Chapter 3

She doesn’t notice at first. But the frost begins to creep outward again, blooming from her bare feet across the ground in fine, lacy tendrils.

A few of the nearby warriors step back, murmuring among themselves, their eyes wide.

Her breathing hitches.

She’s losing control.

Again.

“Alina,” her father says sharply, his voice slicing through the growing cold. “That’s enough.”

But the ice continues to spread.

Her emotions slip free, and the frost answers. The air grows tight. Heavy. Silence settles around her like a noose.

She clenches her jaw, trying to force the surge back down, but her power resists. It does not like being suppressed. It does not like being commanded.

She watches as her father's eyes glow blue, and soon the frost obeys his command, recoiling and shrinking from her bare feet. The ground remains damp and slick. That wasn’t supposed to happen—not this time. She hadn’t even been trying...

She hates that her abilities are tied to her emotions. When they rise too sharply, she loses control. She knows this. Her father has reminded her a thousand times, taught her how to contain it. And now, of all moments, she falters. Right in front of him... and he has to be the one to handle her mess.

Her heart pounds. Her arms cross over her chest in a defensive fold as she looks away, avoiding his gaze.

“Forgive me, father…” she mutters, her voice low, shame filling her voice. Her eyes fix on anything but him. But it’s already too late. She can feel his fury radiating toward her in silent waves.

“You can't even control them while I speak to you?” His voice drops, low and dangerous.

There’s no escaping this.

“You lack discipline, Alina. You have raw power, but you are impatient and reckless,” he continues, stepping closer, “and failed a simple training exercise—” Alina slowly turns back to him, cutting him off.

“I passed the exercise,” she snaps, her voice rising despite her effort to stay calm. Her tone is sharp, cold, matching his. “I won. And I didn’t hurt anyone.”

Even she knows she’s pushing it now. The words are a defence. A desperate attempt to steer his focus to the result instead of the recklessness.

“That’s not the point!” His tone booms through the courtyard, reverberating like a thunderclap. The sound alone is enough to make every watching warrior flinch. A deep growl rumbles from his chest, his voice trembling with fury. “You’re not to use your powers unless the situation is dire. How many times must I tell you that? You still cannot control them.”

Alina’s lips tighten into a line. Her gaze shifts toward the warriors nearby—every one of them watching. Their expressions are wary, and the fear is clear. Not one of them holds her gaze for more than a second. As soon as she meets their eyes, they look away, hands clasped behind their backs in stiff posture.

As if they fear she’ll turn her power on them next.

Good, a part of her thinks. Let them.

But another part of her—the smaller, softer part—finds it humiliating.

“I can control them,” she says, her voice a little too fast, a little too sharp.

“Barely,” he fires back. His eyes narrow. “Do you think I didn’t notice the ice creeping toward their feet? One misstep and you could have maimed them. Or worse.”

He gestures toward the training ground, where the last remnants of her outburst melt into puddles across the stone.

She opens her mouth to protest, but he raises a hand and silences her with the motion alone.

“You’re not invincible, Alina,” he says, quieter now, but no less cutting. “And these powers of yours—they are as much a curse as they are a gift. Until you learn to control them, they are a threat to everyone around you.”

The words hit harder than any blade.

“I didn’t ask for these powers,” she says quietly, almost whispering. She can’t meet his eyes now. She doesn’t even try.

“No,” he says, and his voice softens—not by much, but enough to notice. “But they are yours to bear. And you will bear them with responsibility. Do you understand me?”

His words hang in the air for a moment. She doesn’t want to hear them. Doesn’t want to admit he’s right. But there’s truth in them. And she knows it.

The fight drains out of her. “Yes, Father.”

He sighs as he watches her for a moment longer, then finally turns away to the warriors around them.

“Dismissed. All of you.” He tells them with a powerful voice.

“Yes, my Lord,” the warriors chorus as they bow low and begin filing out. Their footsteps are quick, nearly silent. No one dares linger.

Alina stands silent in the centre of the courtyard across from her father. The cold from her earlier outburst still clings to her skin like a second layer.

Her father gives her one last look and walks away, cutting across the grounds with hard, decisive steps.

At the edge of the field, Alina's mother, Lady Kaela Xalveria waits for him. She places a hand on his cheek, soft and soothing, and murmurs something low. He nods and walks on without another word.

Alina’s mother turns toward her.

Graceful, serene, with the same white hair and silver eyes, Kaela approaches like a breeze through ice. She carries no visible power, no sharpness in her gait, yet her presence commands attention.

“Your father means well,” she says softly, just as she reaches Alina and stares up at her daughter.

Alina stares down at her mother, her expression faltering momentarily.. “Does he?” She asks.

Kaela places a hand on her daughter’s cheeks. The warmth of it is surprising. Gentle.

“He does,” she replies, her voice calm. “He just doesn’t know how to show it.”

Alina looks at her mother then. The sharp edge in her chest eases just a little.

“And you?” she asks.

Her mother smiles—soft, but proud. “You were magnificent my darling,” she says in a whisper, glancing conspiratorially toward the direction her husband walked, as if she doesn’t want him to hear a word of it.

Alina shouldn’t care. But the praise settles something inside her. Not peace exactly—but a stillness.

She allows herself a small smile.

"Thank you mother..." Alina answers softly.

Her mother gives her a gentle smile before pulling her into a tender hug. Afterwards, she pulls away slowly and lopps her arm through her daughter's.

“Come, let’s get you cleaned up. You have a dinner to attend tonight, and the Vorathiels are not known for their patience.” She says as they walk side by side.

That’s when Alina remembers.

The dinner.

Tonight.

The Vorathiels are coming.

Another noble house. Old allies of House Xalveria. The evening will be full of conversation cloaked in civility, of veiled barbs and sharpened smiles. Politics dressed in finery. Courtesies exchanged like weapons.

Alina groans softly. The thought of yet another tedious event laced with false compliments and subtle games exhausts her more than the fight ever could.

But…

There is one thing she’s looking forward to.

And that is... him.