The morning air bit through the mist, crisp and cold enough to sting the skin. Horses' hooves crunched over the frost-laced path as the royal party rode through the winding streets beyond the castle walls.
Maria rode a pale grey mare, her posture straight, her cloak drawn tight. She hadn't spoken to Aedric since the dinner, offering him only polite nods and clipped replies when absolutely required. Her silence wasn't loud or rebellious; it was quiet and poised, the kind that could bruise a man's pride far more than shouting ever could. She rode beside the King, her posture perfect, her silence deliberate. She had greeted him politely that morning, but her words had carried the faint chill of distance. She did not seek his gaze, nor did she try to fill the quiet.
Aedric had noticed. Every time she avoided his eyes, something in him bristled.
Aedric rode slightly ahead, his expression unreadable. Lord Varin trailed just behind them, chattering idly, as if trying to keep the tension from freezing solid in the air.
"Strange morning, isn't it?" Varin said lightly. "Even the birds seem hesitant to sing."
Maria offered a faint smile. "Perhaps they've learnt silence from their king."
Varin laughed, oblivious. Aedric's jaw tightened, the faintest twitch in his cheek betraying irritation.
He slowed his horse until he rode beside her. "You slept poorly?" he said.
She exhaled softly. "No. I simply slept in peace for once."
The sting landed exactly where she intended. Aedric's expression didn't change, but Varin, ever sensitive to tension, turned in his saddle with a forced grin. "You two are delightful company this morning."
The King ignored him. "You speak often of peace," Aedric said to her, his voice quieter now, "as if you once had it."
Maria looked at him at last, her eyes cool. "I did. In Sareen."
Something in him hardened. The silence between them deepened until only the rhythm of hooves filled it.
They continued like that for a time: the King in brooding quiet, Maria locked in her private thoughts, and Varin muttering under his breath about the beauty of the northern architecture. The ride took them through the outer markets, where the scent of spiced bread and cured leather drifted in the air. People bowed deeply as they passed, whispering reverently at the sight of their queen.
Lord Varin, riding just behind, seemed determined to smother the tension with small talk. "The city looks well-fed this season," he said cheerfully. "Trade from the South has done wonders. Sareen silks, I hear, are all the rage in the capital."
Maria's lips curved faintly. "Yes. Sareen always did know how to make beauty feel effortless."
Varin chuckled, but Aedric's gaze flicked to her, sharp. "And the North does not?"
She looked at him only briefly. "The North prefers endurance to beauty. The two rarely meet."
A muscle tightened in his jaw. Varin glanced between them, clearing his throat. "Ah, but endurance has its own kind of grace, Your Majesty."
The ride continued through the open square, where vendors bowed and people craned to see their queen. Many whispered her name: the Southern queen, the golden one, the white queen who softened the king's temper.
Then, from a crowded corner, a familiar voice called out.
"Your Majesty! By the stars, is that truly the Princess of Sareen?"
Aedric's head snapped toward the sound. A richly dressed merchant, broad and smiling, stepped forward, escorted quickly by the guards. His robes gleamed with southern embroidery, unmistakably Sareen craftsmanship.
"Forgive me! Queen Maria now, of course," he said warmly. "By the gods, Sareen has been mourning your absence. I saw you last when you were to travel with young Lord Kael to the coast. None of us thought you'd go farther than that."
Maria's eyes widened slightly. "Master Harel," she breathed, recognizing him. "It's been a while."
The man's eyes crinkled with fondness. "We all thought Kael would bring you home a bride, not see you off to another kingdom."
Aedric's head turned sharply toward the merchant, though he said nothing.
Maria's smile didn't falter, but her tone sharpened, just a little. "It seems Sareen still loves its gossip."
Harel laughed heartily, oblivious to the sudden frost between them. "Ah, perhaps, but harmless talk. Kael was always the devoted one, and everyone knew the way he looked at you when you—"
"That will do, Master Harel," Maria interrupted gently, her voice cool but polite. "Tell me, how fares the coast trade this winter?"
He blinked, thrown off but compliant. "Quite well, my lady. Quite well indeed."
Maria steered her horse forward, eager to end the conversation. "Tell me, how fares the Sareen trade this season?" she asked, her tone light, too light.
The merchant brightened, following her lead, but Aedric barely heard his response. His hands had clenched around the reins, knuckles white.
He said nothing as they rode on, his silence heavy and cutting. Varin, sensing something wrong, threw Maria a cautious look, but she kept her gaze forward, pretending not to notice the storm brewing beside her.
The crowd faded behind them, the sound of merchants replaced by the hollow rhythm of hooves on frozen earth.
Aedric's voice broke the stillness, quiet but edged.
"You spoke fondly of Sareen today."
Maria met his eyes, calm but distant. "It's where I belonged, once."
"Not anymore," he said.
Her jaw tightened. "So I've been told."
"You have many admirers in Sareen," Aedric added, his tone calm, too calm.
Maria kept her gaze on the horizon. "I was raised there, Your Majesty. People tend to remember what they once called their own."
He looked at her, studying the side of her face. "Even Kael?"
She blinked, feigning mild confusion. "Kael is my cousin."
His lip twitched in what might have been a smile. "So I've been told."
The air between them grew taut again. She could feel his eyes on her, not in affection, but in something darker, restless, and difficult to name.
When they reached the outer ridge overlooking the valley, Varin drew up beside them, unaware of the tension that had wound itself like wire between king and queen. "A fine view, isn't it? You'd think the land itself bows to our monarchs."
Aedric's gaze never left Maria. "Perhaps not all who bow do so willingly," he murmured.
Varin laughed as if it were a jest, but Maria's eyes met Aedric's then: cool, steady, and burning with unspoken meaning.
She turned away first. But he saw it, the faint blush in her cheeks, the flicker of something between defiance and guilt.
And for the rest of the ride, Aedric said nothing. His silence was not calm. It was the silence of a man who could not decide whether to cage his jealousy or let it breathe.The candlelight in Maria's chamber had burned low, pools of wax trailing like veins across the table. Outside, the keep slept beneath a bruised sky. She hadn't moved for hours. She only sat by the window, her hair undone, reading by the faint light. The physical warmth from the morning ride had long faded, leaving her with the heavy chill of thought.
The door opened, and King Aedric stepped inside without announcement. He had removed his cloak, his dark tunic unbuttoned at the throat. His expression was controlled, but his eyes were not. They were sharp, restless, fixed on her as though she were a riddle he could not decide whether to solve or destroy.
"Your Majesty," Maria greeted, setting her book aside. She rose, her body instantly defaulting to the respectful distance her composure required.
"You should have sent word. I would have—"
"Prepared?" he interrupted, his voice low. He crossed the room before she could finish, the heat of his presence a stark contrast to the cold stone walls. "You dismissed dinner. Again."
"I told Mara I was tired."
"Tired," he repeated. "You have been tired since morning. Or perhaps since the city square?" He took a step closer. "Or perhaps it was something else."
Maria drew a slow breath. "If you wish to discuss what happened there, then say so plainly."
"I already saw all I needed to see," he said, his control beginning to fray. "A merchant, an impertinent memory, and my queen staring at me as though I were the one with fire at her throat."
"And what is wrong with you lately? You act as if you're mourning, like I dragged you here by force, like I'm some monster."
Her voice dropped, cold and accusing. "You burned a woman alive in the square for the crime of being a threat."
"She was no woman," Aedric snapped. "She was a witch. Witches are poison, every last one of them. You saw what she was: poison."
Maria's jaw tightened. "I saw a terrified girl who begged for her life. If that is poison, then the North is drowning in it."
A muscle in his cheek twitched. "Careful, Maria. You are not in Sareen. You are under my power, my law."
"You speak of justice, yet you kill in the streets to remind your people of fear. And for what? To keep them loyal? To keep them small?"
His anger tightened his voice. "You will not speak to your King of fire and murder! You will obey your husband and know your place!"
"You may dress your cruelty in law and call it honor, but it is still cruelty," she said, voice shaking. "And if Sareen were to see the man I was given to, they would pity me."
Aedric took another step closer, lowering his voice again, the true source of his rage surfacing. "You think yourself wiser than the North, do you? Than me? You, who hides behind titles and letters from your cousin, pretending Sareen still belongs to you and that he does."
Her heart stuttered. "My cousin?"
He smiled without warmth, a cruel twist of his lips. "Did you think your letters went unread? The talk of sunfire and secrets? Of lessons in hidden gardens? I know the tone of an old flame when I see one."
Maria's hand trembled, then steadied. "You had no right to break the seal."
"I had every right," he said, his words like iron. "You are my queen. Your dignity is mine to protect. I will not have Sareen whispering that their precious princess has been reduced to a cold ornament in the North."
Her eyes flashed with true, burning anger. "Then perhaps you should not treat me as one."
His breath caught, his composure cracking for the first time. "You should be grateful, Maria. For all your Southern grace, you are here only because I allowed it. Because I thought—" He stopped, his anger flickering into something raw and ugly. "Because I thought you could belong here. Because I thought I could trust the woman beneath the crown, not the child who pines for a boy's affections."
Maria didn't speak. She didn't raise her voice. She lifted her hand and, with a swift, sharp motion born of absolute fury and violation, slapped him across the face.
The sound cracked the air like a gunshot.
Aedric stood utterly still. The imprint of her palm was dark red on his cheek. The look in his eyes was one she had never seen: a profound, terrifying mixture of shock, betrayal, and violence.
Before Aedric could move, before he could choke the breath from her throat, a frantic pounding erupted on the door.
"Your Majesty! Urgent word from the South Pass! It is Lord Varin, he demands immediate audience!"
Aedric did not move for a long count of three. His gaze remained locked on Maria, heavy with promise of retribution. Maria was sure if it wasn't for Lord Varin's timely interruption, he would have choked her or beheaded her right there and then.
He slowly turned his head toward the door, his rage barely contained, then strode across the chamber and ripped the door open.
"Wait outside," he commanded Varin, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that chilled the blood.
He stepped out and slammed the door shut, leaving Maria alone in the ringing silence.
She remained standing by the fire, her hands trembling violently. Her defiance had spent her, but she had seen it in his eyes tonight, something human, raw, and dangerous.
She sank onto the edge of the bed, staring into the flickering light. For all his cruelty, for all his pride, his final words had found their mark.
And it frightened her more than his anger ever could.