Chapter 5 Forced to Hold Hands

The heavy iron door of the Winterveil carriage sealed shut with a hollow, echoing sound.

The thick mahogany and reinforced steel instantly severed the chaotic shouts of the palace guards and the stunned gasps of the capital’s nobility. Inside the carriage, the silence was absolute, heavy, and utterly suffocating.

The driver cracked his whip, and the carriage lurched forward. The sudden motion threw Morwenna back against the plush, dark leather seats. She hissed through her teeth as her scraped palms rubbed against the coarse lace of her gloves. Her skin stung violently, a sharp reminder that she was no longer sitting behind a glowing laptop screen. This pain was real. The dirt caked under her fingernails was real.

And the terrifying man sitting directly across from her was very, very real.

Duke Corwin Winterveil did not speak. He sat rigidly on the opposite bench, his broad shoulders easily dwarfing the space. His posture was military perfection, his long legs encased in dark trousers and polished knee-high boots. He was staring out the small, barred window, his sharp jawline clenched so tightly that a small muscle ticked near his ear.

The air inside the cabin was dropping rapidly. A literal chill rolled off his body, carrying the sharp, biting scent of pine needles and cold steel. Thin, delicate veins of white frost began to creep across the glass of the carriage window next to him.

Morwenna swallowed the dry lump in her throat. Her heart hammered against her ribs, trapped by the rigid, agonizing boning of her corset. She needed to think. She had survived Chapter Twelve. She hadn't consumed the poison. But now, she was locked in a moving box with the Northern Duke who canonically despised her.

DING!

Morwenna flinched, her shoulders jerking upward.

A translucent, neon-blue holographic screen snapped into existence, hovering right between her face and Corwin’s chest.

[System Notification: Audience Engagement requires romantic tension.]

[Mission: Maintain continuous physical contact with the Male Lead for 3 minutes.]

[Reward: +200 Drama Points.]

[Penalty for Failure: Temporary Dignity Loss (e.g., uncontrollable barking, sudden flatulence, or violently tripping over your own feet in public).]

Morwenna stared at the glowing blue text, her violet eyes widening in sheer horror. Are you kidding me? Uncontrollable barking?

She was currently trying to convince the most dangerous man in the Aethelgard Empire that she was a cunning, valuable political asset. If she suddenly started barking like a stray dog, Corwin wouldn't just break their engagement; he would probably have her committed to an asylum.

She had to touch him. For three entire minutes.

Morwenna dragged her gaze away from the floating screen and looked at Corwin. He was a human glacier. Touching him right now felt akin to petting a loaded bear trap.

The carriage wheels rattled over the cobblestones, the rhythmic clattering filling the tense silence.

Three minutes, Morwenna thought, her scriptwriter brain frantically trying to manufacture a plausible scenario. How do I touch a man who looks ready to murder me without getting my hand chopped off?

The carriage hit a sharp dip in the road, jostling them both.

It was the only excuse she was going to get.

Morwenna let out a ragged, trembling gasp. She hunched her shoulders, forcing her entire body to violently shudder, mimicking the delayed onset of a severe panic attack. She leaned forward, closing the space between the benches, and threw her hands out.

She grabbed his left hand, which was resting stiffly on his knee.

Corwin instantly flinched. His entire body went rigid, his silver-blue eyes snapping away from the window to lock onto her face.

Morwenna gripped him like a lifeline. Through the thin, torn lace of her gloves, the sensation was electric. His hand was massive, his skin completely freezing, yet radiating a strange, magnetic energy. She could feel the thick, hard calluses across his palm and fingers—the undeniable proof of a man who spent his life wielding a broadsword, not sipping tea at garden parties.

"What are you doing?" Corwin demanded, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated over the rattle of the carriage. He tried to pull his hand away.

Morwenna clamped down harder, weaving her slender fingers through his. She lowered her head, letting her silver-blonde hair fall forward to hide her face. "I-I am just so cold, Your Grace," she stammered, injecting her voice with a flawless, pathetic quiver. "The shock. It is finally setting in. Please, just for a moment."

Above them, a digital timer appeared in the air.

[02:59]

Corwin stared down at their joined hands. His dark eyebrows knitted together in profound confusion. The frost on the window stopped spreading. He didn't pull away again, but his hand remained as stiff and unyielding as carved marble.

"You expect me to believe you are in shock?" Corwin asked, his tone laced with heavy, biting skepticism. He leaned forward slightly, his silver-blue eyes narrowing as he studied the crown of her head. "Ten minutes ago, you threw boiling tea onto the future Emperor of Aethelgard, accused him of harboring assassins, and then practically laughed in his face."

"It was a very stressful laugh," Morwenna mumbled to his knee.

[02:35]

"Look at me," Corwin commanded.

Morwenna slowly lifted her head. She made sure to keep her eyes wide and her bottom lip slightly trapped between her teeth.

Corwin’s gaze was piercing. He was analyzing her, dissecting every micro-expression on her face. "You didn't trip, Morwenna. I watched your feet. You deliberately threw your weight forward. Why?"

Because if I drank it, I would have choked on my own blood, she thought. But she couldn't say that. The System wouldn't allow her to break the fourth wall.