The Ice King

My father was an icy man—cold and merciless—and this war was proof of that down to the very last, bitter detail.

I took a sip of tea, savoring the warmth that chased away the chill, if only for a moment. A quiet laugh slipped out, bitter and soft.

All eyes at the table shot toward me, sharp with resentment, masked barely by the weariness etched into every face.

Their expressions simmered, caught between anger and impatience, as if daring me to justify why they were still here—why we were about to send our last forces in a final, desperate assault against an enemy that refused to break.

The general, an old hawk of a man with a permanent scowl and scarred hands, finally broke the silence, his voice crackling with restrained anger.

"Lady Valery," he began, his tone steady but simmering, "the soldiers are ready. They await only your word."

I met his stare head-on, noting the concern shadowing his eyes. He was a soldier, a leader, and even he couldn't hide the fear that the soldiers around him felt but would not dare voice.

"Of course they are," I replied, allowing myself a brief, almost mocking smile. "After all, what choice do they have?"

A ripple of frustration shifted through the room. The general's mouth tightened, and for a split second, I thought he might challenge me. Instead, he looked away, hands clenching at his sides.

"Do you think this is a game, Lady Valery?" A younger captain muttered from the far end of the table, his voice barely more than a whisper.

His jaw was clenched tight, eyes flashing with barely concealed outrage. "We've lost hundreds for this. How many more before you decide we've done enough?"

"Careful," the general growled, shooting the captain a warning glare.

I turned, letting my gaze sweep across each of them, slowly, deliberately.

They wanted answers, something to ease the weight pressing on their shoulders—on all of us.

I could feel the bite of their resentment, though they struggled to contain it. If only they knew the truth.

"None of you understand, do you?" I said, my tone quiet yet cutting. "This isn't about numbers or strategy. This is about finishing what my father started. You've all seen the kind of man he is—the same as the one he demands I become."

I paused, letting the words sink in, watching as some shifted uncomfortably. "This war isn't mercy. And there's no room for mercy in its end."

A heavy silence settled over the table, but there was no denying the tension now.

They were angry, all of them, and though they fought to suppress it, their resentment boiled beneath the surface.

"My lady," another advisor ventured cautiously, "we understand the stakes. But many of these soldiers—our best men—are gone, and our resources are near spent. If we push them beyond what they can bear—"

"Do you think I don't know that?" My voice was sharp, cutting off his protest.

"These men—these sacrifices—are the price of war. Every decision I make is calculated, deliberate. I am not here to entertain doubts."

The general leaned forward, his gaze unyielding.

"Then perhaps you could explain why you insist on holding back the troops, Lady Valery," he said, barely masking his frustration.

"Our scouts report three soldiers across the river. Three, against a thousand. How can we justify hesitation to the men who have already lost so much?"

For a moment, I was silent, meeting his stare evenly. "Because this war was never meant to spare us from suffering, General," I replied coolly.

"My father ensured that. Those three soldiers have carved through hundreds of us. Underestimating them would be a fool's mistake."

The captain looked away, his jaw clenched, biting back whatever words he dared not say aloud. Resentment, thick and bitter, radiated from them all.

"And what of your father, my lady?" one of the older advisors asked, his voice just loud enough to challenge.

"You speak of his decisions, his ruthlessness. But where does that leave us when we follow you?"

I set down the teacup and leaned forward, my gaze icy. "It leaves you alive, Advisor. Whether or not that is a mercy is for you to decide."

Another silence stretched, taut as a bowstring.

They would follow; they had no choice, and they knew it.

But I could see the embers of anger smoldering in their eyes, the quiet fury of soldiers who felt like pawns in a game they could never fully understand.

With a final, sharp look, I straightened, letting the air settle. "Gather the troops," I ordered, feeling the weight of finality. "It's time."

They rose from the table, one by one, stifling whatever anger and doubt lingered, and left to ready the men.

***

Our army marched to the river's edge, a thousand soldiers in gleaming armor forming an iron line against the pale, wintry sky.

Across the frozen river stood three lone figures—Rosen at the center, flanked by Aubrey and Vally, their stances defiant, unmoving.

Behind me, I could hear the whispers of disbelief rippling through the ranks. A thousand against three.

It should have been laughable, but somehow… it wasn't.

I raised a hand, signaling my troops to halt.

The air was thick with anticipation, as though the river itself was holding its breath.

I could feel my soldiers' confusion, the questioning glances cast my way.

They'd expected a brutal, overwhelming charge, a quick slaughter of whatever resistance remained. But I knew better.

"Stay back," I commanded, my voice firm and resolute. "They're mine."

With my sword drawn, I stepped forward, crossing the icy stretch of river alone, feeling every eye on me as I approached.

Rosen watched me come with a calm, calculating look. Aubrey stood beside him, unreadable, and Ally's lips quirked into the faintest hint of a smirk.

Once I was close enough, I stopped and looked Rosen directly in the eyes.

"Well," I said with a faint, ironic smile, "it seems the three hundred soldiers we sent before weren't much of a match."

Rosen shrugged. "Weaklings," he replied coldly.

I let out a soft laugh, then narrowed my gaze. "Do they know?" I asked, casting a quick glance toward Aubrey and Ally.

He turned to them, giving a slight nod. "They know." Then he turned back to me, his expression hardening. "So, Valery, what now?"

Sighing, I raised my sword, my grip tightening. "We fight. I lose, you capture me. Then you deal with the army behind me."

Aubrey took a step forward, her eyes flickering with an edge of confusion. "You realize that army behind you… they're all going to die."

"I'm aware," I replied coolly. "They're loyal to the king. Loyal to a man who's done nothing but poison this kingdom, who's willing to burn everything down to keep his grip on power."

My voice lowered, the words laced with bitterness. "They serve a man who would kill his own wife if it served his purpose."

I gave a subtle wave of my hand, signaling a retreat to the troops behind me, though I knew full well my father had given strict orders for them to advance.

Let them see. Let them witness my final stand.

Turning back, I allowed myself a small, grim smile. "I can't afford emotion, not when the fate of the kingdom is at stake. But don't forget—my father still waits beyond the river."

Ally nodded slightly, her eyes glinting. "The Ice King indeed."

Rosen's grip tightened on his weapon as he bent his knees, his stance shifting. "Well then," he murmured, eyes locked onto mine. "Let's finish this."