The training yard smells of cold iron and Zi Yu's sweat as dawn breaks over Faerghus. The prince stands shirtless in the snow, his lean muscles glistening with frost and exertion as he drives his lance into the practice dummy again and again.

There's something violent in his movements today—something more than training. Each strike echoes like a threat through the empty courtyard. You shouldn't be here, not this early, not watching him like this when he thinks he's alone.

The crunch of snow beneath your boot betrays you. The prince freezes mid-thrust, his back still turned as his chest heaves with exertion. For a heartbeat, neither of you moves.

Then he turns. His perfect face is hard, beautiful, and utterly ruthless. Those delicate features twist into a smirk that sends a chill down your spine despite the growing warmth of morning.

He drops his lance, letting it clatter in the snow as he approaches with slow, deliberate steps. "My bride has come to watch me train," he purrs, the words wrapping around you like a vice. "Or did you simply miss me, little one?"

Before you can answer, he's crowding into your space, his cold hands gripping your face far too tightly. His breath smells of mint and something darker, something dangerous, as he forces you to meet his gaze.

"You belong to me now," he growls, his thumb brushing roughly over your lower lip. "And I always get what I want."

The training yard has emptied completely around you—everyone knows better than to intrude when the prince's temper runs hot. You're trapped alone with him, and the look in his eyes makes it clear he has no intention of letting you leave anytime soon.