FROST AND FLAME

The kingdom of Veltross was a place of opulence, its palace a sprawling masterpiece of gold and stone. But behind the grand facade lay cold halls and colder hearts. Levi Asher IV, the man who sat atop this empire, embodied that frost. 

Levi was the youngest ruler in Veltross's long history to command both fear and respect. By thirty, he had amassed a fortune so vast it eclipsed the kingdom's treasury. He moved through life like a predator, with sharp eyes and sharper words, ruling his businesses and people with ruthless precision. To the public, he was the perfect image of power a king without a crown, untouchable and unrelenting. 

Yet, behind closed doors, his life was far from perfect.

Ten years earlier, Levi's late mother, Queen Estelle, had orchestrated a marriage that was supposed to secure the future of their royal bloodline. Paris, then just eighteen, had been brought into the palace, her beauty as radiant as her innocence. She was plucked from a family of old money and tradition, groomed for a role she never asked for. 

"She's perfect for you, Levi," Estelle had said, clasping his hand as if willing him to understand. "She's kind, graceful. She'll teach you to love." 

Love. The word felt like poison to Levi even then. But his mother's final wish was not something he could ignore, and so he married Paris. 

Ten years later, their marriage was a hollow shell. 

Paris was no longer the wide-eyed girl who had arrived at the palace gates. She had grown into a woman of quiet elegance, with a sharp mind and a resilient spirit. Her beauty was undeniable, with her luminous brown eyes and delicate features, but it was her strength that defined her. Behind her composed exterior, though, was a woman trapped, longing for affection that would never come. 

Levi treated her as he did everyone else in his life with icy indifference. He barely spoke to her unless necessary, his focus always on his empire. 

Tonight, as Paris stood at the threshold of his study, she hesitated, clutching the doorframe. Levi sat behind a massive mahogany desk, his face illuminated by the dim glow of his laptop. He didn't acknowledge her presence. 

"Levi," she said softly, her voice trembling. "May I come in?" 

His fingers paused over the keyboard, but he didn't look up. "If it's important, speak. If it's not, leave." 

She stepped inside, her heels clicking against the polished floor. "It's important to me." 

He leaned back in his chair, finally meeting her gaze. His gray eyes were as cold as steel. "Then speak." 

Paris swallowed hard. She had rehearsed this conversation countless times, but the reality of facing him made her chest tighten. "It's been ten years, Levi. Ten years of this… arrangement." 

"Marriage," he corrected flatly. 

She ignored the jab. "We live in the same house, but we might as well be strangers. I've tried to be patient, to be understanding, but I can't anymore." Her voice broke slightly. "I'm your wife, Levi. I deserve to be more than just a figurehead." 

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "And what do you propose I do about that?" 

Her cheeks flushed, but she refused to back down. "I want you to touch me, to be with me. Even if it's just once. Show me that this marriage isn't completely meaningless." 

His jaw tightened, his gaze hardening. "You think I owe you that? A performance, for your sake?" 

"It's not a performance, Levi," she whispered, tears threatening to spill. "It's a connection. It's what married people do." 

He rose from his chair with an abruptness that made her step back. Towering over her, his presence was suffocating. "You're asking for something I don't have to give. I didn't choose you, Paris. You were chosen for me. And I've fulfilled my end of the bargain. I married you. That's where my obligation ends." 

Her hands trembled as she reached for him, desperate. "Please… just once. I'm begging you." 

He grabbed her wrist, not with tenderness but with restraint, and pushed her hand away. "Don't ever beg me again." 

Paris stumbled back, humiliated and heartbroken. She stared at him, her tears falling freely now. "You're not even human," she whispered. "You're incapable of love." 

He didn't deny it. Instead, he turned away, his voice cold and final. "Leave, Paris. And don't come to me with this nonsense again." 

She fled the study, her sobs echoing down the empty halls. Levi stood there for a moment, his fists clenched at his sides. He felt something a pang in his chest but he shoved it down, locking it away with the rest of his buried emotions. 

A servant walked in to serve Levi's night tea, he stumbled while walking past the gold-encrusted vases on the side table. The crash of porcelain against the marble echoed through the hall. Levi didn't move. His piercing gray eyes flicked toward the young man, who was already on his knees, trembling. 

"Careless," Levi said, his voice low but cutting like a blade. "Take him out of my sight." 

Two guards appeared as if summoned by the sheer force of Levi's displeasure. The young servant was dragged away, his pleas for forgiveness swallowed by the cavernous halls. Levi didn't flinch. To him, mistakes were intolerable, and weakness was a sin.