Blood dripped from the tip of the silver rapier, leaving dark, round spots on the white stone hallway. Sweat soaked the collar of his black tunic, clinging to his skin like a second shadow. Step after step, Prince Levi Ackerman moved through the grand corridors of the Eldian palace. Servants pressed themselves against the walls, heads bowed, breath held in sheer terror. They knew better than to look at the empire's deadliest weapon when he was in this state. Guards saluted as he passed, their armor clinking nervously. Levi ignored them all, his gaze locked straight ahead. His knuckles were white around the hilt of his weapon. Earlier, a rebellion sympathizer had tried to draw a blade in the throne room. Levi had ended the threat in three seconds flat, without even blinking. His heart hadn't accelerated once during the execution. Recalling the rebel's final words, choked with blood, Levi felt a cold disgust. "You are a monster, Ackerman. A crown of cold iron is all you will ever wear." Only one person in this entire cursed kingdom could make his pulse race. Only one person had the power to make him feel alive, or utterly dead. Growing up in the cold shadow of the royal family, Levi had learned early that affection was a weakness. His father, the King, had treated him as nothing more than a tool to secure the throne's absolute power. His mother had passed away before he could even remember her voice. Neglect had carved a deep, hollow void inside his chest, one that he had tried to fill with the mastery of the blade. He had become the ultimate weapon, feared by allies and enemies alike. Eventually, Irene had entered his life. Turning a sharp corner, he bypassed the royal chambers and headed straight toward the glass dome of the conservatory. Sunlight streamed through the glass panels, illuminating the exotic flowers imported from the southern colonies. Political tension was rising in Eldia, with factions whispering of rebellion and treason at every corner. The Duke of Lorraine, Irene's father, was at the center of it all. He was a cunning fox, using his daughter's impending marriage to the crown prince to solidify his own grip on the empire. Levi knew the Duke's game. He knew the man was using Irene's emotional distance as a weapon, keeping her isolated and cold to manipulate Levi's desperate need for her. Every meeting with the Duke was a battle of wits. The old man would smile, hint at Irene's delicate health, and then demand more land, more titles, more control over the royal military. Yet, he couldn't stop himself from playing along. His obsession with Irene had grown from a spark into a consuming fire, threatening to burn down everything he had ever built. Quietly, he pushed the heavy brass doors of the conservatory open. Sweet scents of jasmine and damp earth filled his lungs, a sharp contrast to the metallic tang of blood clinging to his clothes. Irene was there, just as she always was at this hour. Sitting near a bed of white roses, Irene de Lorraine held a leather-bound book in her delicate lap. Her pale gold hair was pinned up, revealing the elegant curve of her neck. She looked like a painting, perfect and entirely untouchable. "My lady," Levi murmured, his voice rough and low. Slowly, she looked up from her page. Her eyes, cool and clear like winter ice, met his intense stare. A polite, practiced smile immediately curved her lips. "Your Highness," she replied, her voice soft and perfectly modulated. "You look disheveled. Has something occurred?" A muscle ticked in his jaw. Anger, cold and desperate, flared deep in his chest. He hated that polite tone. He hated the flawless mask she wore every time he entered the room. "A minor annoyance," Levi said, stepping closer. His boots clicked sharply against the marble floor. "Nothing for you to worry about." Her gaze drifted down to his hand, noting the blood dripping from his rapier. She didn't gasp. She didn't flinch. Her expression remained as smooth and unreadable as polished glass. --- "You should wash before the evening banquet," Irene suggested, closing her book with a soft thud. "Your father expects you to present a proper image to the visiting dignitaries." "Let them wait," Levi growled, closing the distance between them. He stood over her, casting a long shadow across her lap. Instantly, the space between them felt suffocatingly small. He wanted to pull her into his arms, to hold her so tightly that her ribs would ache, just to prove she was real. He wanted to tear down the invisible wall she kept between them. Clattering loudly, the blood-stained rapier slipped from his fingers. It clattered against the white marble, leaving a smear of red across the pristine stone. He didn't care about the weapon. He didn't care about the blood. Dropping to his knees, Levi sank onto the cold floor before her. The feared prince, the master of the blade who had never bowed to anyone but the king, was now kneeling like a beggar. "Irene," he whispered, his hands trembling slightly as he reached toward her. "Look at me. Really look at me." Her hands remained folded neatly over her book. She looked down at him, her beautiful face showing nothing but mild, aristocratic concern. It was the same look she gave the palace servants. "I am looking at you, Your Highness," she said softly. "Do not call me that," he hissed, his jaw clenching so hard his teeth clicked. A thick vein throbbed at his temple. "How many times must I beg you? Say my name. Just once." "It would be highly improper," she replied. Her voice was a gentle, hollow breeze. "We are in a public space, and anyone could walk in. A prince must maintain his dignity." "To hell with my dignity!" Levi's voice cracked, a rare display of raw emotion that would have shocked the entire court. "We are betrothed, Irene. My heart is yours. My life is yours. I would burn this entire empire to ashes if you asked me to." Placing his hands on her knees, he leaned forward, desperately searching her eyes for any sign of warmth. There was nothing. Just a beautiful, frozen void. "Please," he pleaded, his voice dropping to a frantic whisper. "Just say it. Levi. Call me Levi." Smiling her perfect, rehearsed courtly smile, she gently patted his hand. "You are tired, Your Highness. Perhaps you should rest." Cold panic seized his chest, squeezing his lungs until he couldn't breathe. It was a suffocating sensation, far worse than any wound he had ever received on the battlefield. She was right here, within arm's reach, yet she felt a thousand miles away. "Why do you do this to me?" Levi whispered, his eyes dark with agony. "Do you despise me so much? Is my devotion a joke to you?" "Of course not," Irene said, her tone smooth and polite. "I am honored by your affection, Your Highness. I am merely trying to be a dutiful fiancée." Dutifully playing her part, she adjusted her skirts. The word felt like a poisoned dagger twisting in his ribs. He didn't want a dutiful fiancée. He wanted her soul. He wanted her fire. He wanted her to look at him with the same consuming madness that kept him awake at night. "I do not want your duty," Levi muttered, his fingers tightening against her dress. "I want you." --- Silence stretched between them, heavy and thick. Outside the conservatory, the distant sounds of the palace continued—the marching of guards, the laughter of noble ladies, the ringing of the courtyard bells. Inside, there was only the sound of Levi's ragged breathing. "Your father asked to see me earlier," Levi said, trying to find another way to pierce her armor. "He spoke of our wedding date. He wants to move it forward." "Did he?" Irene asked, her expression unchanging. "My father always thinks of the family's future. He is a very practical man." "He is a leech," Levi spat, his voice dropping to a dangerous quiet. "He uses you as a shield to secure his influence over the crown. He knows I would never let anything happen to you." "Perhaps," Irene murmured, looking down at her book. "But a daughter must obey her father, just as a subject must obey their prince." "I am not your prince when we are alone," Levi growled. He stood up, towering over her once more, his shadow consuming her completely. "I am your husband-to-be. I am the man who would tear the throat out of anyone who dares to look at you." "Such violent words," she chided gently, though her pulse didn't even quicken. "You must learn to control your temper, Your Highness. The court whispers enough about your ruthlessness." "Let them whisper," Levi said, his eyes narrowing. "Their opinions mean nothing to me. Your opinion is the only one that carries any weight in my world." Levi leaned closer. "You smile at the guards," he accused, his voice dropping to a desperate whisper. "You smile at the maids. You smile at my father. It is the exact same smile you give to me." "It is the smile of a Lorraine," Irene replied, her voice remaining perfectly even. "We are taught to be pleasant to everyone." Grabbing her hands, he squeezed. "I do not want you to be pleasant! I want you to hate me. I want you to scream at me. I want you to throw something at me. Just show me something real, Irene. Anything." "You ask for things I cannot give, Your Highness," she said, her eyes fixed on his hands. Tears of frustration pricked his eyes. "You are killing me," Levi breathed, his forehead resting against her knees. "Every day you look at me with those cold eyes, you carve another piece of my heart away. I am begging you. Just say my name." "Please, stand up," Irene said, her voice dropping a fraction of a degree. "If someone were to see you like this..." "Let them see," he roared, looking up at her with fierce, bloodshot eyes. "Let them see that the crown prince is a slave to his betrothed. Let them know that I would lay down my life, my title, and my sword at your feet if you would only love me back." She didn't blink. She didn't gasp. Her face remained a perfect, beautiful mask of polite concern. "You are overwrought," she said simply. "The stress of the rebellion is getting to you." "No," Levi whispered, his heart shattering into a thousand pieces. "The rebellion is nothing. You are the only war I am losing." Desperation drove him to reach out. Levi reaches out to touch her cheek, but Irene flinches, and her sleeve slips back to reveal a glowing, ancient rune burning into her wrist.

Chapter 1: A Crown of Cold Iron