And then, the Emperor stepped out.
One polished boot touched the frozen earth and the world obeyed.
The ice recoiled, not shattered, not melted, but undone, as if reality itself rejected its existence.
Like a forbidden memory erased by the hand of a god, the frost slithered back, undoing itself thread by thread. The air, once brittle with deathly cold, softened in mere heartbeats. The frost receded from the carriage, from the grand archways of the palace, the very stones beneath their feet released from winter's grasp.
But it was too late for the horses.
With a sickening thud, they collapsed, steam rising from their lifeless bodies. Warmth had returned, but not life.
The knights, who had nearly been entombed in ice, gasped as their armor thawed, limbs trembling, breath ragged. Yet amidst it all, one man stood untouched. Unshaken. Sovereign of the moment.
In his arms lay a girl, no older than this body of mine. Her small frame was limp, her silver hair cascading over the Emperor's golden, clad arm, her chubby cheeks drained of color.
And yet, the moment I laid eyes on her, I couldn't help but smile.
"There she is, my Dumpling."
That girl wasn't just a princess, she was Zephyra, the ice princess.
She was misunderstood, a girl mistaken for cold because this world lacked the words to call her antisocial. After their father, the Emperor, passed, she had been cast aside, tormented by her siblings. Until one day, the curse awoke.
In a single night, she froze the capital.
The Emperor's palace, once a grand jewel of the Empire, became an ice-bound ruin, its golden spires entombed in frost. And her siblings, all but erased, leaving the throne vacant.
None understood the truth. That she had never meant to kill them. That their deaths were an accident, a cruel twist of fate. A curse she never chose.
But they didn't care. They called her a monster. A usurper. And so, the bounty was placed, a fortune in gold for the head of the runaway princess. Dead or alive.
She fled. Alone. Hunted. Until she was found by Arthur Romaeus van Wolfhard II.
A demon lord. A conqueror. A monster greater than the world had ever known.
And yet, he had looked at her and seen something different.
They became friends. Then lovers. Then legends. And eventually, she grew as insane as he was.
And if I could befriend her now, earlier than Arthur had in the webnovel, then perhaps…
I would have an ally. A safeguard. A weapon against the Heroine should I ever go astray.
The Sun of the Empire.
His ocean-blue eyes swept the courtyard, sharp as a blade. His presence alone was enough to distort the air, the sheer weight of his authority pressing against reality itself.
Regal. Untouchable.
And yet, beneath that perfect, unshakable veneer, something stirred.
Something terrifying.
His lips curved into a smile, forced.
"Grey van Wolfhard," he murmured, his voice as smooth as silk drawn over steel. "It seems my daughter has made a mess. Strange, isn't it? How her curse chose to awaken here, of all places?"
"I apologize, Your Majesty. I will have a servant take her to a room where she may rest," said the Patriarch, still bowed low.
Reginald, who had remained silent until now, stepped forward, offering the proper bow of respect before gently taking the girl into his arms.
"Thank you, Grey. And there is no need to bow to me."
Then the Emperor turned.
His gaze landed on me.
"Just as your son over there refuses to."
A knife of silence cut through the air.
The Emperor's sharp blue eyes pinned me in place. His smile did not reach them.
"We are family, after all. Right, Sister? Nephew? Niece?"
His gaze flicked past me, settling on Leia, Alexander, and Valkyrie.
"Forgive me, Your Majesty," the Patriarch said, his voice measured, "he is our youngest, and we have yet to teach him the traditions of the Wolfhards."
The Emperor stepped closer.
The moment he did, the courtiers, knights, and nobles all rose from their bows.
"When I was about your age," he began, voice like velvet wrapped around steel, "my father would tell me stories. Stories of a man so skilled with the blade, it was as if the sword were merely an extension of his soul."
His hand reached forward, his fingers brushing through my snow-white hair.
"His hair was white as winter's first snow…"
Then his gaze locked onto mine.
"And his eyes—" he leaned closer, "red as glowing embers."
A beat of silence.
Then, without hesitation, I dropped to one knee.
"Votre Majesté Impériale, souverain de la couronne éternelle, je me tiens en admiration sous la grandeur de votre présence. Les sujets eux-mêmes murmurent votre nom en révérence, et le soleil frissonne devant l'éclat sans fin de votre lumière divine."
("Your Imperial Majesty, sovereign of the eternal crown, I stand in awe beneath the grandeur of your presence. The subjects themselves murmur your name in reverence, and the sun quivers before the endless brilliance of your divine light..")
The courtyard stilled.
The air, once thick with tension, now crackled with shock.
From my siblings, to the Patriarch's wives, to the Patriarch himself, every face turned to me in astonishment.
Even the Emperor was caught off guard.
"Tu parles la langue des constellations tombées... Comment? Ni ton père, ni ma sœur ne le peuvent."
("You speak the language of the fallen constellations… How? Neither your father nor my sister can.")
I forced a smirk.
Obviously, I thought. I created it.
Back in my old world, I had once watched an old French drama on my grandmother's battered CRT television. The language had enchanted me, but I could never afford lessons.
So, instead, I made my own.
And in this world, it was no ordinary tongue. It was the language of the constellations themselves. A sacred language, spoken only by dragons and the purest of beings, the High Elves. A language gifted to the first Hero, the ancestor of the Emperor himself.
"Honnêtement, je ne sais pas comment je le fais…mais je suis son descendant, et...le sien aussi."
(Honestly, I don't know how I'm doing it, but I am his and...her descendant, afterall.)
Silence.
Then—
His bloodlust struck like a dagger.
"Osez prononcer son nom en ma présence ? Elle est la cause de la malédiction de ma fille."
("You dare utter her name in my presence? She is the cause of my daughter's curse.")
It felt as if every bloodthirsty fanatic had set their sights on me, first, it was the patriarch, and now, even the emperor had thrown his shadow over my life.
The air grew thick. My vision blurred at the edges. This was killing intent. Pure, unfiltered malice.
I fought to breathe, my body trembling.
But still, I spoke.
"Je peux tordre des mensonges sur mon nom, mon passé et la terre d'où je viens, mais je ne peux échapper à la vérité de mon origine. Le sang qui coule dans mes veines parle plus fort que n'importe quel mensonge que je pourrais dire."
("I can weave falsehoods about my name, my past, and the land I hail from, but I cannot escape the truth of my origin. The blood that courses through my veins speaks louder than any lie I could tell.")
A pause. Then—
The Emperor laughed.
Loud. Booming. Amused.
"You have an interesting son, Grey. If I could, I'd take him as my own."
And just like that, the game had begun
Everyone stood frozen in place, their expressions locked in silent shock. They had expected a twist.
As they all entered the palace, all eyes were on me, like I was some exotic beast put on display. Their gazes, filled with judgment, curiosity, and irritation, felt like arrows trying to pierce through my skin. But instead of cowering, I smiled. A calm, effortless smile, one that only deepened their annoyance.
Just as Grey was about to step inside, he turned slightly, his voice low and laced with something unreadable.
"You and I need to talk later."
His words lingered, a weight I chose not to carry, for now.
I followed the rest, but my mind had already wandered elsewhere. There was something far more important I needed to see.
My little dumpling.
The scent of warm, crisp potatoes pulled me toward the kitchen, where my dishes sat untouched yet still radiating heat. I grabbed a plate of fries and made my way toward the princess's room.
When I entered, she was still unconscious, her small figure resting on the bed like a fragile snowflake untouched by the world. But that didn't stop me from indulging myself, I gently poked her chubby cheeks, rolling them between my fingers. Soft. Like freshly baked buns.
And then, just as I was about to give them one last squeeze, her eyelids fluttered.
Azure eyes, as deep and endless as the sky itself, blinked up at me.
She stiffened, startled, her tiny, chubby body tense. Her cheeks, still puffed like a squirrel hoarding acorns, made it impossible for me to resist.
"So cute." The words slipped out before I could stop them.
I quickly cleared my throat, straightening my posture. Focus.
It was time to put my greatest skill to the test, the art of the six-year-old act.
"Hello! My name is Arthur. What's yours?" I asked, my voice laced with innocent excitement.
Her lips parted, hesitant. "I—I'm Z-Zephyra…" she mumbled, avoiding my gaze.
A shy one. No wonder they called her The Ice Princess.
"I heard you're a princess. Is that true?"
She gave a small nod.
"Wow! That's so cool! And look, our hair is the same color! Maybe I'm a prince too!" I beamed.
For the first time, she smiled. It was small, almost fleeting, but it was there.
"Y-Yeah…I've never seen anyone else with the same hair color before. You're the first, Arthur."
Her voice was barely above a whisper, but the sincerity in it struck something deep within me.
I smiled and handed her the plate.
"I heard you were sick, so I made these for you. When my mother is sick, I always make her these too. I call them fries, try one."
I'm sorry for using your name again, Sushila. I thought.
For a moment, she just stared at me, as if the plate held something more than food. And then, ever so carefully, she reached out, picking up a fry.
The moment she took her first bite, her pupils dilated.
Then, like a cat tasting something divine, her entire expression shifted.
Before I knew it, the plate was empty. Completely wiped clean.
I chuckled, amused. "Dinner's coming up soon, so if you want more, you'll have to wait. But for now…" I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice as if sharing a great secret.
"I can show you something cool. Come with me."
She hesitated for only a second before nodding.
I placed my hands on the wheelchair, positioning it carefully. "Sit here."
She obeyed, and with that, I drove.
Down the halls, past the curious gazes of maids and guards, we made our way to Sushila's room. I glanced down at her, her small hands gripped the edges of the wheelchair, her lips barely containing a smile.
To her, this was just a moment between two children, innocent and fleeting.
But to me, this was an investment.
An investment in my future.
Because in this life, I would live as long as a grandmother's lullaby. In this life, I would turn her curse into a blessing.
And no one, no one, would take this life from me.
Not again.