Page 99 of The Alien's Cruel Starfrost Domain

Let them all fear what’s coming.

“You know,” she says as we approach the ballroom, “for a moment there, I almost believed you actually care for that human girl.”

I smile, and she flinches at whatever she sees in my expression. “By morning, none of this will matter.”

She opens her mouth to respond, but we’ve reached the doors. Time to begin the performance.

The one that will end in blood.

The crop remains cold in my grip as we enter the ballroom. I scan the crowd, noting positions, marking targets. The couple who hurt Lara stand near the buffet, heads bent together in conversation.

Enjoy your last hours, I think.Soon enough, you’ll learn exactly what happens to those who dare touch what’s mine.

First, though, I have a ball to host. A performance to complete.

And then?

Then I’ll paint this room in death and call it justice.

The massive double doors swing open at our approach, and I guide Uanna into my ballroom with practiced grace despite the tension thrumming through my body.

The riding crop remains cold in my free hand as we pause in the entrance, allowing the assembled court to take in our arrival.

Uanna is resplendent in her blood-red gown. She knows exactly what she’s doing—what we’re both doing—by displaying such a bold declaration of allegiance. Her hand rests lightly on my arm, but I can feel the slight tremor in her fingers. She may have agreed to play this role, but she’s smart enough to be afraid.

The musicians falter for just a moment before transitioning into a formal processional. Around us, conversations dim as the court takes note of our entrance. I watch their reactions ripple through the crowd—the raised eyebrows, the knowing smirks, the calculated reassessments of alliances.

“Shall we circulate?” Uanna’s voice holds just the right note of intimate amusement, as if we share some private joke.

I incline my head slightly. “Let’s give them something to talk about.”

We move through the crowd with measured steps, pausing here and there to exchange greetings. Everyone wants to know why Prince Jonyk isn’t here, of course, but they’re too well-trained to ask directly.

“Such a lovely gathering,” Naery, one of Lady Qarine’s companions, simpers. “Though we did hope to see His Highness...”

“His Highness sends his deepest regrets,” I reply. “Though we are honored by the presence of his entourage. Almost like having court in my own home.”

The woman’s pale eyes narrow slightly. “How fortunate that Lady Uanna could...step in to help host.”

Uanna’s laugh chimes through the room. “How fortunate indeed.”

We move on before the questions can become more pointed.I note the position of every exit, every servant, every potential threat. The couple who dared touch Lara continue to hover near the buffet, and I tighten my grip on the crop to keep from freezing them where they stand.

Not that I’m sure I even could. Next to the offending couple at the buffet, another noble raises his wine glass in a toast. The liquid inside should be the perfect temperature, cooled to perfection—even the lowest Icecaix can maintain the proper temperature in a simple glass.

But when he tips it back, his face contorts in disgust.

“Too warm,” he mutters to his companion. He passes his hands over the glass once, twice, three times before the wine develops even a thin layer of frost.

Others around him are having similar troubles. I watch them struggle with this basic magic, see them exchange worried glances when they think no one is watching. The proud Icecaix court, reduced to drinking wine at practically human temperatures.

It would be amusing if it weren’t so terrifying.

“Your Lordship.” A minor lord whose name I can’t be bothered to remember interrupts my musing and bows deeply. “We were just discussing the remarkable ice sculpture.”

Ah yes, the firelord sculpture. I’d positioned it deliberately, knowing how it would unsettle them all. “A tribute to our...neighbors,” I say mildly.

The lord’s face pales further, if possible. “Bold choice.”

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