoulders, calloused hands — not a soft king. The kind who knows the weight of armor and blood.
"You're bold," he says at last.
"I've been called worse."
He steps closer. "You don't look afraid."
"Maybe I am," I say quietly. "Just better at pretending than most."
His mouth twitches — that ghost of a smile again. "What's for breakfast?"
"Bread, pheasant, and arrogance," I say. "Try not to choke on any of them."
He laughs under his breath, a low sound that hums in my chest more than the door ever did. He takes the plate, and I turn to go, but his voice stops me.
"You shouldn't bring food into my room alone."
"Why not?"
He studies me like he's trying to find where the danger hides.
"Because people will start to think you're braver than you should be."
I look over my shoulder, lips curved just slightly. "Then they'll be right."
And I leave.
Snow dusts the stones when I step outside.
Klus is already there, sword at his hip, expression unreadable. His breath fogs the air. He nods once in greeting.
"Back again," he says.
"I told you I wanted to learn," I answer, taking my stance. "And this time, I'd rather use my hands than a blade."
He folds his arms. "That's not usually the method southern nobles choose."
"I'm not a southern noble," I remind him. "Just someone wearing one's face."
That makes him pause. A beat of silence, then: "All right. Show me what you know."
I strike first.
He dodges easily, catches my wrist, turns me until my back hits his chest. "Too slow," he murmurs near my ear. "You're fighting to prove something, not to survive."
"Maybe both," I breathe, and twist out of his grip. This time, I land a blow to his ribs.
He grunts. "Better."
Sweat and snow mix on my skin. Every hit feels like shedding a layer of fear I didn't realize I still carried.
By the third round, I'm bruised and grinning. "You know," I say between breaths, "you're far too beautiful to hide behind armor."
His brow lifts. "Beautiful?"
"Beautiful enough to be a consort or a mistress. But I suppose your size and strength doomed you to the wrong profession."
That gets a sound out of him — not quite a laugh, but close.
"You're the first person to call me that."
"Then you need to meet better people."
He smirks faintly. "You talk too much when you fight."
"And you think too much," I shoot back. "Let's call it even."
The next time he knocks me down, I don't fight getting up. I just lie there in the snow for a second, breathing hard, watching the clouds move across the pale sky.
"You learn fast," he says.
I sit up slowly. "That's what happens when the world doesn't give you choices."
By midday, my bruises are hidden under a fur-lined cloak, and Jei walks beside me as we make our way to the castle library.
"I don't understand you," she says. "You fight all morning, then spend the afternoon reading."
"That's because you think strength and strategy are different things," I reply. "They're not."
The library is carved right into the mountain — thousands of volumes stacked between molten seams of red glass that glow like embers. The air smells of smoke, ink, and old leather.
I pull down books about Northern trade routes, noble houses, the old wars. I trace the maps with my fingertips, memorizing them. The North isn't chaos. It's a system disguised as brutality. Every mountain, every mine, every village — connected like veins beneath skin.
"This kingdom runs on two things," I say softly. "Heat and hunger."
Jei tilts her head. "And which one do you plan to use?"
I smile faintly, closing the book. "Both."
That night, I sit at the edge of my bed, hair down, book open on my lap. The connecting door glows faintly from the firelight on the other side. I can hear him — Raelix — moving. The scrape of armor, the slow exhale of someone too used to silence.
I almost call out. Almost.
Instead, I say it quietly to myself:
"If we have to share a wall, we might as well learn how to live with the sound of each other."
The hum in the metal answers like it agrees.