Chapter Two – Shards of Ice

 

The ceremony hall emptied slowly, laughter and chatter spilling into the corridors. Sophie followed her grandfather toward the waiting carriage, the silver ring burning against her skin.

As always, her face remained serene. But inside, the walls of her mind shifted—and behind them, memories stirred.

Her last memory of love was a fractured dream of sunlight. A small cottage nestled in the woods, her mother’s laughter spilling like music as they picked wildflowers together. Warm arms that carried her. A lullaby whispered against her hair.

Then—the game. Hide, Sophie. Quick now—just like we practiced.

She had thought it was play, giggling as she pressed herself into the cupboard’s shadow. Until the snarls began. A huge black wolf, its eyes wild and rabid, had crashed into their little home. She remembered her mother’s scream—the sound tearing through her like lightning. The wood splintering. The wolf’s hot breath near her hiding place.

She remembered closing her eyes as claws raked closer.

And then—shouts. Steel ringing. The thud of bodies hitting the floor.

When it was over, her father was dead, the legendary Hunter who had stood against the beast. Her mother was gone too, blood on the floor where Sophie had last heard her scream. The black wolf had taken everything.

From that day on, Sophie swore she would never again be helpless prey. She would become the best monster slayer who had ever lived.

But she quickly learned monsters did not all wear fur.

Lucian had taken her into his vast, freezing mansion after the attack. The “savior” of her life, the Grand Wizard of Hunters. Her grandfather.

He never hugged her. Never praised her. He demanded perfection—and punished anything less. A misstep in training brought the lash. A mistake in an exercise meant a night locked in the dark, her small body shivering. He never left a mark where others would see.

When she was thirteen, a local boy had asked her shyly to walk with him. Lucian found out. She spent a week in the dungeon, starved and beaten, his voice booming through the stone walls about bloodlines, duty, and the shame of weakness.

From then on, Sophie never looked at another boy.

Every misstep, every imperfect grade, every show of emotion was met with pain. Piece by piece, she built her armor: aloofness, silence, cold control. The Ice Queen.

And it worked. By fifteen, her classmates had stopped trying to befriend her. By sixteen, they had stopped trying to break her. She stood alone, untouchable.

But at night, when the mansion’s halls went still, Sophie prayed. Not to be stronger—not even to be free. She prayed for something she had only tasted once: warmth. A family. A love that wasn’t twisted by cruelty or bound in chains.

Sometimes she watched Lucian standing before a faded portrait of his late wife, Della. He would speak to it softly, words Sophie could never hear. Perhaps, once, he had loved. But if so, whatever warmth he’d had had died with her.

As they stepped out of the Academy into the cool evening air, Lucian’s hand shot out, fingers pinching hard at Sophie’s arm. She didn’t flinch.

“You will be on your best behavior with Jax tonight,” he murmured, voice as sharp as a blade. “You will not embarrass me. Do you understand?”

Sophie kept her chin high, her face carved from marble. “Yes, Grandfather.”

The Ice Queen answered. The little girl who had once known warmth stayed buried deep inside.