Cold Hearts In Love.

"Are you mad?" The words escaped her lips before she could stop them, and she clapped a hand over her mouth in horror. 

"Oops," she muttered, her face flushing with mortification. But instead of anger, King Stephen—her supposed enemy—merely smiled. It wasn't the cold, calculating smile she expected, but a warm, disarming one that sent a crack through the icy walls she had so carefully built around her heart. 

"Aubree," he said softly, his tone like a caress. 

Aurora froze, though she didn't know anyone by that name, it stirred something deep within her—a strange, unbidden sensation she couldn't place. She took a steadying breath before snapping,

"I don't know who that is, but if you think calling me by some mysterious name will make me accept you—as some kind of gift—then you are sorely mistaken." Her voice carried equal measures of disbelief and disdain.

"I could never trust someone like you." She murmured under her breath, but he heard it.

"Someone like me?" Stephen repeated, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Rich words coming from someone like you." 

Aurora scoffed, crossing her arms. "Someone like—never mind. You know what? I'm done. I saved you, you saved me. We're even. End of story." 

She moved to rise from the bed, only for a sudden realization to hit her like a bolt of lightning. Glancing down at her clothing, her expression darkened into one of pure fury.

"You didn't… change me, did you?" Her voice was low, as she narrowed her eyes at him. 

Stephen's grin widened, and he stepped closer, moving from where he stood by the window.

The golden rays of sunlight framed him like a halo, though his teasing expression was far from angelic. "No, I didn't. The maids saw to you." His tone was light, almost playful, but the sincerity in his eyes softened her tension. 

She let out a relieved breath. "Good." 

"But," he added, a mischievous gleam in his eye, "it's nothing I haven't seen before." 

Her glare was instant and could have felled a lesser man. "You insufferable—" 

She moved to brush past him, but his hand darted out, capturing her wrist with surprising gentleness. In one swift motion, he pulled her closer, their faces now only inches apart.

The charged air between them made her breath hitch, and his gaze briefly flickered down to her lips before he abruptly released her. 

"So, you're just going to leave?" he asked, his voice quieter now, tinged with something deeper—though the hint of amusement still lingered. 

Aurora took a step back, regaining her composure. "What else is there for me to do here?" 

Before he could reply, her stomach let out an audible growl, shattering the tension. Her cheeks burned in embarrassment as she placed a hand over her abdomen. 

Stephen's lips twitched as if holding back a laugh. 

"Alright," she muttered, turning her face away. "Maybe a little food… and some proper clothing. Oh, and money. Think of it as payment for saving your life. And let's not forget it was your fault I ended up in danger to begin with, so really—" She stopped short, noticing the peculiar expression on his face. 

"What?" she asked sharply, her brows drawing together. 

He said nothing, merely watching her with an inscrutable look, his silence unnerving. 

"Forget it," she huffed, spinning toward the door. "I'll find my way out."

Stephen chuckled softly. "Wash up. The maids will bring you fresh clothes and escort you to the dining hall. And for the record," he added, "you've been unconscious for over a week now." 

Her brows shot up. "A week? What was in that blade?" 

"Poison," he said, his voice grim. "It's meant for people like me—those who don't die easily." He held her gaze for a moment longer before stepping back toward the door. "I'll see you at dinner." 

When he left, the door clicking shut behind him, Stephen exhaled deeply, his confident stride only faltering once he reached the corridor. 

The palace was a sprawling fortress of marble and gold, its walls adorned with intricate carvings of ancient battles and royal triumphs. Grand chandeliers cast a warm glow over the endless hallways, and towering arched windows bathed the corridors in sunlight.

The air was heavy with the faint scent of jasmine from the gardens below. 

Stephen made his way to the dining hall, a vast chamber with a vaulted ceiling and polished stone floors. A long oak table ran the length of the room, surrounded by high-backed chairs with crimson upholstery. 

Inside, his family awaited him.

His grandmother, Bathsheba, sat at the far end, her regal posture and sharp eyes betraying her years of wisdom. His mother, Genevieve, was seated nearby, her expression a careful mask of serenity.

His father's two wives, Amelia and Lucy, whispered among themselves while his siblings—Kayden, Sapphire, and Simon—sat silently. His half-siblings, Olivia and Thomas, sat quietly, observing the scene. 

"Congratulations on the victory, my dear grandson," Bathsheba called as Stephen entered and took his seat at the head of the table. "Why have you been avoiding our gatherings? Troubled with someone again?"

Her tone was sharp but tinged with affection. 

Stephen leaned back in his chair, his expression calm. "I've simply been seeking some peace and quiet, Grandmother." His next words, however, drew the room to a halt.

"But I should warn you—I plan to introduce someone to the family soon." 

"I wonder who," Kayden murmured to himself.

The tension in the grand dining hall shifted as Bathsheba's piercing gaze softened, her countenance brightening with feigned sentiment. "At last," she declared, dabbing at nonexistent tears with an embroidered kerchief.

"I shall live to see my great-grandchildren." 

Stephen, seated across the long oak table, suppressed an eye roll. "Trust you to lament the absence of great-grandchildren before they even exist." 

"You cannot fault me, child," Bathsheba replied, her lips curling into a sly smile. "I am ever curious to see what your offspring might look like." 

"How come no one is curious to see what my children might look like?" Kayden interjected, his tone carrying a hint of mischief. 

A heavy silence settled over the room before Genevieve answered coolly. "I am curious, but did you not claim you had no intention of marrying?" 

Kayden grinned, reclining slightly in his chair. "I jest, Mother." 

The awkward silence was broken by the slow creak of the double doors as Zayd entered. The young servant's attire, though simple, was immaculate, and he bowed low before speaking.

"Forgive my tardiness, Your Highnesses. How may I serve you?" 

"Pepper," Sapphire blurted suddenly, her words echoing across the hall. Her cheeks flushed under the stern glance of her mother. 

Genevieve arched an elegant brow.

"You've developed a fondness for pepper, have you?" 

Sapphire nodded, her voice a little too eager. "Yes... recently." 

Zayd approached, his expression unchanging as he reached for the pepper grinder. With measured steps, he stood beside Sapphire and began sprinkling pepper over her dish.

The room watched in silence, save for the faint crackling of the fireplace. As the pepper piled far higher than necessary, Zayd leaned in slightly, his proximity sending a wave of heat to Sapphire's cheeks. 

"Is that sufficient, Princess?" he murmured, his voice low. 

"Y-yes," she stammered, her eyes fixed on his as though entranced. 

"Then do enjoy." Zayd retreated with a faint smirk, his work done. It wasn't until she glanced at her plate that Sapphire realized the disastrous state of her food. Peering over her shoulder, she met her mother's watchful gaze. 

"Well?" Genevieve prompted, setting down her fork with a deliberate clink. "Eat, my dear. It would be unseemly for a princess to waste food." 

Swallowing her pride, Sapphire scooped a spoonful into her mouth, only to feel the searing burn of too much spice. She forced a smile through watery eyes. "Delicious," she managed to say. 

Genevieve nodded approvingly and returned to her own meal, oblivious to the glare Sapphire sent toward Zayd, who lingered near the door, clearly enjoying her discomfort. 

"Speaking of marriage," Bathsheba began, turning her gaze to Sapphire, "you are of age now, my dear. Sixteen in human years. The next soiree we attend, you shall accompany us. We must find you a suitable match." 

The mood shifted at once. Sapphire dropped her spoon, the clang echoing through the chamber. "I am not getting married, Grandmother." 

Genevieve's eyes narrowed, her tone sharpening like a blade. "What nonsense is this? Have I not taught you your duty? Marriage is the cornerstone of your existence." 

"But Kayden said he has no wish to marry, and you allowed him," Sapphire argued, her voice rising in defiance.

"Why am I any different?" 

"He is a man," Genevieve snapped, the lines of her face hardening. "He has a future." 

Sapphire's eyes burned with indignation. "And I do not? Even if I did wish to marry, it would be for love, not to serve as a rung on someone's social ladder." 

"Enough!" Genevieve's voice thundered, silencing the room. 

"This," Stephen muttered darkly, pushing his plate away, "this is why I detest these gatherings." 

Kayden sighed, lounging in his seat.

"I second that, brother." 

Bathsheba raised a hand. "That is enough from all of you. Layla—" 

"Do not call her that, Mother!" Genevieve interjected sharply. 

"I shall call my granddaughter whatever pleases me," Bathsheba retorted coolly. 

"Can we all voice our opinions without making a scene?" Stephen said, "and Mother, Sapphire should be able to choose who ever it is she wants to spend the rest of her life with," Sapphire nods, but didn't say anything, as she didn't want to offend her mother any further.

As the tension reached its peak, the heavy doors creaked open once more. Every head turned as Aurora entered. The light from the chandeliers caught on her jeweled bodice, and her gown flowed like liquid gold with each step. Her presence commanded attention with effortless grace. 

Stephen's breath caught, his thoughts scattering. She was unlike any woman he had ever seen—self-assured, bold, and utterly captivating. The room fell silent, as though every breath was held in reverence of her beauty.

The atmosphere in the lavish dining hall shifted as Aurora entered, her movements graceful and measured. The high-vaulted ceilings of the room cast flickering shadows from the grand chandeliers, their light reflecting off gilded frames and intricately woven tapestries depicting ancient victories.

"Your Majesty, Your Highnesses," Aurora said, lowering her head in a polite bow. Her tone was firm, her manners impeccable.

"Come, my dear, take a seat," Bathsheba said, her sharp eyes fixed on Aurora's face, as if appraising her every feature.

Aurora moved to the empty chair beside Sapphire, her presence drawing subtle whispers from the younger members of the royal family.

Moments later, Zayd wheeled in a silver trolley laden with food, his demeanor composed. He served Aurora with precision, his hands steady.

"Meet…." Stephen trailed, pausing to allow Aurora to speak.

"Aurora," she replied simply.

"No Last name?" Genevieve inquired, her voice clipped, her brow arching in suspicion.

Aurora inclined her head.

"None that is mine to claim, Your Highness." She answered, refusing to share her last name with them, since she was leaving in a few minutes but that didn't go quite well with the others, who stared at her like some kind of outcast.

Sapphire, eager to dispel the growing tension, leaned closer to Aurora. "How are you faring, Lady Aurora?" she said, her tone warm and bright.

Aurora offered a small, hesitant smile. "I am doing great, Your Highness. Thank you for asking," she smiled politely, her manners ever practiced. 

Kayden, seated further down the table, leaned forward. "Are you to be my sister-in-law, then?"

Aurora, caught off guard, choked slightly on the water she was sipping. "Nothing of the sort," she replied firmly, her composure returning. "And you are?"

"Kayden, twin to the king," he answered smoothly. Then, with a mischievous grin, he added, "I must say, my brother is fortunate. You are quite striking."

"Kayden, enough," Bathsheba admonished, her voice like steel wrapped in silk. "You forget yourself."

"Must I?" he retorted, earning a glare from his grandmother.

As the tension ebbed, Lucy, one of the king's consorts, spoke softly for the first time that evening. "How did you and the king come to meet?"

Aurora placed her fork down gently, the weight of the question settling upon her.

"At the ball," she replied.

"Oh, he must have been captivated by your beauty," Sapphire interjected with a grin.

Aurora shook her head.

"I do not think so. He brought me here because I saved his life… and suffered injury in the process."

A gasp rippled through the table, and young Simon, Genevieve's youngest son, stared wide-eyed at Aurora.

"You saved Brother Stephen's life?"

"Yes," Aurora replied hesitantly.

"Remarkable," Simon said, his admiration evident.

"That is a first, Brother Stephen is so strong, I can't believe he'd still need saving."

 "It just turned out to be so that day, Simon. Your brother is still strong." Stephen interjected. 

Genevieve's sharp gaze darted to Stephen. "And why, pray, have we not heard of this before now?"

"I saw no reason to trouble you with the details," Stephen replied curtly.

Bathsheba, however, was less interested in his reasoning.

"You should have told us how she saved you, Stephen," she pressed. "Had I known, I would have properly honored her bravery. Aurora, visit my chambers later.

I wish to reward you with something fitting for such an act." Aurora could only nod politely.

The conversation was interrupted by a sudden gasp from Aurora. She clutched her stomach, her face twisting in pain before a muffled cry escaped her lips.

The sound reverberated through the room, silencing all conversation. Stephen quickly dashed to her side, quickly checking her pulse, his eyes narrowing.

"It's poison,"