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{ The next day}
The air in the high peaks of the Elite Mountains was thin, biting, and smelled of woodsmoke and ancient stone. Inside a secluded cave reinforced with shimmering Western mana wards, Celine stirred. The transition from the terrifying cellar to this warm, fur-lined cot was too jarring for her traumatized mind to process.
As her eyes fluttered open, the first thing she saw was a masculine silhouette sitting by the fire. The trauma of Lily's brutes flashed before her eyes—the laughter, the heavy hands, the stifling gag. Her breath hitched, coming in ragged, panicked gasps.
The figure stood up. It was Prince Lowell. To the world, he was a runaway man in his twenties, but in reality, he was only thirteen. He had used a forbidden Western illusion spell to stretch his height and sharpen his jawline, hiding his youth to survive the cutthroat mountain trails.
"You're finally awake," Lowell said, his voice deep but carrying a hint of the boyish crack he couldn't quite mask with magic.
Celine didn't speak. Her left eye flared a violent, instinctual red. The fear in her gut translated into a raw, desperate surge of power. With a sharp cry, she thrust her hands forward. A jagged wave of frost erupted from the floor, instantly encasing Lowell's legs in a block of solid, clouded ice.
Lowell didn't flinch. He looked down at his frozen boots and simply rolled his eyes, a gesture of pure teenage annoyance. "Really? That's the thanks I get for hauling you three miles through a blizzard?"
He snapped his fingers. A localized burst of intense Western solar magic flared around his shins, turning the ice into steam in seconds. He walked toward her, his footsteps heavy and purposeful. Celine scrambled backward, her back hitting the cold stone wall of the cave.
"Stay away! Don't touch me!" she screamed, her voice cracking.
Lowell ignored her. He reached out, his grip firm and unavoidable, and grabbed her chin, forcing her head up. In his other hand, he held a vial of glowing blue medicinal liquid.
"Drink," he commanded.
Celine thrashed, her hands clawing at his wrists. "No! Let go! Get away from me!"
Lowell didn't budge. He used his thumb to force her jaw open, tilting the vial back. Celine choked and sputtered, forced to swallow the bitter, herbal concoction. As the last drop vanished, she slumped against the wall. The effort had been her final stand; the ice magic had drained every remaining drop of her mana. She felt hollow, her body heavy as lead.
"Where …where am I?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "Who are you?"
Lowell sat back on his haunches, watching her with a curious, guarded expression. "You're in the Elite Mountains. My name is Lowell. And I'm a man who values his freedom—just like you, apparently..."
He poked the fire with a stick. "I didn't just run away because the throne is a headache. I ran because my father decided to sign a marriage contract without my consent. Apparently, I was supposed to marry some Northern Princess named Celine on my nineteenth birthday. I have no interest in being shackled to a brat I've never met."
Celine's heart nearly stopped. 'Me?' She was only ten; she had never heard a word about a marriage alliance with the West. The thought that her life was already being traded away while she was fighting for her survival in a cellar made her blood run cold.
"So," Lowell asked, his eyes narrowing as he studied her. "What's your name, little ice-cube?"
Celine didn't hesitate. "Neveah," she lied, her voice steady despite her fear. "My name is Neveah. I'm nobody."
Lowell nodded, seemingly accepting the lie. "Well, 'Neveah,' you're lucky I found you. You have zero mana left. If you try that ice trick again, your heart will probably stop. So sit still and eat."
Despite his rough words, Lowell didn't leave. He began preparing a bowl of broth, his movements surprisingly gentle for someone pretending to be a hardened man. He wasn't ready to let her go—partly out of pity, and partly because her "accidental" magic was the most interesting thing he'd seen in years.
***
Deep in the Northern woods, the atmosphere was thick with a different kind of tension. A Royal Tracker had finally discovered the hidden cellar. Arion and Kyon arrived within the hour, their presence turning the surrounding forest into a zone of pure, suffocating pressure.
Arion stood inside the small, frosted room, his hand trembling as he touched the shattered hemp ropes. Kyon, however, was looking at the walls. He ran his fingers over the jagged ice that still held the two frozen brutes in place.
The ice wasn't melting. Even with the sun hitting it, the crystals remained sharp and pulsing with a faint, blue light.
"This isn't standard elemental magic," Kyon whispered, his voice sounding like grinding stones. "The structure... The temperature ...It's crystalline."
Arion looked at his husband , his face pale. "You don't mean..."
"Ice Dragon Magic," Kyon confirmed, his eyes glowing a fierce, terrifying red. "The bloodline that was supposed to have died out with the Ancient Kings. It's awakened in Celine."
The realization sent a chill through Arion. If the world found out that a Valerius child carried the extinct Ice Dragon core, the kidnapping would be the least of their worries. Every kingdom in the world would come for her.
"Find her," Kyon roared, the sound shaking the trees and causing the frozen brutes to crack. "Find my daughter before the rest of the world realizes what she is!"
The hunt was no longer just a rescue mission. It was a race to secure a living weapon, while in a cave far away, the "weapon" was quietly eating broth, hidden by a Prince who was running from the very girl he was currently protecting.