❄️❄️ Taming his cold heart ❄️❄️

🎀 CHAPTER FOUR🎀

Edric said nothing.

His mouth opened, then closed again. No words came. The choice sat in his chest like a blade, pressing, cutting, stealing his breath. He stared at the table, at the shattered remains of the teacup, at anything but the man in front of him.

Asher watched him for a moment longer, then nodded once—small, final.

“Very well,” he said quietly.

He turned away, already done. Already decided. His footsteps echoed as he moved toward the doors, unhurried, certain.

That was when Edric broke.

“Wait.”

The word came out rough, torn from his throat. Asher stopped but didn’t turn around.

Edric pushed himself up, hands trembling. “If… if I pay,” he said slowly, carefully, as if each word might cost him something. “If I bring you every coin I owe—will you give her back?”

For the first time, Asher smiled again.

Not amused or pleased.

Certain.

He turned just enough for Edric to see his profile. “No,” he said simply.

Edric’s chest hitched. “Then what is the point?” he whispered.

Asher faced him fully now, eyes cold, settled. “You misunderstand,” he said. “This is not a loan to be repaid later.”

He took a step closer, voice low and final. “Once she is mine, she is no longer part of the debt. She is the settlement.”

Edric’s knees nearly gave out.

“You may still pay what you owe,” Asher added calmly. “If it helps you sleep. But do not confuse payment with return.”

He turned back toward the door.

“Prepare her,” he said over his shoulder. “I will come for what is mine.”

And this time—

He didn’t wait for an answer, he left.

Edric slumped back into the chair, his body giving up before his mind did. The wood creaked under his weight. His hands trembled as they fell to his lap, useless, empty.

The room felt too large now.

He stared at the table, at the ashes where the scroll had burned, at the dark stain from the shattered teacup. Everything looked the same, yet nothing was. His chest rose and fell unevenly, breath coming shallow, restless, like he couldn’t pull in enough air no matter how hard he tried.

His daughter.

Zayla’s face flashed in his mind—laughing, stubborn, alive. His throat tightened painfully. He pressed a hand to his mouth, forcing back the sound threatening to escape him. Kings were not meant to crumble.

But he had already failed.

He dragged a hand through his hair and leaned forward, staring at the floor as if it might swallow him whole. There was no clever move left. No ally powerful enough. No coin heavy enough.

Only time slipping away.

“Forgive me,” he whispered into the empty room, the words barely audible, meant for a daughter who couldn’t hear him and a choice he could never undo.

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

It was almost evening when Zayla and Hilda slipped back into the palace.

They moved the way they always did—quick, quiet, half-laughing under their breath, skirts lifted just enough to clear the steps. The sky outside was already turning bruised with dusk, shadows stretching long across the stone walls. Zayla was still catching her breath when they reached the inner corridor.

They were almost safe.

Almost.

“Princess.”

The voice cut through the hall like a blade.

Zayla froze. Hilda’s hand tightened around her sleeve.

From the shadows stepped two guards, armor catching the dying light. Their expressions were firm, unamused. No anger. No curiosity.

Only duty.

Zayla straightened slowly, lifting her chin. “I was just—”

“You were expected elsewhere,” one of them said, already stepping forward. “His Majesty wishes to see you. Now.”

Hilda’s face drained of color. “I went with her,” she said quickly. “If there’s blame—”

“Go back to your chambers,” the guard interrupted without looking at her. “This does not concern you.”

Zayla turned sharply. “She’s my—”

Zayla stopped herself.

Friend. Sister. Not a word the palace cared to hear.

Hilda shook her head slightly, eyes wide, pleading without sound. Zayla forced a smile meant to calm her, though her stomach had begun to twist.

“I’ll be fine,” she mouthed.

The guards closed in, not roughly, but without room for argument. Zayla was guided down the corridor, her footsteps echoing too loudly in the quiet halls.

The throne room doors stood open.

King Edric was already there.

He sat heavily in the chair, shadows clinging to his face, making him look older—smaller—than she had ever seen him.

Zayla slowed.

Something was wrong.

She dropped into a curtsey out of habit. “Father—”

Edric didn’t look up at first.

“How many times,” he said quietly, “have I warned you about leaving the palace without permission?”

Zayla opened her mouth, ready with her usual answer. A joke. An excuse. A promise she never meant to keep.

But when Edric finally lifted his eyes to her—

The words died in her throat.

Because this time, he wasn’t angry.

He was terrified

Edric closed his eyes for a moment, as if gathering strength he didn’t have. When he spoke again, his voice was lower, worn thin.

“Zayla… sit.”

That alone was enough to unsettle her. He never asked. He ordered. And yet this sounded like a request.

She moved slowly and sat across from him, her fingers folding in her lap. “If this is about today, I can explain. We didn’t cause any trouble. I swear.”

Edric let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh, but there was no humor in it.

“It isn’t about today,” he said. “Not really.”

Zayla frowned. “Then what is it about?”

He looked at her—really looked at her—and for a second his composure cracked. His jaw tightened. His gaze shifted away.

“You need to start preparing yourself,” he said carefully. “There will be no more sneaking out. No more wandering the city. No more risks.”

Zayla blinked. “Preparing myself… for what?”

His hands clenched on the armrest. “For marriage.”

The word hung between them.

Zayla laughed once, short and disbelieving. “That’s not funny.”

Edric didn’t react.

Her smile faded. “Father?”

“You will be married,” he continued, forcing the words out, “very soon.”

The room seemed to tilt.

Zayla shook her head slowly. “I think I misheard you.”

“You didn’t.”

She stood up. “No. You’re just trying to scare me. You do this every time I step out of line.”

Edric rose as well, his voice firm but breaking underneath. “This is not a punishment.”

“Then what is it?” she snapped.

He hesitated.

“It’s necessary.”

That single word made her chest tighten.

“To who?” she asked. “Which lord? Which ally?”

He didn’t answer right away.

“From now on,” Edric said instead, “the guards will be watching you. Day and night. Until the day you are escorted to your husband’s house.”

Zayla stared at him. “You’re joking.”

“I am not.”

Her breath came fast now. “You’re locking me in?”

“I’m keeping you safe.”

She laughed again, sharp this time. “Safe from what? I’ve been sneaking out since I was fifteen and the world hasn’t ended.”

Edric’s voice dropped. “It almost did today.”

That made her pause.

“What happened?” she asked more quietly.

Edric turned away. “You don’t need to know.”

Zayla stepped closer. “Father. Look at me.”

He didn’t.

“You’re afraid,” she said.

Silence.

Zayla’s heart began to pound. “Who am I marrying?”