Chapter 4 Invading His Personal Space

"I tripped," Morwenna replied, her tone startlingly calm. "Gravity is hardly a treasonous offense."

Corwin’s eyes narrowed slightly. He searched her face, looking for the usual manic obsession, the frantic desperation she always aimed at him. He found none of it. Her violet-blue eyes were clear, sharp, and entirely guarded.

"You tripped," Corwin repeated flatly, clearly not believing a single word.

"Oh, Corwin, please don't be too harsh on her," a soft, trembling voice interrupted.

Lady Seraphina stepped forward, her hands clasped tightly together over her chest. She looked the picture of perfect, forgiving grace, her golden hair catching the sunlight. "Lady Morwenna has been acting quite strange all afternoon. I believe the heat may have simply overwhelmed her delicate senses. It was an accident. Surely, His Highness can show mercy?"

Morwenna’s jaw ticked. There it is. The heroine swoop-in. Playing the saint while simultaneously confirming that I’m mentally unstable.

Prince Lucien scoffed loudly. "Mercy? For this feral woman? She is a stain on the capital! She threw the Emperor's gift onto the ground!"

Morwenna turned her head slowly, looking past Corwin's broad shoulder to meet the Crown Prince's furious gaze. She let a slow, mocking smile curve her lips.

"Assault you?" Morwenna said, her voice dripping with a flawless, aristocratic condescension that cut through the garden like a whip. "Please, Your Highness. Give me some credit."

The entire crowd inhaled sharply at her tone.

Morwenna tilted her head, her violet eyes glinting with dangerous amusement. "If I wanted to assassinate the Prince, Your Grace, I'd use a dagger. Not Earl Grey."

Someone in the back row actually choked on a gasp. Lady Mirabelle swayed on her feet, looking ready to faint from the sheer scandal of the statement. Seraphina’s perfectly constructed expression cracked, her eyes widening in genuine shock.

Crown Prince Lucien stood frozen, entirely derailed by the absolute, unashamed audacity of her words. No one spoke to him like that. Absolutely no one.

Corwin stared at her.

For a long, tense moment, the Duke of the North said nothing. He simply looked at the woman standing before him. The dirt on her gloves. The defiant tilt of her chin. The sharp, venomous wit she had just unleashed on the future Emperor of Aethelgard.

DING!

The blue holographic screen violently materialized in the space between them, visible only to Morwenna.

[System Notification:]

[The Cold Duke is 12% amused.]

[Audience Engagement Spiking. Drama Points +50.]

Morwenna had to physically force herself not to react to the glowing text. Amused? This terrifying ice block is amused?

"You hear her!" Lucien finally exploded, drawing his own ceremonial sword with a metallic ring. "She admits her treasonous intent! Guards, take her! Winterveil, if you stand in my way, you will be charged as an accomplice!"

The air around Corwin snapped.

The frost on the ground violently surged outward in a jagged ring, encasing the boots of the two nearest royal guards in solid blocks of dark ice. The men shouted in panic, trying to pull their feet free, but they were rooted to the marble.

Corwin didn't even glance at them. He slowly turned to face the Crown Prince, his silver-blue eyes darkening to the color of a stormy sea.

"She is my fiancée, Your Highness," Corwin said, his voice dropping into a register so cold it made Morwenna shiver. "The North handles its own discipline. If you wish to arrest the future Duchess of House Winterveil, you will have to bring an army to my borders. Not a dozen palace guards."

Lucien gripped his sword, his chest heaving. He weighed the political reality. Aethelgard needed the Northern military. To arrest Corwin Winterveil’s fiancée here, today, would spark an immediate civil war. The Emperor would have Lucien's head before the sun set.

"This isn't over, Winterveil," Lucien spat, forcefully sheathing his sword. He pointed a finger at Morwenna. "Keep your mad dog on a shorter leash. Next time she bares her teeth at me, I will have them pulled."

With a dramatic sweep of his ruined coat, the Crown Prince stormed out of the garden, his frozen guards desperately chipping at the ice to follow him.

The remaining nobles stood in stunned, terrified silence. Lady Seraphina watched Morwenna carefully, her golden eyes calculating, before she bowed her head and melted back into the crowd.

Corwin turned back to Morwenna. The faint amusement was gone, replaced by a dark, simmering anger. He had just risked open rebellion with the Crown to protect a woman he supposedly despised, all because of an engagement contract his family forced upon him.

He didn't say another word. He reached out and grabbed her wrist.

His grip was like iron. Even through the thick lace of her gloves, she could feel the unnatural, freezing cold of his magic bleeding into her skin. He expected her to pull back. He expected her to dig her heels in, to whine about his rough grip, or to cry about her ruined dress.

He pulled her forward, intending to drag her out of the garden and throw her into his carriage.

Morwenna didn't resist.

Instead of fighting his momentum, she used it. She let him pull her, taking a swift, deliberate step forward that entirely closed the distance between them.

Corwin froze.

Her heavy skirts brushed against his military trousers. Her chest pressed lightly against the silver medals on his uniform. She had completely invaded his personal space, stepping inside his guard with a fearless, smooth precision that left him momentarily paralyzed.

She was so close she could feel the heat radiating off his body beneath the cold aura, smelling the sharp scent of winter and steel. Corwin’s breath hitched, a minute reaction, but Morwenna caught it. His silver-blue eyes widened a fraction, staring down at her upturned face.

Morwenna didn't back down. She tilted her head up, her face inches from his sharp jawline. She leaned in, letting her soft lips lightly brush the sensitive shell of his ear.

"Lead the way, Your Grace," she whispered.