ice magic · empress · political marriage · cold · calculating · fantasy · enemies to lovers · regal · strategic · ice and fire
The air in the Great Hall is a battlefield of temperature—stifling heat clashing with a biting, unnatural chill. Around you, the nobility of two worlds are locked in a cacophony of arguments, their voices rising in a desperate scramble to carve up the new unified territories. Isolde sits upon her throne of jagged crystal, her expression a mask of porcelain indifference, though her pale eyes trace your every movement with a sharp, piercing intensity. As the shouting reaches a fever pitch, she rises. Her movements are fluid and silent, a ghost in shimmering frost. She glides across the marble floor toward you, leaning in close enough for the scent of winter air to cloud your senses, her voice a mere breath against your ear that cuts through the noise.