You intrigue me, Ren Zian

The banquet of the frost court was a masterpiece of delicate cruelty.

Long tables of pale crystal stretched across the grand hall, laden with platters that steamed faintly in the cold air. Translucent fruits shimmered like captured stars; slender goblets held wine that smoked with thin silver tendrils. Everywhere, nobles of the ice realms lounged on cushioned benches, their laughter soft, their gazes sharp.

At the head sat Queen Erithia, draped in flowing robes that seemed woven from sheer winter. A delicate diadem of ice rested on her brow, catching the auroras that rippled across the vaulted ceiling. Every now and then, she let her eyes drift toward Ren — and each time, they lingered a fraction longer.

Lyra noticed, of course.

She sat at Ren's side, her gown of dark silver blooming around her like a bruised flower. One hand rested on his thigh under the table — not gently. Her nails pressed just hard enough to mark, a silent promise to anyone watching.

Ren covered her hand with his own, thumb stroking over her knuckles. "Careful," he murmured, voice low enough for her ears alone. "You'll draw blood."

Her answering smile was all teeth. "Perhaps that's exactly what I want. Let them see whose claws you truly bear."

Queen Erithia finally rose, her movement languid, almost lazy. A hush fell instantly over the hall.

She lifted her goblet, the liquid inside catching the pale lights. "A toast," she said, her voice rolling out soft and even — yet somehow brushing over every listener's skin like a cold breath. "To mortal mettle. To divine devotion. And to bonds so loudly proclaimed that even the oldest thrones take notice."

Dozens of crystal glasses lifted, chiming faintly as they touched. Ren raised his own with a calm, almost bored smile. Lyra did not drink. Her eyes never left Erithia.

The queen's lips curved faintly. "Lady Lyra, your restraint is noted. Perhaps you fear our wine carries more than mere pleasure."

Lyra's chin lifted. "I fear nothing. Least of all your subtle poisons."

Erithia laughed, a soft, bell-like sound. "How delightful. You are exactly as the rumors said — a goddess who would set kingdoms aflame just to keep your lover's hands to herself."

She stepped down from her dais, the crowd parting before her like frost retreating under sunlight. Slowly, deliberately, she walked the length of the table until she stood before Ren.

Up close, the chill of her presence was almost physical. Tiny crystals formed along the edge of the table where her fingers idly traced.

"You intrigue me, Ren Zian," she murmured. "A mortal who passed through Miraye's halls and emerged unbroken. Who holds the heart of a goddess without binding it by chain or spell. Tell me — does your devotion come from mortal weakness? Or something sharper?"

Ren leaned back slightly, his gaze steady. "It comes from choice. The kind of choice no throne or blade could force. Perhaps that's what unsettles your court so much."

Erithia's smile flickered. "Perhaps. Or perhaps I merely wonder if such loyalty holds when offered the taste of eternity under new banners."

Her fingers brushed his shoulder lightly, just enough that a thin rime of frost bloomed along the fabric of his tunic.

Lyra's power flared instantly, a soft glow that pulsed along her skin. Her hand tightened on Ren's thigh, possessive, daring the queen to push further.

Erithia laughed again, withdrawing her touch. "How thrilling. You guard him so fiercely, goddess. But know this: frost does not seek to burn away love. It seeks to test what endures beneath the ice."

The rest of the banquet unfolded like a slow game of knives.Courtiers approached with sly compliments, subtle barbs, honeyed offers of alliances that smelled faintly of traps. Ren navigated them all with calm indifference, his arm always resting around Lyra's waist or his hand brushing her hip.

It was a dance — one that clearly frustrated many watching eyes.

Later, as the hall's crowds began to thin, a soft note arrived at their table. Delivered by a servant whose eyes glowed faintly blue, the folded slip of parchment was sealed with a tiny rune of frost that melted at Ren's touch.

**"Come to the Moonspire Garden. Alone.

I would offer you truths this court is too fragile to hear."

— Erithia**

Lyra read it over his shoulder, her breath hissing through her teeth. "She dares."

Ren turned to her, brushing a hand along her cheek. "It's a lure. But perhaps one we can use."

Her eyes narrowed. "If you meet her alone, I'll feel it. If she touches you—"

"You'll burn the garden down," he finished, smiling faintly. "I know. But let me see what game she's truly playing. You'll be close?"

Lyra's answer was a dark, hungry kiss, her fingers fisting in his hair. "Always."

The Moonspire Garden was an eerie wonder.Slender towers of pale stone rose into the night sky, linked by delicate arches draped in flowering vines that bloomed only under moonlight. Frost clung to every petal, tiny crystals catching the glow of lanterns shaped like cold stars.

Erithia stood at the center, her gown a swirl of faint blue mist that seemed half formed from breath itself. When Ren approached, she turned, her expression unreadable.

"You came," she said simply.

"You invited."

"Most would not have risked it. Your goddess is known for tearing apart those who reach too close to what's hers."

Ren shrugged. "Then you must be very certain I'm worth the risk."

Erithia laughed softly, stepping closer. "Perhaps. Or perhaps I am merely tired of ruling by fear alone. Watching lesser hearts break at my feet is a hollow sport after centuries."

She reached out, fingertips hovering near his chest — not touching, only feeling the faint heat that radiated from him. "Do you know what it's like to never be surprised? To hold every card before the game begins?"

Ren's breath was steady. "And now you think I'm your surprise."

Her gaze lifted, sharp and hungry. "You are. You and your goddess — your bond. I thought to test it, to break it. But standing here…" Her voice cracked, just slightly. "I think I envy it."

A long silence stretched. The night wind stirred around them, scattering faint petals across the frost-glazed stones.

Then Erithia stepped back, her smile fading into something small. "Go back to her. Tonight I will not steal what belongs to another. But do not mistake my mercy for surrender. There will come a day I may ask you to stand with me — not in love, but in the simple defiance of loneliness."

Ren returned to their chambers to find Lyra waiting by the window, moonlight pouring over her bare shoulders. She didn't speak. Only searched his face with a sharp, desperate intensity.

"She tried nothing," he said quietly. "Not tonight."

Lyra crossed the room in two quick steps, pulling him into her arms. Her kiss was hard, almost punishing, teeth scraping his lip until he groaned.

"Good," she whispered. "Because I would have left her palace in ashes."

Later, tangled in the sheets with Lyra sprawled over his chest, Ren stared up at the ceiling, mind turning.

Frost queens. Demon thrones. Gods who whispered about his name as if it were prophecy.

And still, through it all, the only truth that mattered lay in how Lyra sighed his name against his throat, as if it was the only prayer worth remembering.