A COURT OF FROZEN HEARTS

"Think about it." His voice became softer, more persuasive. "Satiety or hunger. Comfort or suffering. Protection or defenselessness against Morphrost."

He walked to the door, placed his hand on the handle.

"The choice is yours."

"WAIT!"

The word burst out before I could think.

He stopped, slowly turned. A satisfied smile played on his lips.

I took a step forward, clenching my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms. The pain helped me focus.

"Answer me honestly." My voice grew stronger, filled with determination. "Why do you need me?"

He tilted his head, feigning incomprehension.

"I explained. So that…"

"No! NOT THAT!" I interrupted sharply. "Not this nonsense about 'companion' and 'protection.'"

Another step closer. Straight into his eyes, not looking away.

"Why do you REALLY need me?" The words poured out in a stream. "Fae hate humans. Despise them. Consider them inferior beings. I'll bore you. Quickly. In a week, a month, a year. And then what?"

My breathing quickened.

"What's the ending for ALL humans in your world?"

Silence. He stood motionless, his face impenetrable.

"I've read books." My voice trembled, but I continued. "I know the stories. Folk tales. Legends. People who stay in the fae world either go mad or die. Slowly. Painfully. From longing. From loneliness. From the incompatibility of worlds."

Tears burned my eyes, but I didn't let them fall.

"And what will happen to me when I bore you?" Quieter, but harder. "Will I lose my mind? Go feral? Or just die from homesickness, locked in a golden cage?"

He was silent, looking with an impenetrable expression. Only a muscle twitched in his jaw.

"Tell me honestly." One last effort. "WHY do you need me? This isn't just spite. Not just a desire to harm Morphrost because of the rivalry between Courts."

I looked straight into his green eyes, trying to read the truth.

"There's something deeper. Something personal." My voice became quieter. "You have personal scores to settle. Don't you?"

Long silence. He stood motionless, arms crossed over his chest, studying me. The muscles in his arms tensed, stood out under tanned skin. Then slowly, very slowly, he smiled. But the smile didn't reach his eyes—they remained cold, full of old, aged hatred.

"Smarter than I thought." He nodded, almost with respect. "Yes. We have personal scores. Very personal."

He approached closer—slow, deliberate steps. The floorboards creaked under bare feet.

"Morphrost killed someone." His voice became harder, each word precise, like a knife strike. "Very important to me. A hundred years ago. During the last war between our Courts."

Hatred flared in his green eyes—bright, almost physically tangible.

"And since then I've been looking for a way to hurt him." His hands clenched into fists. "Real pain. Not just annoy him. Not just humiliate him. Break him."

The air in the room seemed to thicken, became heavier.

"And you…" His gaze slid over me appraisingly. "You're his prey. His hunt. His obsession."

A step closer.

"He wants you. Very much. I see it in the marks." His finger jabbed toward my neck. "Only those who are truly important are marked this strongly. Who have taken a place in thoughts, under skin, in the very heart of magic."

His smile became predatory.

"And if I take you. Make you mine. Before the whole court. Publicly." His eyes lit with anticipation. "It will cause him pain. Rage. Humiliation that he'll remember for centuries."

He leaned down, his lips almost touching my ear. His breath scorched my skin.

"You're a weapon. The perfect way to take revenge." He whispered. "That's why I need you. Direct. Honest. As you asked."

He pulled back, looked into my eyes. Triumph splashed in his green eyes—he was enjoying the moment of confession.

"But that doesn't mean I'll be cruel to you." His voice became softer. "On the contrary. The better you have it with me, the stronger his pain will be. Understand?"

His hand touched my cheek—warm, almost tender.

"The happier you look. The more you smile at my court. The more obvious it is that you CHOSE me over him…" A smile. "The more it will hurt him."

Goosebumps ran over my skin. Not from pleasure. From the horror of understanding.

"You… you're using me." My voice broke.

"Yes." Simply. Without apology. "But aren't you using me in return? Protection. Safety. Food. Shelter."

He released my face, stepped back.

"We're using each other. It's a fair deal."

Cold logic. Cruel. True.

My mind weakly protested, but the words stuck in my throat.

Pause. Silence pressed on my shoulders, on my chest—physically tangible.

"Who?" My voice came out quieter than I wanted. "Who did he kill?"

Oberon's face turned to stone. Muscles tensed under skin, his jaw clenched so hard that his jawbones protruded.

"That's not your…"

"You're using me to take revenge." I stepped closer, not looking away. "It IS my business. I have the right to know what I'm paying for."

Long silence. I saw the struggle going on inside him—should he open up to a mortal? To an instrument of revenge?

Then he exhaled. Heavily, painfully—the way one exhales when opening an old wound.

"My sister." Quietly. Almost a whisper, but each word distinct. "He killed my younger sister."

The pain in his voice was real—not feigned, not for show. Real, deep, centuries-old.

"She was…" He turned away, looking out the window, through the colored glass at the gardens outside. "Innocent. Kind. Not a warrior. Not a schemer. Just… good."

His hands clenched into fists so hard his knuckles turned white, nails dug into his palms.

"She loved flowers. Music. Dancing. She laughed so infectiously that the whole court smiled when she passed by." His voice trembled. "She was only a hundred and sixty years old. A child by our standards. Almost a child."

He turned sharply, and I saw in his green eyes hatred—pure, concentrated, aged by a century.

"And he…" His voice became harder, as if each word cut his throat. "He tore her apart. With ice magic. Into pieces. Slowly. For amusement. Before the eyes of the entire court. During peace negotiations."

The air froze. I stopped breathing.

"We came asking for peace. To end the war. I brought her as proof of good intentions—to show we weren't afraid, that we trusted." Bitterness in his voice burned. "And he… he used it as weakness."

Oberon ran his hand over his face. His fingers trembled—barely noticeably, but I saw.

"He said it was a lesson. So we'd remember who was stronger. Who controlled these lands." He smirked—viciously, without mirth. "A lesson? He killed an innocent girl for a lesson."

Silence hung heavy, like a shroud.

"That's why I want to hurt him." His voice became quieter, more dangerous. "Real pain. The kind he'll remember until the end of his immortal life. So that every time he looks at you next to me, he feels what I felt when I held her torn body in my arms."

Something inside me stirred. Not pity—no, not quite. But understanding. Pain recognizes pain. Revenge for a murdered sister. A wound that won't heal over centuries.

"As for the ending…" He sighed, looking away, his shoulders dropping slightly. "Your ending in my lands."

Cold honesty returned to his voice.

"You're right. Humans can't live here forever." He shrugged—the movement tired, almost human. "Sooner or later you'll begin to wither. To long. To dry up, like flowers without water. It's inevitable. Your souls are bound to your world, to short, fast life. Here you're like fish pulled onto dry land."

He looked at me, and something like regret splashed in his eyes.

"But you have a choice." His voice became harder, more confident. "If after some time you want to leave, return to your world—I'll let you go. Through the gates. Home. To your life."

I laughed. Shortly, bitterly, harshly—the laugh echoed with pain in my chest.

"Like you let me go to the Borderlands?" Straight into his eyes, not looking away. "You ALREADY lied. You promised to take me there, but brought me here. Why should I believe you now?"

Oberon's face didn't change. Not a hint of shame, of remorse.

"Then I had no reason to keep my promise." Cold logic. "You were no one's. Free prey. I could take you without consequences, without breaking laws."

Pause. He crossed his arms over his chest.

"But if you agree to my terms—you'll become mine officially. By contract. By magical contract." His voice became more confident. "And I don't break contracts. Ever. A fae king's word isn't just words. It's law. Magical law that binds me as tightly as it binds you."

He took a step closer, his gaze not leaving my eyes.

"If I break my word given in a contract—I'll lose power. Magic. Authority over the court." Harshly, clearly. "That's not a threat I take lightly. Understand? When I give my magical word—I'm bound by it absolutely."

Cold logic. Relentless. True.

"When I get what I want…" He continued calmly. "When I take revenge on Morphrost, when he sees you next to me, happy, content, having chosen me…" He shrugged. "I won't need you anymore. Why keep an unnecessary toy? Why risk magic for someone who's already played their role?"

He smirked—without warmth, but without cruelty either. Just a statement of fact.

"I'll let you go. Without conditions. Through the gates, back to your world. You'll return to your life. I'll get my revenge. Everyone will be satisfied."

I looked at him, trying to understand—was he lying or not. Reading fae is impossible. Their faces, voices—everything is controlled by centuries of practicing lies and truths woven so tightly you can't tell where one ends and the other begins.

But the logic… the logic was iron.

His hand dropped, a final gesture.

"But until then you're mine. Under my protection. Safe from Morphrost." His voice became more confident. "Under my power, yes. But alive. Fed. Protected."

He turned toward the door, his movements smooth, unhurried—like someone who knows time is working for him.

"Think about it." He threw over his shoulder. "You have time. A night. Maybe more."

His hand landed on the door handle.

"And meanwhile…" He turned, green eyes glittered in the torchlight. "You'll starve. Here. Alone. Or you'll agree. And get food, comfort, safety. A warm bed. Protection from nightmares."

Pause. A smile—light, almost friendly, but cold.

"The choice is yours, darling. Always has been and will be."

The door opened soundlessly. He left, his movements unhurried, confident. Golden hair glittered in the last ray of light from the corridor.

The door closed. The lock clicked—quietly, but finally.

I was alone.

In a golden cage filled with the scent of roses and honey. Between two kings—one wants to break me, subjugate me, turn me into an obedient doll. The other—to use me as a weapon of revenge, a living reminder of pain.

I sank onto the edge of the bed, my legs gave way. My hands lay on my knees, fingers interlaced so tightly my knuckles turned white.

Silence pressed down. Hunger gnawed from within. Exhaustion weighed like a heavy blanket.

And I didn't know—absolutely didn't know—which option was worse.

I slowly lay on my side, pulling my knees to my chest. Soft pillows accepted my head, the silk coverlet chilled my skin through the thin dress.

I closed my eyes.

Tears burned, but I didn't let them fall.

Not now. Not here. Not for him.

***

A day passed. Or what seemed like a day in this cursed world where the sun never fully sets.

I sat by the window, hugging my knees, and looked at the gardens below. Beauty. Endless, perfect beauty. Flowers of every shade. Trees heavy with fruit. Fountains sparkling in the sun. Fae strolled along the avenues in light clothing, laughed and danced to music that came from somewhere far away.

Idyll.

And I sat in the tower, locked up, hungry and alone. My stomach cramped again.

There wasn't even water here. I'd searched the entire room. Nothing. Not a drop. My throat was parched. My lips cracked. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. I tried licking drops of condensation from the window, but the glass was dry and warm.

Magic. Even the air here obeyed magic.

The hours dragged endlessly. I lay on the bed, walked around the room, sat by the window. I tried not to think about food. About water. It didn't work.

My stomach contracted more and more strongly. My head began to spin. My limbs filled with weakness. I knew this was how it was designed. Oberon hadn't forgotten about me. Hadn't left me to die. He was pressing. Breaking my will. Forcing me to agree.

Classic torture—deprivation of basic needs.

And worst of all—knowing that food existed. Somewhere in this palace. Human food, safe for me. All I needed was to agree. Become his.

I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms.

No. I won't give in. Not so quickly. I have time. Four days until the seventh night. I'll hold out. I have to hold out.

***

Closer to evening the door opened. I jumped up from the bed, my heart beat faster. Oberon?

No.

A woman entered—that same Elaria, the captain of the guard. Golden hair braided, she wore a light tunic and trousers the color of foliage. In her hands—a tray.

The smell hit instantly.

Food. Warm bread. Roasted meat. Something sweet—pie or cake.

My mouth filled with saliva. My stomach cramped so hard I doubled over, clutching my stomach.

Elaria placed the tray on the table by the window, not looking at me. Mechanical, indifferent movements.

I stared at the tray, unable to look away. Bread—golden brown, with a crispy crust, steam rising from it. Meat—juicy, on the bone, with the aroma of spices and smoke. Fruit. Apples, pears, something like peaches. A pitcher. With water, probably. Or wine.

"Is this… is this from my world?"

My voice came out hoarse, as if someone else's.

Elaria finally looked at me. Her face cold, indifferent.

"No."

My heart sank.

"This is food from our world. The Summer Court. If you eat—you'll be bound. You won't be able to return."

Pause.

"But if you're hungry—eat. The king allowed me to offer it."

She turned toward the door.

"WAIT!"

She stopped, not turning around.

"Where… where's the human food? He said he had it!"

"He does. But you'll only get it if you agree to the king's offer."

She left. The door closed.

I was alone. With a tray of food three steps away from me.

I looked at the tray. Then at the closed door. Understanding came slowly but surely.

Oberon had said he had HUMAN food. For merchants. For diplomats. But he's sending me FAE food. On purpose. So I'd break faster. Choose between hunger and binding to this world.

Bastard.

He's not just using hunger as a weapon. He's using my very nature against me.

Fury flared—hot, cleansing. Does he think I'm that stupid? Does he think I'll break in one day?

No. No way.

The smell filled the room, penetrated my nostrils, drove me crazy. I approached closer. Slowly. My hands reached out on their own. The bread was warm. I felt the heat emanating from it. Just one piece. One small piece. Ease the hunger. Gather strength.

My fingers touched the crust.

NO.

I jerked my hand back as if from fire. Fae food. Would bind me to this world forever. I wouldn't be able to return home. Ever. Even if I survived until the seventh day, even if I reached the gates. They wouldn't open. Because I'd already be part of this world.

I stepped back from the table, pressing my hands to my chest.

I won't. I won't do it. Better hunger. Better thirst. But I'll go home. To Mom. To Chloe. To my life.

I turned my back, returned to the bed and lay down, pulling the blanket over my head. I closed my eyes. Don't look. Don't smell. Don't think.

But the smell seeped through. Persistent. Tempting. My stomach contracted more and more strongly.

I clamped my hand over my mouth, suppressing the urge to vomit.

Elise, hold on. Just hold on.

***

Another night passed. Or what I thought was night—it was impossible to tell time here. The sun shone always. Always.

I lay on the bed, curled up in a ball. Hunger had turned into a constant dull pain spreading through my entire body. My stomach clenched in spasms. My head spun. Weakness filled my limbs with lead.

The tray of food still stood on the table. The bread had hardened. The meat had cooled. But the smell remained—persistent, intrusive, maddening.

I won't. I won't.

The door opened again.

I didn't even lift my head. Let him. Let him come. Let him watch me die of hunger. I won't give in.

Footsteps approached. Light, almost soundless. The scent of honey and spices washed over me in a wave.

Oberon.

"Ellie." His voice soft, almost concerned. "You haven't touched the food."

Silence.

"Stubborn." A sigh. "Too stubborn for your own good."

I opened my eyes. Threw off the blanket. Sat up, meeting his gaze.

"Go away."

My voice came out hoarse—from thirst, from hunger. But firm.

He stood by the door, arms crossed over his chest, studying me. His green eyes shone in the semi-darkness—bright, almost glowing.

"How long will you hold out?" Calmly. Assessing. "A day? Two? Three?"

Pause. He tilted his head.

"Humans are weak. Your bodies can't survive long without water." Another step closer. "And without food."

He crouched down beside the bed so we were at eye level. His face close, too close. The honey scent enveloped me again.

"You're already weakening. I see it." His hand rose, touched my cheek—warm, soft. "Skin paling. Eyes losing their brightness. Lips cracking."

His thumb stroked my lower lip, the touch light as a feather.

"Soon you'll start losing consciousness. Hallucinating. The body will begin to shut down. Organs will fail."

He removed his hand, straightened up.

"And for what?" Louder now, harder. "Pride? Stubbornness? The illusion of freedom?"

Silence hung heavy between us.

"You have a choice." His voice became softer again, more persuasive. "Agree. Eat. Drink. Live. Or die here slowly, torturously, alone."

He walked to the table, picked up a piece of bread. Broke off a small piece. The crust crunched.

"It's simple." He held out the piece to me. "One bite. That's all. One bite, and the suffering ends."

I turned away, pressing my cheek into the pillow.

"I won't eat fae food."

"Then you'll die."

Simply. A statement of fact.

"So be it."

He was silent for a long moment. I heard his breathing—calm, even. Then footsteps toward the door.

"As you wish."

The door opened. Closed.

I was alone again.

***

Time blurred. I no longer knew if it was day or night. The light outside the window remained constant—that eternal golden glow.

Hunger turned into agony. My stomach cramped so violently I couldn't straighten up. My head pounded. My vision blurred at the edges. Weakness made even sitting up an effort.