One ~ The Cold Duke
LIA
The day my father sealed my fate, the sky was clear.
I remember that because it felt wrong—how blue and perfect the sky was, how the sunlight spilled across the marble floors like nothing had changed. I stood quietly at the edge of the Imperial Court, hands clasped tight in front of me, heart fluttering in my chest like a trapped bird.
I knew I was about to be sentenced.
“The engagement has been finalized,” the Emperor said. His voice echoed like it always did—sharp, cold. “The wedding will take place two days after.”
No one looked at me. Not the ministeries. Not the guards. Not even my brothers.
My father didn’t raise his gaze from the scroll he held, as though I weren’t standing there—flesh and blood and silence—beneath the weight of his words.
I felt breath leave my lungs.
The name still rang in my head like a curse.
Duke Xavier Volk.
I’d heard the rumors. Everyone had. The Cold Duke of the North. The warden of the North. A man with no smile, no warmth, no mercy. They said he commanded shadows like they were his dogs. That he could kill with a glance. That even the snow feared him.
And now I was going to marry him.
A wave of nausea rolled through me, sudden and bitter, but I swallowed it down. It wouldn’t matter. I could collapse right here and still it woulf happen. The decision had been made long before I was ever asked.
I was told to be a leash wrapped around a war hound’s throat.
A sacrifice in silk.
My mother would have wept, I think. If she were still alive. She’d always say I was too delicate, too quiet, too easily bruised by this world. And maybe she was right. My health had always been poor. Mana didn’t flow in my body. It was trapped. And it was slowly killing me. Weakening me.
The magic I wielded was a mockery to my body. I held the power of light, which ironically has the ability to heal. Not for me. It didn’t belong in my body. But that didn’t matter.
I dropped into a low, practiced curtsy. My limbs trembled beneath the weight of silence in the room.
“As you command Your Majesty,” I whispered.
“Hmm.” Was all my father said. His eyes still locked on the scroll.
The next morning I was gone.
No grand sendiff. No farewell parade. Not even a letter from my brother Landon, crown prince, who sometimed would help me out of pity. I loaded into the carriage like luggage—boxed in velvet and duty—and the gates of the palace shut behind me without a sound.
I stared at them as they disappeared behind the trees. Gold-tipped, draped in crimson banners, lined with armored guards who didn’t blink. I wondered if I’d even see them again.
I wondered if I wanted to.
The road north was long. The weather grew colder with every hour, until the warmth I’d always known became just another memory. I tried not to think of my home. Of the library that smelled like lavender and dust. Of my mother’s portait hanging on the wall of generations. Of my bedchamber, where I used to dream of falling in love. As cold as the palace was, it had been the only thing I knew. It was comforting in it’s own odd way.
I closed my eyes. Forced the ache in my throat down into my chest. I feared another flare of my mana sickness.
There would be no love story.
Only survival.
On the sixth day, as we rounded a frozen cliffside, the driver called back to me.
“We’re approaching the Dukedom, Princess.”
I leaned forward, pulling the curtain aside with slow fingers.
The fortress rose from the snow like it had clawed its way out of the mountains themselves. Black stone walls jagged and tall, crowned in silver frost. The surrounding village—small gray, blanketed in white—looked like a ghost town.
Everything was frozen. Still. Silent.
And beautiful, in a cruel sort of way.
The gates creaked open.
The northern wind was crueler than I imagined.
It howled around the carriage like a starving beast, tearing at the wooden panels and forcing snow through the smallest cracks. I pulled my cloak tighter, but the cold had already slipped under my skin. I could feel it in my bones, in my lungs—biting, unrelenting.
Then the carriage jolted to a stop.
The door opened with a gust of freezing air, and I stepped out—only to be struck breathless by the sight before me.
The Duke’s mansion loomed like a black monolith in a world of snow. Build from stone darker than night, it rose from the frostbitten mountainside as if carved straight from the earth itself. Sharp towers reached the skyward like blades, and thick iron gates groaned behind me as they shut. The windows were tall and narrow, like watchful eyes, some glowing faintly with mana light that flickered like dying embers.
There were no flowers. No color. Not even a single banner to welcome a bride.
It was colder here than the outside air. Not in temperature—but in spirit.
I swallowed hard.
So this is to be my home.
Every inch of it screamed that I did not belong.
Then I saw him.
A lone figure stood at the top of the stone steps. The snow swirled around him, but not a single flake dared land on his cloak. His posture was regal, composed—motionless, like a stature carved from obsidian.
Duke Xavier Volk. The young Duke of the harsh North.
Even at this distance, his presense hit like a wave of pressure. His black coat swept the floor behind him, lined with gray fur at the collar. His hair was short, neatly kept, ink-dark and gleaming beneath the overcast sky. And his eyes—red polished garnets—locked onto me with a gaze so sharp, I felt it pierce through the fabric of my thoughts.
My heart skipped.
He’s… incredibly handsome.
A cruel, cold beauty. The kind that stole your breath before your sense caught up.
But there was something dangerous in the way he held himself. His face, flawless and still, held no emotion. No curiosity. No kindness. He didn’t move toward me. Didn’t offer his hand. Just stared—like he was assessing a specimen delivered to his doorstep.
I walked slowly up the steps, forcing my legs not to tremble.
He didn’t bow. I didn’t expect him to.
“Princess,” he said curtly.
His voice was low, smooth…and utterly without warmth.
“I…I am honored to be here,” I replied softy, dipping into a polite curtsy. My voice nearly caught, but I steadied it. “Your Grace.”
He nodded once, without emotion. “Do not mistake this arrangment for something it is not.”
The words were a slap, even though his tone remained eerily calm.
I kept my smile as still as my spine. “Understood.”
“You’ll be assigned a maid shortly. Until then, stay in your quarters.” He turned slightly, his cloak swaying with motion. “And do not disturb me. Wait obediently until the ceremony.”
