WARNING

This story contains character deaths, sexual themes, graphic violence, swearing, triggers and psychological themes.

Please read at your own discretion

CHAPTER 16

The room was quiet, save for the scratch of quills and the occasional shuffle of parchment. Jack sat behind his oak desk, the surface cluttered with letters, plans, and reports for the upcoming winter season.

The air was cold enough to make his breath visible, but he didn't bother stoking the fire in the hearth. It matched the chill that had settled in his bones—another reminder of the long winter ahead. His quill hovered over a document, but his focus had slipped, his mind wandering to a pair of ice-blue eyes that haunted his thoughts.

Elsa.

Two days ago, she'd done something she hadn't before—she'd spoken first. Her voice, soft as a snowflake landing on his hand, had caught him completely off guard. The memory of it still brought a flicker of warmth to his chest, even now, amidst the mountain of work he faced.

He could still hear the faint lilt of her words, still see the way her expression softened, her guard lowering just enough to show a glimmer of the woman she might have been before everything fell apart.

Jack leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his white hair. He remembered the look of cautious joy on Anna's face when he told her about Elsa's small but meaningful step forward. "She's looking brighter," he had said, and it was true. Like the first rays of sunlight breaking through a stormy sky, Elsa was starting to let the light in again, even if just a little.

But Jack couldn't help the pang in his chest. It wasn't enough. Not yet.

"It doesn't make sense," Jamie's voice cut through Jack's thoughts like a sharp wind through the trees.

Jack blinked and glanced up at his steward. Jamie was hunched over the table across from him, papers strewn about as he rubbed at his temples. His usually sharp, boyish features were creased with frustration.

"What doesn't make sense?" Jack asked, setting his quill down and leaning forward.

Jamie looked up, his dark eyes clouded with confusion. "What happened to the Princess. It just doesn't add up."

Jack's jaw tightened at the mention of Elsa. He straightened in his seat, suddenly alert. "Did you find a clue?"

Jamie let out a frustrated sigh and leaned back in his chair, pulling at his cravat as though it were strangling him. His disheveled appearance would've caused scandalized whispers among the nobility, but Jack didn't care. Jamie wasn't just his steward—he was his confidant, someone Jack trusted completely.

"No, but the more I think about it, the more it makes my head throb," Jamie admitted. "None of it makes sense. Why was she left alive? The new royal family of Northuldra would've wanted to wipe out anyone with a claim to the throne. That's how these things go."

Jack frowned, his fingers drumming against the edge of his desk. "You're right," he said slowly. "They would've seen her as a threat. Any remaining descendant of the old monarchy would be a rallying point for rebellion."

"Exactly," Jamie said, gesturing with a hand as though trying to grasp something just out of reach. "But not only did they leave her alive—they didn't even try to force her into exile. They kept her in their grasp, and yet…" He shook his head, frustration evident. "What did they need her alive for? What purpose does she serve?"

Jack leaned back, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the candle flickering on his desk. The question had haunted him, too, ever since Elsa had been brought to his estate. The new rulers of Northuldra were calculated and ruthless—leaving Elsa alive went against every rule of conquest and power consolidation. It was like leaving a dagger within arm's reach of your enemy.

"She's a symbol," Jack said quietly, almost to himself. "Keeping her alive means keeping control. Perhaps they thought it would pacify any loyalists to the old regime. Make them think there's no use fighting if the last princess hasn't been executed."

Jamie tilted his head, considering this. "But wouldn't that backfire? Leaving her alive also gives those loyalists hope."

"Hope can be controlled if you wield it carefully," Jack replied, his voice grim. "But you're right—it's a gamble. And it doesn't explain why they haven't used her for anything. She's been locked away, hidden. If they wanted to parade her as a puppet, they would've done so by now."

The room fell silent, save for the crackling of the lone candle on Jack's desk. Jack's mind churned with thoughts, each one more unsettling than the last. What were the new rulers of Northuldra planning? And what role did Elsa play in their game?

He thought of Elsa's pale face, the way her hands trembled when she thought no one was looking. She carried her trauma like a glacier—massive, silent, and cold. But Jack had seen glimpses of something else beneath the ice. Strength. Resilience. And a flicker of hope she didn't yet realize she had.

Jamie's voice broke through his thoughts again, softer this time. "You care for her."

Jack's head snapped up, his icy blue eyes meeting Jamie's knowing gaze. For a moment, he didn't respond, his expression unreadable. Then he let out a small, wry laugh, running a hand over his face.

"Is it that obvious?" he asked, though the answer was clear.

Jamie smirked. "Painfully."

Jack sighed, his gaze drifting back to the papers in front of him. "It doesn't matter," he said quietly. "She's been through enough. The last thing she needs is… whatever this is." He gestured vaguely to himself, as though trying to dismiss the ache in his chest as something trivial.

Jamie didn't press the matter, but his expression softened. "I'd hate to say this, but you're good for her, your grace. She's been making more progress since you happened."

Jack didn't respond. Instead, he picked up his quill and dipped it in ink, his mind already drifting back to Elsa. He couldn't afford to lose focus—not on his work, not on the harsh winter ahead. But even as he tried to drown himself in paperwork, her image lingered in his thoughts, as constant and inescapable as the falling snow.

The fire in the hearth crackled softly, its warmth offering little comfort against the weight that had settled on Jack's shoulders.

His quill scratched the paper with mechanical precision, but his mind was elsewhere. He didn't want it to be, but it was—still tethered to her. Elsa.

Her face had been there all day, drifting through his thoughts like an insistent breeze that refused to be ignored. The way she looked at him when she spoke, like there was something she wanted to say but couldn't quite find the words.

The tremble in her voice that still haunted him.

He had spent most of the morning thinking about her, thinking about how she had spoken first two days ago. It had been such a small gesture—so small that at first, Jack hadn't quite realized how much it meant.

But now, he couldn't stop replaying it in his head, the cautious joy in her eyes. It was progress. The kind of progress that was rare and hard-won.

But still, progress wasn't enough. Not yet.

He shook his head, trying to focus on the stack of papers in front of him. The letters were piled high, waiting for his attention. Winter was coming, and there was still so much to do for the territory. Plans needed to be made, decisions needed to be implemented, and Jack had little room for anything else in his mind. He couldn't afford distractions—not with everything hanging in the balance.

But Elsa—Elsa had a way of slipping through the cracks of his thoughts, like a soft shadow that seemed to follow him wherever he went. He hadn't asked for this. He didn't need this. But he couldn't shake it.

"Your Grace," Jamie's voice broke through the thick fog in his mind. "You've been staring at the parchment for far too long, is there something bothering you about that particular document?"

Jack blinked, snapping back to the present. He hadn't realized he'd been sitting there, blankly staring at the report for the last several minutes.

"Sorry, just—" He ran a hand through his hair, his voice trailing off. "Got lost in thought."

Jamie raised an eyebrow but didn't push it. Instead, he picked up a stack of papers from the table and rifled through them.

"You know, if you spent as much time on these reports as you do brooding over Princess Elsa, we'd have this winter sorted by next week."

Jack's lips twitched, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "What's your point?"

Jamie sighed dramatically. "My point is that you're running yourself ragged. You've been working nonstop, and you're still distracted by her. Princess Elsa, I mean."

Jack's chest tightened at the sound of her name. "I'm not distracted."

"Right," Jamie said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Tell me again how you're not distracted when you've spent the last two hours staring at the same damn report. And no, your grace, you're not fooling anyone. You don't just 'forget' to send me documents you promised to get to me. Not unless you're thinking about something else."

Jack winced, his gaze shifting back to the papers. "I'm fine. Really."

Jamie leaned back in his chair, watching Jack with a knowing expression.

"You know, I've been your aide for years. But I've been your friend for more, Your Grace. If you want to keep lying to yourself, that's fine, but I'm not going to sit here and pretend I don't see it."

Jack clenched his jaw. He hated this. He hated how Jamie could see right through him—how easily his emotions were laid bare. But more than that, he hated how true Jamie's words were.

"Look," Jamie said, his voice softer now, "you care about her. You've been caring for her, looking after her, and you can't ignore that. It's there. And you're scared."

Jack's heart thudded painfully in his chest, the rhythm of it loud and heavy in his ears. He wanted to deny it. To say Jamie was wrong. But he wasn't wrong. It was there.

"I can't," Jack said quietly, his voice almost a whisper. "I can't afford to feel anything like that. Not now. Not with everything going on."

Jamie didn't respond immediately, letting the weight of Jack's words settle between them. Then he sighed, running a hand through his dark hair.

"I'm not going to pretend to understand everything you've got going on, Jack. But you can't keep running from this forever."

Jack met Jamie's gaze, his fingers tightening around his quill. "I don't have a choice. I'm engaged. I've made a promise."

Jamie's expression softened, and he leaned forward, his voice low. "But you're not engaged to her, are you? You're not even in love with her, are you?"

Jack closed his eyes, the weight of Jamie's words hitting him harder than he expected. "No," he said finally, but the word felt hollow.

He wasn't in love with Tatiana. Not ever. But that didn't matter.

"Then stop pretending," Jamie said, his tone more serious now. "Stop pretending that this isn't tearing you apart. Stop pretending that you don't care for the Princess. Because you do, and I can see it eating you alive."

Jack didn't respond. He couldn't. His thoughts were a whirlwind, and no matter how much he tried to control them, they always circled back to her.

Elsa.

She had her own demons. He knew that. He'd seen them, felt them in the brief moments she'd allowed herself to be vulnerable. And in those moments, she'd looked at him like he was the only person who understood.

But that wasn't his place.

"Jack?" Jamie's voice broke through his thoughts again. "What are you going to do?"

Jack didn't answer right away. His thoughts were a tangled mess, each thread pulling him in a different direction. He knew what he had to do, what he should do. But deep down, there was a part of him that didn't want to.

But he couldn't.

"I don't know," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know what to do."

Jamie leaned back, giving him a long look. "Well, now you have another thing to think about, my lord."

"I thought you were against…whatever this is?"

Jamie looked away. "I was. I still am. But I can't, as your friend, see you suffer this way. All I can offer you are comforting words, but ultimately, the decision is yours. Be kind to yourself, your grace."

Jack looked away, unable to meet Jamie's eyes. The storm inside him roared, but he couldn't let it out. Not yet. Not ever.

"I'll figure it out," he said, but the words tasted like ash in his mouth.

Jamie didn't press him further. He simply nodded, understanding the unspoken weight of the moment.

And Jack, for the first time in what felt like forever, let himself be swallowed by the silence.

Jack rubbed his temple, the headache from the endless paperwork threatening to overwhelm him. His desk was littered with plans, reports, and correspondence, all demanding his attention.

But right now, he just needed peace—his own space, his own time to breathe before the chaos of the day began. He was already thinking of his trip to Bjorgman manor, to see her, Elsa.

That was where his mind kept wandering—away from his duties, away from the constant grind of politics and obligations.

Jack leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes for just a moment, letting the silence envelop him. But that peace didn't last long.

BANG!

The study doors swung open so forcefully that the walls seemed to rattle, and Jack's peace evaporated instantly.

He knew that sound. He knew who it was before he even looked up.

It was his godmother, Countess Drahl, striding into the room like she owned the place, her eyes scanning the room with that same dismissive glint they always had. Behind her, as expected, was Tatiana, trailing in her wake with that smile—the one that never reached her eyes.

Jack sighed inwardly, pushing back the irritation that surged like a tidal wave inside him. He didn't have time for this. Not today. Not when everything was piling up, not when he was trying so hard to get a moment of clarity.

"Do you always greet your guests like this, Jackson?" Countess Drahl's voice was as sharp as a whip, cutting through the silence like a blade. She looked him up and down, her eyes narrowing as though she were assessing a piece of moldy bread.

"You look hideous, Jackson."

Her words landed like a stone sinking to the bottom of a cold lake. Jack's shoulders stiffened, but he forced a smile, a thin, strained thing that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"It's nice to see you too, Godmother."

She tilted her head, eyes flashing with mock surprise. "Is my presence exhausting to you?" She emphasized the word exhausting, as if it were a sin for her to intrude upon his work.

Yes.

Jack didn't answer immediately. He didn't need to. His blood was already starting to boil. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, resting his arms on the desk, trying to regain some semblance of control.

"Well, you came inside the mansion without prior notice," he said flatly, his voice carefully neutral. "It's not something I was expecting."

"Oh, I did send correspondence," she responded airily, dismissing him with a wave of her hand. "But I suppose your aide is too incompetent to pass it along."

Jack's jaw tightened, but he kept his tone steady. "I won't tolerate you being rude to my people, Godmother."

"Your people?" She scoffed, the word hanging in the air like an insult. "They are my people, Jackson. You would do well to remember that."

Before Jack could respond, Tatiana's voice chimed in, soft and sweet like honey—too sweet. He could already feel the bite beneath her words.

"Perhaps the Duke was just much too busy to notice, Mother," Tatiana said, her eyes flicking over to Jack with a smile that could freeze a fire. She knew exactly what she was doing. Her tone, so drenched in faux sympathy, made Jack's skin crawl.

"Ah, Tatiana," Countess Drahl said, her voice warm now, like the sun breaking through a cloud on a winter day. "You are the only one who understands me, dear."

Jack felt his temper rise, sharp and quick, like a wildfire catching in dry brush. The two of them. The way they always spoke to him—like he was a child in need of guidance, like they could push him around without consequences. But Jack wasn't a child. He was a Duke, and it was about time they realized that.

His fingers tightened on the arms of his chair as he forced a smile, keeping his voice calm but laced with steel. "Is this what you're here for?" He stood, taking a step toward the desk, his chest tight with the effort to keep his composure. "To criticize me?"

Countess Drahl's lips curled into a smirk, but she didn't argue further. Instead, she turned her attention back to Tatiana, who still had that same sugary smile plastered on her face.

Jack felt the distance between himself and the two women widen with each passing second. They were a suffocating fog, creeping into every corner of his life, and Jack was tired of it.

He turned away, grabbing a few of the papers from his desk and forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. But he could feel their eyes on him, like the weight of their expectations pressing down on him from every angle.

"So," Countess Drahl continued, her voice too sweet now, the kind of sweetness that made your teeth ache. "You are going to the Season Ball, aren't you?"

The words hung in the air, and Jack felt his gut twist. He didn't want to think about the wedding. Not right now. Not when there was so much unresolved.

"I was deciding not to attend," he said curtly, keeping his voice even. "I'm sure the Emperor wouldn't mind my absence."

"Nonsense!" Countess Drahl waved him off again, as though he were being tedious for no reason.

"You're going to leave your poor fiance alone at the end of the social season? You don't even accompany her to balls! What kind of disrespect is this?!"

Jack opened his mouth to say something. "You know I'm busy with work—"

"But you are able to visit that godforsaken mansion to…gallivant with that—that woman?!"

Jack didn't like the way woman sounded like an insult coming from his godmother's mouth. She was always so critical, so hateful towards anybody other than her beloved Tatiana.

"It's a special circumstance."

Tatiana's voice broke through again, sweet and sharp. "It's alright if he doesn't escort me, godmother. I can always go with one of my family's knights."

"That is simply unacceptable!" Countess Drahl turned to look at Jack, her eyes narrowing at him. "You," she said, "Go to the Season Ball! You have to appear with Tatiana. It is the only way to let the rumors die down! Do you know what people call you?!"

Jack heaved a sigh. "I could care less about what they call me, godmother."

"They call you a disgrace! A sorry excuse of a man!"

Jack stared at the papers in front of him, his blood boiling beneath the surface, his mind rebelling against the current conversation. He wasn't sure how much longer he could stand the suffocating weight of their presence in his life.

"Do you know what they call Tatiana?!"

"Mother—"

"They call her pitiful! That you are going to go back on your word!"

"Mother, I—"

Countess Drahl looked at Tatiana and shook her head. "No! You shouldn't take this sitting down, my darling! You have to fight! This is your rightful position!"

"Fine, I'll go to the Season Ball," he said finally, trying to end the conversation here so they would leave as quickly as they came in.

Tatiana gave a small, knowing smile. "You will?"

"Yes. I will go and escort you. But that's all." Jack wanted peace, that's all he wished for today.

But the one person who could offer him that peace was the one person he couldn't have.

"Great! That settles it then!" Countess Drahl clapped her hands in victory as she turned around. Her skirt billowed as she made her way out of the study. "Come now, Tatiana! Let's go get your mother and we shall shop for gowns. You shall be the prettiest star in the ball!" Her voice faded as she walked away, her heels clacking against the marble floors.

Tatiana lingered for a moment, her watchful eye on Jack. But Jack did not spare her a glance. And he did not relax until he heard the study doors close shut.