Temple of Whispers 

Elsa walked into the temple like a lamb going to the slaughter. Her pulse was thundering. Her nerves were already destroyed and her dress? It was a fashion crime.

The grand temple stretched before her, all golden, marble, and obnoxious wealth. It smelled like smoke and incense, the kind that was supposed to be spiritual or whatever but mostly just made her lightheaded. But none of it compared to the real problem.

The people. Nobles in their extravagant robes, ladies draped in silks and jewels, high-ranking officials with judgmental sneers permanently etched on their faces.

And all of them were whispering.

Loudly.

"What is she wearing?"

"This must be a joke—right?"

"Does she think she's attending a brothel opening?"

Elsa kept walking. Head high. Shoulders straightened. Even though a complete mental breakdown was pending.

She wasn't sure how much of her bare legs were visible under the temple's torchlight, but from the sheer horror in everyone's expressions, she might as well have shown up naked.

Elsa grinned her teeth. She really wished that these people would just shut the hell up already. It was not as if she had planned any of this.

But then, just as she was about to lift her head and give the entire audience the most confident glare she could muster, her eyes finally landed on the king. And she nearly collapsed on the spot.

Oh. My. God.

HE WAS AN OLD MAN.

An actual old man.

Not middle-aged Hollywood charming kind of old man. Not a "seasoned" silver fox. Not even the "distinguished with a few gray hairs" type.

No.

He looked like he had fought in six wars and barely survived the last one.

Elsa physically recoiled. She should have known since his so called son was grown as well but then she never thought he'd be that ugly.

THIS was her husband?! How was he so different from the son he birth?

She was really supposed to marry that? 

Her brain shut off and her feet froze mid-step like her body was outrightly rejecting it all.

"Oh. Oh, wow." Iris's voice suddenly popped up in her head. "That's… unfortunate."

Elsa was too stunned to respond.

There had to be a mistake. Maybe the real king was somewhere else. Maybe this was his grandfather. Maybe this was just some weird noble guy standing and taking the actual groom's place.

Right? RIGHT?!

But no. The second their eyes met, she knew. He was standing at the altar. Wearing a crown. Waiting for her.

Which meant—

Her stomach lurched. This had to be a joke.

Elsa wanted to scream. No, seriously. She wanted to SCREAM.

This was not happening. She was marrying this man? This ancient, battle-worn, medieval relic of a king?

HER?!

Elsa felt physically ill.

"Keep walking," Iris hissed. "You're making things worse."

Elsa swallowed her disgust and forced herself to move.

One step. Another. Then another.

The king's eyes dragged over her like a blade.

When she finally reached the altar, his voice cut through the temple like ice. "Is this your idea of an attire for the king's bride? What happened to the dress specifically picked out for this day?"

Elsa flinched.

"Did you intentionally plan to disgrace me?"

Oh, hell no.

A sharp, stinging heat climbed up her neck. She didn't even know if it was rage or humiliation. Maybe both. She could feel every noble's gaze burning into her, waiting for her response.

And somewhere in the sea of spectators—Tristan. The ex-lover.

Or, the man who thought she was his ex-lover. Watching.

Still. Silent. Waiting. For what? For her to break? For her to run?

He leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, watching the entire thing unfold like it was the most entertaining disaster of the century.

Elsa wanted to die. She finally understood why the former Elsa tried to kill herself, she would probably have done the same thing.

Tristan's eyes flicked over her ridiculous dress, amusement curling at the corner of his lips. He said nothing. And Elsa did not exactly expect him to help, but could he just at least stop staring like this was some Netflix show of "Elsa's Life Sucks: Special Royal Edition?"

Right there and then, a voice sounded in Elsa's head. 

"WARNING: Negative impression has been detected. Fix this immediately or risk a reduction in favorability points with the king!"

Elsa flinched.

Iris?!

"Fix this?" she hissed under her breath. "HOW? You want me to conjure a new dress out of thin air? Wave a wand and turn this disaster into a fairy tale?"

Iris was zero percent helpful as usual, "I'd love to assist, but this is your mess, Your Majesty," she said, tone dripping with mockery.

Elsa's soul left her body. "A helpful guide, my ass!"

Her eyes darted around the temple—desperate. She needed an excuse, a miracle, a lightning bolt from the heavens.

Something. Anything.

But the king was still staring. Waiting.

And then—

"Your Majesty… we must proceed."

A voice finally broke the weird awkward silence. A soft, measured voice. A warning wrapped in fake politeness.

Elsa flinched. The priestess. The woman stood at her side, gaze unreadable, standing so perfectly still that Elsa almost mistook her for a statue.

The tension thickened. Elsa could hear the whispers escalating, a suffocating hum of nobles pretending to be discreet when they were definitely not.

She had almost made it. She only needed one more step and she'd be right on the spot she needed to be on.

She had almost stood before the king without completely humiliating herself.

But just then, her dress slipped. The torn fabric sagged down her shoulders. Elsa barely had half a second to react before the entire neckline collapsed.

Her breath caught in her throat. The weight of the dress dragged lower.

Her entire chest was about to be on full display before the entire royal court. The collective gasp nearly blew out the temple candles.

A horrified shriek rang out from the crowd. One of the priests even dropped his book.

Elsa grabbed at the fabric, yanking it up, clutching it against her body with all the desperate strength she had.

But because she was too focused on that, she missed a step and then—

She tripped.

Her heel caught on the dress, her balance tilted forward, and in one horrifying, slow-motion moment and she collapsed right at the feet of the king.

There was dead silence. Not a single whisper. Not a single breath.

Just Elsa, sprawled on the ground, clinging to her dress for dear life, at the feet of the most powerful man in the kingdom.

Elsa could not move. She did not dare move.

This was it. This was how she was going to die a second time.

She could hear Tristan laughing. Of course he was laughing. Not out loud, but she could feel it. Even though it was only her own subconscious making her feel that way.

She just felt like she did not even need to look at him to know he was absolutely enjoying every second of her humiliation.

Iris's voice chirped in her head, unhelpful as always. "Soooo… safe to say, you've ruined your second chance at life, right? It was nice meeting you, even though it was only for a brief moment."

Elsa was going to murder someone or maybe herself, just to hurt that darn voice in her head somehow. But first, she had to survive the next thirty seconds.

Because she was currently lying on the temple floor in front of the king and the whole court.