Page 28 of The Alien’s Cruel Starfrost Domain (Empire of Frost and Flame #1)

CHAPTER 28

IVRAEL

“ T he prince’s absence changes nothing.” Vazor’s scales shimmer in the dim candlelight as I lead him and his younger friend down the stairs.

“It changes everything,” I counter, keeping my voice low. “We’ll have to be more precise. More ruthless.”

“I thought ruthlessness was your specialty.” His reptilian eyes glitter. “Or has your pet human softened you?”

My fingers twitch with the urge to freeze his blood in his veins. “Focus on the plan.”

“Of course. Though I still think we should wait?—”

“No.” Ice crystals form in the air around us. “It has to be tonight. Before anyone else suspects.”

Vazor’s scales ripple with something like amusement. “You mean before your pretty servant figures it out?”

This time I do let my power flare, dropping the temperature until even the firelords shiver. “The timing is perfect. We proceed as planned.”

Vazor holds up his hands in mock surrender, but his smile shows too many teeth. “As you wish. Though I hope you know what you’re doing, binding yourself to this course.”

“I know exactly what I’m doing. Be ready for my signal.”

“Oh, I will be.” His voice drops to a rumble. “This should be quite the party.”

I leave the two of them there on the landing, knowing they'll find their own way from here. Vazor’s had enough practice sneaking in and out of my manor by now.

Making my way toward the ballroom, I pass a cluster of court ladies huddled near a mirror, frantically passing their hands over their faces.

The glamour spells that usually maintain their ethereal beauty are slipping, revealing hints of their true ages. One woman’s silver-white hair shows strands of gray at the roots. Another’s perfect porcelain complexion develops fine lines around her eyes.

“It’s never been this difficult before,” one whispers, her voice tight with panic as she attempts to recast the spell for the third time. The magic takes hold briefly, smoothing her features, but begins to fade almost immediately.

“Use mine,” her companion offers, holding out a crystal compact. Such magical objects were once considered gauche, a crutch for those too weak to maintain their own glamours. Now half the court seems to be clutching similar tokens.

I find Uanna waiting in the vestibule as arranged, resplendent in a blood-red gown that seems to absorb the light. The color should look garish against her ice-pale skin, but somehow she makes it work.

Whatever she’s doing to enhance her youthful looks, it’s still working.

For now. While she’s actually still young.

She extends her hand. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten me.”

“Never.” I brush my lips across her knuckles, noting how her pulse jumps at the contact. She may suspect my motives, but her attraction remains genuine.

But before I can escort her into the ballroom, voices approach .

“Your Lordship!” The shorter of a vaguely familiar Icecaix couple steps forward, his childlike size belying his malicious smile. “Just the person we hoped to see.”

His companion, a woman in a transparent gown, laughs. “We wanted to compliment you on your household arrangements. Especially that delicious little human of yours.”

My vision whites out for a moment as frost crawls across the floor. “I beg your pardon?”

“Oh, don’t be coy.” The male’s bulbous eyes gleam. “We had such fun with her earlier. Though we didn’t quite finish what we started.”

“Such a shame to waste her,” the woman adds. “We thought, after the ball perhaps...” She trails off suggestively.

“If you don’t mind, of course.” The male bows, managing to make the gesture both mocking and proper. “We’d hate to damage your property without permission. Though she won’t be particularly useful afterward.”

Uanna’s laugh rings out, sharp and cold. “Careful. His Grace is rather...protective of that particular servant.”

“Is he?” The woman’s smile turns cruel. “How fascinating. Tell me, Your Lordship, do you always get so attached to your pets before they break?”

Ice crackles beneath my boots as I struggle to contain my fury. A newcomer enters—one of Jonyk’s courtiers, carrying a riding crop. Without breaking eye contact with the creatures who apparently tried to hurt Lara—or perhaps actually did—I hold out my hand.

“Your crop, if you please.”

The courier hands it over without question. My fingers wrap around the leather handle, squeezing until my knuckles whiten. The physical sensation helps ground me, keeps me from unleashing my power here and now.

The temperature continues to drop. Frost forms on Uanna’s gown, on the smaller Icecaix’s fangs, on the woman’s transparent dress.

“Your Lordship?” Uanna’s voice holds a note of concern now. Perhaps she’s remembering what happened to Svalkat.

The male takes a step back. “ We meant no offense?—”

“Of course not.” My voice emerges quiet and precise. “How could I take offense at such a...courteous request?” The crop creaks in my grip. “Though I’m afraid I must decline. I have other plans for my servant.”

“Other plans?” The woman’s nervousness doesn’t quite hide her disappointment. “What a pity.”

“I’m sure.” I gesture toward the ballroom doors with my free hand. “Shall we?”

They withdraw, casting uncertain glances over their shoulders. Uanna remains by my side, though she’s careful not to touch me.

“Well.” Her attempt at lightness falls flat. “That was dramatic.”

I don’t respond. In my mind, I’m already watching them writhe in agony. Their deaths were always part of the plan, but now... Now it’s personal.

“Shall we make our entrance?” Uanna asks when the silence stretches too long.

I offer my arm, shoving down the rage still coursing through me. “Of course.”

She takes it, though her fingers tremble slightly. Good. Let her be afraid.

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.

T he 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.”

“I’ve always found boldness serves well in these times.” I guide Uanna past him before he can respond.

She leans closer, her breath frosting against my ear. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Shouldn’t I?” I pause to acknowledge another courtier’s greeting. “It’s not every day one hosts such an...explosive gathering.”

Her fingers dig into my arm. “Careful, darling. Someone might think you’re plotting something.”

“Would I do that?”

“You’re plotting something right now.” She keeps her smile perfectly fixed. “I just haven’t figured out what. ”

Before I can respond, she spots one of her closer allies. “Oh, there’s Lady Madrille. You don’t mind if I...?”

“Of course not.” I lift her hand from my arm and brush my lips across her knuckles. “Don’t stray too far.”

Her eyes narrow at the warning in my tone, but she glides away with perfect grace. I note how the crowd subtly shifts around her. Everyone wondering what her presence at my side might mean.

I make my way toward the dais, exchanging brief greetings as I go. The crop taps against my leg with each step, a drumbeat reminder of what’s to come.

Soon. Very soon.

That’s when I feel it—the weight of her gaze on me. I don’t need to look up to know Lara watches from the gallery above the balcony. Her presence pulls at me like a lodestone, warm and vital among all this ice.

Maintaining my carefully controlled expression, I lift my gaze to where she hides in the shadows. Even in the dim light, I can make out the gleam of her golden-red curls, the way she leans forward slightly as if drawn despite herself.

Does she sense what’s coming? Some part of me hopes she does. Hopes that tonight will finally be the night her power manifests—that the horror of what’s about to happen will shock her into her true nature.

Or perhaps I simply want her to understand why I must do this. Why I’ve orchestrated this entire evening, knowing it will end in blood and pain.

I mount the dais steps, turning to survey my gathered guests. So many plots and schemes, so many careful plans, all about to end.

And not a moment too soon. Even as I watch, the ballroom’s perfect frost layer begins to thin, patches of floor showing through where hundreds of dancing feet have worn away ice that should instantly replenish itself.

The Icecaix guests pretend not to notice, but they can’t hide their discomfort as the temperature creeps above its customary sub-zero chill.

Near one wall, one of the footmen attempts to reinforce the cooling spell. Frost spreads from his feet, but doesn’t go far before petering out.

The effort leaves him pale and shaking.

“Perhaps we could open some windows,” one of the young men near the dais suggests. The desperate edge in his voice betrays the truth no one wants to admit: even the Icecaix’s most basic ability—to maintain cold—is deserting them.

A drop of water falls from the ceiling, striking a countess’s elegant coiffure. The lady pretends not to notice as it slides down her neck, but her smile becomes fixed, brittle.

It’s time to reinstate Trasq’s magic.

Past time.

My gaze drifts up again, seeking out Lara. Even from across the ballroom, I can sense her. The Caixlights reflect off her skin differently than they do other humans—a subtle luminescence that speaks to her heritage. To anyone else, she appears ordinary. A servant girl watching the festivities from the shadows.

But I know better.

Her scent reaches me even here—distinct from the press of Icecaix bodies surrounding me. Different from humans, too. Most humans smell of earth and iron, mortality made flesh. But Lara’s scent carries winter frost and summer stars, the legacy of her doubly royal Caix bloodline.

The bloodline only she and her sister, as the last remaining direct descendants of King Caix, carry.

I watch her watching me, and for a moment I allow myself to imagine a different future. One where I could tell her the truth. Where her power could bloom naturally, not be torn from her in sacrifice.

But such dreams are dangerous. I have chosen my path. Tonight will set events in motion that cannot be undone.

Still, as I turn away, her scent lingers. A reminder of everything I stand to gain—and everything I must destroy to achieve it.

She’s still there, still watching. Still powerless .

Still mine.

I raise my hand, and the musicians fall silent. The crowd turns toward me expectantly, not knowing they’re about to witness their own destruction. My grip tightens on the crop as I prepare to welcome them all to their deaths.

One last glance up at Lara. One last hope that she’ll finally awaken to what she truly is.

But no matter what happens next, I know this night will change everything. By morning, nothing will ever be the same. I just pray she and I both survive what I’m about to do.

“Welcome,” I call out, my voice carrying to every corner of the ballroom. “Welcome to Starfrost Manor.”

The end begins now.