❄️❄️ Taming his cold heart ❄️❄️

🎀 CHAPTER TWO🎀

Zayla stepped forward, skirts brushing the dusty stones of the market. The men at the table looked up, startled, then smirked. Coins clinked, dice rattled, and curses flew with every failed throw.

Hilda froze behind her. “Your Highness… you really don’t want to—”

Zayla waved her off without turning. “Relax, Hilda. Watch and learn.”

She leaned over the table, eyes scanning the men, a slow smile curling on her lips. “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” she said, voice soft but carrying just enough authority to make the rowdy men pause. “May I join your game?”

A tall man laughed, tossing a handful of coins onto the table. “A lady wants to play? Do you even know the rules?”

“I do,” Zayla said, tilting her head. “And I think luck has decided to favor me today.”

“Luck?” another man snorted, leaning back. “You’re dreaming, little girl.”

Zayla let her fingers hover over the dice. “Then let’s test that theory,” she whispered.

The men laughed, shaking their heads, and threw their dice carelessly. But when Zayla rolled, the dice clattered across the table and stopped perfectly. A hush fell. She rolled again. Perfect. And again. Each time, her results were impossible.

Hilda’s eyes widened, her hand covering her mouth. “Your Highness… what… how—”

Zayla leaned back, letting the men squirm under her gaze. “See? Luck,” she said lightly, voice teasing, eyes sparkling with mischief.

One of the men slammed his fist down, anger flashing. “This isn’t possible!”

“Isn’t it?” Zayla replied smoothly. “Perhaps you should have been more careful with your bets.”

Hilda tugged on her sleeve nervously. “Maybe—maybe we should stop before—”

Zayla laughed, sharp and free. “Oh, Hilda… we’re just getting started.”

The men at the table started shouting, slamming fists and coins, red-faced with frustration. “This isn’t fair!” one roared. “There’s no way a girl—”

Zayla didn’t flinch. She leaned forward, eyes glinting. “Are you calling me a liar?” she said softly.

“Liar!” another shouted, stepping toward her. His friends surged forward, all of them drunk on anger and embarrassment.

Hilda grabbed Zayla’s arm. “Your Highness, we need to go! Now!”

“Not yet,” Zayla hissed, tugging her hand free. “Just… a little more fun.”

Coins scattered as the men lunged. Zayla stepped back, graceful, letting her skirts swirl, and then she flicked her wrist. A small, precise movement—and the dice tumbled from a man’s hand, rolling across the ground perfectly against him. He froze, eyes wide.

“What—how?” he sputtered.

“See?” Zayla said, almost casually. “Luck, remember?”

The other men erupted, fury blazing. They charged. Hilda swung her arms wildly, trying to fend them off, but there were too many.

“Run!” Zayla shouted at last, grabbing Hilda’s hand.

They sprinted through the market, skirts flaring, dodging carts and startled shoppers. Coins bounced off the cobblestones, crates of fruit toppled, and a man yelled behind them, “Get her! Stop her!”

Hilda stumbled, panting. “Your Highness… they’re catching up!”

Zayla’s eyes darted around, looking for a way out. She spotted a narrow alley between two stalls and pulled Hilda toward it. “This way! Quick!”

They cut through a stack of baskets, and Zayla barely had time to leap over a barrel. The men were gaining, but she ducked low, vaulted a fence, and kept moving.

Finally, they burst into a quieter street. Zayla slowed just enough to catch her breath, grinning despite the pounding in her chest. “Well… that was entertaining.”

Hilda glared, sweaty and disheveled, clutching her arm. “Entertaining?! Your Highness, I thought we were going to die!”

Zayla laughed, tugging at Hilda’s hairpin to fix it. “See? That’s why you need to enjoy life while you can. Come on—let’s find somewhere less… murderous.”

Hilda groaned, but she couldn’t help smiling.

Princess Zayla was going to be the end of her.

************************************

The palace moved like it always did—servants rushing past, whispering here and there, gossip bouncing off the walls.

A carriage rolled up to the gates. The guards shouted, blocking the way. “Who goes there?”

One of them stepped forward, tapping on the window. The window slid open slowly. The guard gasped, choking, clawing at his throat. He fell to the ground, lifeless.

The others froze. “It’s a threat!” someone yelled, drawing their swords.

The man riding the horse stepped down. In one smooth motion, he cut down the guards, one by one. Then he drove the carriage straight through the gates, stepping down to open the door for the person inside.

The man inside didn’t rush. His hands were behind his back. He looked around calmy.

More guards came running, shouting, trying to stop him. A flick of the man’s wrist sent them all flying across the courtyard. A few groaned, some cursed, none dared get close again.

Inside, King Edric was in the throne room, talking with the elders.

Edric froze at the sudden noise outside. A few of the elders leaned forward, murmuring nervously.

Then the doors slammed open with full force. Everyone in the room froze.

The man walked in. Slowly. Every step made the air feel heavier. The elders stiffened. They knew who he was—someone people whispered about in fear, the kind of man you didn’t dare meet in the dark.

He stopped in the center, his gaze sweeping the room. “Do I need to spell it out for you?” His voice cut through the murmurs. “Leave.”

Without waiting for a second order, the elders scrambled to the sides, fleeing.

His eyes landed on the king. A slow, mocking smile spread across his face. “Greetings.”

Edric’s voice caught. “L-Lord Asher…”

“It’s been a while,” Lord Asher said, that smile still playing on his lips—that dangerous, knowing smile that could make you shiver and melt at the same time.

King Edric forced a smile in return, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He swallowed hard. Words could never capture how much he feared this man—how small and exposed he suddenly felt.

“Why don’t we…talk over tea?” Asher’s smirk widened.

“Of… of course,” the king stammered, his voice tight. “Right away.”

Asher leaned slightly, scanning the room like a predator taking stock of prey. “Tea, Your Majesty. I do hope it’s strong enough… to match our conversation.”