Chapter 3: The Cold King’s Bargain
“You’re moving better,” Damian observed the next morning, standing by the window, arms crossed.
Katherine flinched at the suddenness of his voice. She had barely touched her breakfast.
“I heal fast,” she said shortly.
He stepped forward. “Good. You’ll need strength.”
“For what? More silence? More stares?” She set down her spoon with a clink. “Or are we going to pretend this marriage means anything?”
Damian didn’t flinch. “I came to offer you a bargain.”
“I already asked for an annulment.”
“And I already said no. But I will offer you a choice.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Thirty days,” he said. “Thirty days of truth. You stay here, by my side. Share my quarters. Attend my councils. Speak with the people. If, after that, you still want to leave—I’ll escort you south myself and sign the dissolution papers.”
She studied him. “And what’s your goal?”
“Not to win you,” he said evenly. “To remind you of what we already had.”
“I don’t even know who I was.”
“Then give yourself the chance to find out.”
A long silence.
Katherine finally nodded once. “Fine. Thirty days.”
“Starting now.”
Two guards entered, carrying boxes—velvet-lined, cedar-scented.
She frowned. “What is this?”
“Your things,” Damian said simply.
She pulled open one box. Books. Strategy tomes, annotated in her handwriting. Another box held pressed herbs from the alpine cliffs—dried edelweiss bound with silk twine. The third—sketches. A charcoal drawing of Whitefang Keep under starlight. The signature read: *K.G.*
“I drew this?” she whispered.
He nodded. “After our first snowfall together.”
She looked up sharply. “This isn’t some manipulation?”
“No,” he said quietly. “It’s memory.”
Another servant entered. “Your seat in council is ready, my lady.”
Katherine stood slowly. “Lead the way.”
*Let’s see if my past self was really so foolish as to love a king made of ice.*
---
Later that evening, Katherine entered the royal chamber—and halted.
“Why are there two sets of bedding?” she asked coldly.
Damian looked up from a map. “We shared this room before. But I’ve made arrangements.”
“You mean the blankets on the floor?” She pointed to the neatly folded pile between the bed and hearth.
“I won’t touch you. Not unless you ask.”
She crossed her arms. “I won’t.”
“I know.”
He lay down, turning his back to her.
She climbed into bed with rigid limbs, facing the opposite wall.
The silence stretched.
And stretched.
She hated how aware she was of his breathing. Steady. Controlled. As if he counted each inhale like a soldier guarding a secret.
After what felt like hours, her voice broke the quiet.
“The scar on your shoulder…”
“Yes?”
She turned slightly. “How did you get it?”
A beat passed.
Then: “You bit me.”
Katherine sat upright. “I *what*?”
“Reverse marking. Against tradition. Against council law. You claimed me before anyone else could.”
She stared. “Why would I do that?”
He turned his face toward her. For once, no mask.
“You said,” he murmured, “‘If I must marry a king, I want him to be mine on my terms.’ Then you sank your teeth into my shoulder and laughed.”
“I don’t remember any of that.”
“I do.”
The room felt too small. The air too thick.
She lay back down without a word, eyes wide open.
In the darkness, his voice came again, softer.
“You weren’t afraid of me back then.”
She whispered, “I am now.”
A long pause.
“I know.”