Cold Hearts In Love.

The woman shrieked in fury, the sound piercing the air. The music faltered, and heads turned toward the scene, curiosity and alarm rippling through the crowd.

"Why?! Why?!" the woman screamed, her voice shaking with rage. She lunged again, but the man caught her wrist with practiced ease, twisting her arm until the knife clattered to the floor.

He forced her back with little effort, his expression calm—almost amused.

"Oh dear," he drawled, his tone mocking.

"That didn't go as planned, did it?"

"You vile monster!" the woman spat, her words laced with venom.

"You murdered my daughter, and you think you'll escape justice? How dare you? I will see you dead!" Everyone had stopped dancing and focused on the drama unveiled in front of them. 

"Never could I have foreseen such a spectacle this night," another muttered. 

"She seems unhinged!" came the low reply. "She must be grasping for someone to fault for her daughter's demise." 

"Aye, and such bold accusations against an innocent man should not go unanswered," added another.

Aurora remained rooted to the spot, her mind swirling with confusion and shock. Could there be truth to the woman's wild claims?

The man clicked his tongue, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"How unfortunate for her that I am far too lucky to meet such an end. You all bear witness to my providence." He turned to the guards, his tone commanding.

"Take her away."

The guards approached swiftly, seizing the woman as she fought against them, shrieking and thrashing.

"Release me, you fools! Curse you, you vile beast!" she cried, her voice echoing through the hall.

The gathered crowd murmured amongst themselves as the guards dragged her from the room, her protests growing faint.

"What just happened?" someone asked in disbelief.

"Did you witness that? Is he the prince?"

"Or perhaps the king himself?" Another gasped. 

Many pairs of eyes turned toward Aurora and the man, whispering with envy and wonder. If he truly were the Prince or even the King, they could hardly believe he had graced their gathering—and danced with Princess Lisa, no less.

Aurora swayed where she stood, a wave of dizziness washing over her. Though the wound on her hand was not deep, a strange darkness crept into her senses.

Her breath quickened as she realized the knife must have been laced with some black magic. Her vision blurred, and the sounds of the ballroom faded into silence as she collapsed.

When Aurora awoke, she found herself lying in a grand chamber, the softness of the bed beneath her almost enough to lull her back to sleep.

The mattress was adorned with fine silks, the likes of which she had never touched before. Slowly, she sat up, her body heavy and aching, likely the lingering effects of the black magic that had tainted the knife.

Her gaze wandered around the room, taking in the opulence. The carved wooden furniture was gilded with gold, and the curtains draped over the tall windows were rich velvet. It was a place fit for royalty—a dreamscape where she might fancy herself a king's cherished daughter.

Moments later, the door creaked open. The man from the ball entered, his attire unchanged. This time, however, he had removed his mask, revealing his face. Aurora's breath caught.

He was… captivating. His dark, wavy hair, slicked back neatly, reached just below his shoulders. His crimson eyes seemed as fathomless as the ocean, glinting with both mystery and power.

His jaw was sharp and well-formed, framing high cheekbones, and his straight, noble nose added to his almost otherworldly perfection.His full lips curved into a faint, knowing smirk, as though he was fully aware of the effect his presence had on her. 

"Should I be worried?" he asked, his tone laced with amusement as he caught the intensity of her gaze. 

Aurora quickly cleared her throat and turned her face away, her cheeks warming. Those crimson eyes seemed to ensnare her, drawing her in like a siren's song, and she did not like it.

Her gaze wandered instead to the grand room around her, the opulence confirming her suspicions. He was no ordinary man. He was either a prince or—heaven help her—the king himself. 

She glanced back at him just as he strode forward, pausing before the bed where she sat. Without hesitation, he seated himself at the edge, his posture relaxed but his crimson gaze sharp. 

"You asked for my name earlier," he began, his voice low and measured, as though testing the waters.

"It is Stephen. King Stephen." 

Aurora blinked, she expected that, but it still surprised her. A soft, incredulous laugh escaped her. "You cannot possibly expect me to believe that," she said, shaking her head. 

"Not everyone hides behind false titles, Princess Lisa," he replied smoothly, a teasing edge to his tone. She couldn't help but notice his demeanor was markedly different now—guard lowered, the sharp edges of his formality dulled.

Her cheeks warmed, and she lowered her gaze, speaking softly.

"I only played along with what others assumed." 

"And did you think it wise to do that?" he countered, his expression unreadable as he studied her. 

"Of course not," she admitted, her voice sharp with self-reproach. Her gaze grew intense as she continued, "But I had little choice.

That excuse, however, has unraveled spectacularly. I rushed to save a man I barely knew, and in the process, nearly lost my own life." 

Stephen raised a brow, his amusement plain. "Commendable. And as fate would have it, you saved your king. A rare fortune, indeed." 

Aurora narrowed her eyes at him.

"You are not nearly as funny as you seem to think." 

"Good," he replied with a slight smile, "for I am no jester." 

How could she have been so blind? The realization settled over her like a weight, leaving her both flustered and dismayed. How had she, who prided herself on being perceptive, failed to recognize the king himself? 

"I thank you for your hospitality, however you don't need to reward me and I would like to take my leave," she said carefully. 

He leaned forward, his gaze sharpening.

"I am not certain you'll wish to leave once you hear what I have to say." 

Her frown deepened. "What is that supposed to mean? Are you about to declare I'm some long-lost princess you've suddenly discovered?" 

His smile widened, faintly amused. "An entertaining notion, but no." 

"Then speak plainly, Your Majesty." 

"Very well," he said, his tone turning serious.

"You risked your life to save mine. Such bravery does not go unrewarded. I am no ingrate. It is only fitting that I grant you a gift." 

Her brow furrowed, suspicion creeping into her expression.

"What sort of gift?" 

"One that will ensure you stay," he replied sharply, the corners of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. 

Silence stretched between them, thick with tension. Aurora's eyes flicked to the door, half expecting a servant to enter, arms laden with some priceless treasure.

When no one came, she turned back to him, confusion etched across her face.

"If I may ask, where is this supposed gift?" 

King Stephen let out a sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose as though her question caused him some great vexation.

"The gift, my dear, is before your very eyes." 

Her gaze swept over the chamber, her brows knitting in bewilderment.

"You mean… this room? Are you gifting me this house?" 

He let out a soft laugh, a sound laced with exasperation.

"I am sitting right before you," he said, his voice dry. 

She stared at him blankly.

"And?" 

His brow lifted, waiting for the weight of his words to settle. Aurora's eyes widened, and her breath caught as realization dawned.

"Absolutely not." 

"Indeed, yes," he countered smoothly, his voice carrying the authority of a man accustomed to having the last word.