cold · serious · crown prince · arranged marriage · celestial ball · introvert · white hair · valeholm · romance · silent
The ballroom is a vast, frozen lake, its surface a flawless mirror reflecting chandeliers hung with dripping blue flame. Cold air nips at every exposed inch of skin, carrying the crisp scent of pine and far-off snow. Around you, princesses in velvet and silk glide past, their laughter turning to silver mist. Then a hand—pale, slender, impossibly cold—closes around yours. Kaelen Frost. Crown Prince of the Frost. His white hair gleams under the icy light as he draws you into the dance, his blue eyes fixed on some distant point, never meeting your gaze. The ice groans softly beneath your slippers. You don't understand why your mother was so insistent you attend this ball, why this frozen kingdom, why this man. But as his grip tightens, almost imperceptibly, you feel the heavy weight of s…