Warmth Beneath the Ice
The Marriage Palace.
The heart of the Marriage Festival, its seal broken for the first time in twenty-five years.
The great figures and the princesses ate, slept, and filmed all within this single palace. Magic crystal balls lit every corner, and those images streamed straight across the empire.
The moment I returned from the borderlands, the Marriage Palace stirred back to life.
…Though it was a strangely quiet kind of bustle.
The attendant who led me to the dressing room never once met my eyes, and the production staff standing beside the chair had all pressed their backs flat against the wall, frozen stiff.
Then someone was shoved forward a single step, as if pushed.
It was the youngest-looking writer. The paper in her hands trembled though there was no wind.
"I-if I may be so bold, Your Grace the Grand Duke…"
Her voice crawled into the floor.
"I-I've been told to convey the concept for this promotional teaser…"
"Speak."
"Y-yes, sir!"
The writer flinched and unfolded the paper.
"Th-the concept is… Warmth Beneath the Ice…"
…Warmth Beneath the Ice, huh.
"T-terrifying, but! O-once you get to know him, warm… th-that kind of reverse charm… the viewer votes, they come from…"
The end of her sentence dissolved into nothing. Even she couldn't quite believe she was standing there ordering the Blood Winter himself to be "warm."
I simply nodded.
"Understood."
"Eek—"
The writer sucked in a breath. One of the production staff beside her swayed as if his legs had given out.
…I just said I understood.
No hidden meaning. Just that I'd do as I was told.
But every face in the room looked like it had just received a death sentence.
With shaking hands, the writer pointed toward one wall of the palace.
A massive ranking board hung there. The names of the five great figures were lined up by viewer votes, and mine sat at the very bottom.
"Y-Your Grace's… current ranking is, ah… last place…"
Last place meant elimination.
The eliminated left the Marriage Palace. Outside the palace lay the palm of the Crown Prince's hand, and in the original story, the death-march deployment had come immediately after.
For me, elimination was the original route — death.
"If this teaser doesn't, d-doesn't lift the mood… the next public vote will be, dangerous…"
The writer couldn't finish. She bowed her head deep, as if the words "you will be eliminated" were simply too heavy to put in her mouth.
I looked up at the ranking board.
My name, nailed to the bottom.
…Got it. Deliver results, and I live.
Whether it was overtime or a photoshoot, the rule was the same everywhere: do what you're told, or die.
Once the makeup was done, an attendant guided me to the set.
The entire walk down the corridor, everyone I passed pressed themselves to the walls and cleared a path. The people of the Marriage Palace still held their breath at the mere sound of my footsteps.
…No matter how many times this happens, I just can't get used to it.
The set was the inner courtyard of the Marriage Palace. Several crystal balls floated in the air, lenses trained on us like cameras.
And waiting in the center of it all was someone who had arrived first.
"Ahh. Even that makeup turns into a painting on you."
The Admiral of the South.
The merchant who drowned people with a handful of ships. Standing in the sunlight, his face gleamed like a well-honed blade.
"We meet again, Grand Duke of the North. I hear this teaser puts the two of us in the same frame."
He held out his hand.
"An honor. Honestly, I requested it myself. You, Your Grace."
…He picked me? Why.
Someone sitting at the bottom of the rankings. On purpose.
Of course I didn't say it out loud. I simply took the offered hand.
"…I look forward to working with you."
A greeting with no particular meaning. Truly.
But the Admiral of the South's eyes narrowed slightly.
"…As expected. Even a single word from you carries weight."
No, it doesn't. I was just saying hello.
"All right, we're rolling. Concept is 'Warmth Beneath the Ice.' Your Grace, looking at the Admiral… just a slight smile, please!"
The director's voice trembled at the end.
A smile. Right. A smile.
The one I used to put on in front of clients back at the company. Not hard.
I pulled up the corners of my mouth.
"……Eek."
Behind a crystal ball, someone sucked in a breath.
The director dropped the cue card, and a staff member standing behind the Admiral of the South simply sat down where he stood.
…Why. I smiled.
I definitely smiled. But everyone looked like I'd just drawn a sword.
Beside me, the Admiral of the South laughed softly.
"Haha. Your Grace, that isn't a smile… it's closer to a sentencing."
Then he calmly turned his own face toward the sunlight. With a single shift of angle, the frame softened.
"Like this. This is where the votes come from."
Every inch the merchant. In a world where ratings equaled money, this man knew the exact market value of his own face.
That afternoon, a joint public goodwill event was held in the front courtyard of the Marriage Palace.
The Admiral of the South was a fish in water.
He wove through the citizens shaking hands, scooped up children, tossed out jokes. Cheers erupted wherever he went. The Warm South — he lived up to the name with precision.
I, on the other hand—
The moment I took a single step forward, the entire front row recoiled.
A child burst into tears. An old man who'd been about to wave froze solid. Forget cheers — it was a mercy no one screamed.
…I'm screwed.
Even the crystal balls quietly swung their lenses toward the South.
By the time the event wound down, ease was written all over the Admiral of the South's face. No one needed to say it — today's public favor had clearly flowed in one direction.
"Haha. Your Grace, don't take it too hard. The hearts of the people naturally flow toward warmth."
Another elegant scrape of the claws. But this time there was no line to cross. It was simply the truth.
I had nothing to say back. Because I had genuinely lost.
But then.
"…How unexpected."
A small voice came from beside us.
The Admiral of the South's match. The princess paired with him.
She was staring straight up at me.
"In person… you're far more handsome than I expected?"
She turned in a slow circle, looking me over.
"I'd only ever heard how frightening you were. But up close… there's this side to you too. Surprisingly soft."
I hadn't done a thing.
The Admiral of the South recovered his expression almost at once.
A great figure was a great figure. Smoothing that crack back under a polished smile took him no more than a single breath.
"Well then. Shall we move to the next shot, Your Grace."
His voice was gentle again, as if nothing had happened.
But the shoulder that brushed past me as he took the lead was half a handspan stiffer than usual.
It continued even after we moved indoors for the next shoot.
In front of the cameras he was flawlessly smooth, but every time a cut dropped, the Admiral of the South lingered unusually close to my side. Like a man who needed to confirm something.
Then filming paused for a moment, and the light in the crystal balls went dark.
As if he'd been waiting for it, the Admiral of the South came alongside me.
"Your Grace. Have you heard the news from the Grey Archipelago?"
It sounded like idle chatter. But the edge of it was subtly sharp.
"Another of our fishing boats had its nets cut by a Northern vessel in those waters, I hear. That's the third time this year alone."
…Ah. This.
I'd read it in the original. The Grey Archipelago, floating in the sea between North and South. Depending on which side claimed those islands, an entire stretch of ocean changed hands — a powder keg passed down through generations of ancestors.
So this wasn't small talk.
Seizing the gap while the cameras were off, sliding a foot into the middle of a dispute. Trying to draw even a single word that would tip me one way or the other.
…I've seen this plenty of times.
Executives at company dinners, pressing a drink into your hand and probing, "So, what's your take on that matter~?" Answer carelessly, and the next day it was in the meeting minutes.
Here, those meeting minutes went out live to the entire empire.
So I simply lifted my glass.
"…And what is the Admiral's view?"
The Admiral of the South's hand stopped above his cup.
I'd only asked it back. But apparently it read as a move — keeping my own cards face-down while looking at his first.
"…Heh. As expected, you don't give anything away easily."
But the Admiral of the South didn't stop there.
Turning back mid-retreat, he let one more line slip.
"Though I suppose it's absurd of me to bring up fishing grounds in front of the Blood Winter."
He stepped lightly on the line.
"If the rumors are true, Your Grace drops those who displease you into the river and takes tea while you watch."
At the end of that sentence, I set my glass down.
Tak.
I'd simply put it down, nothing more. But tension flickered across the Admiral of the South's shoulders.
And in that exact instant.
He smiled smoothly and took a step back.
"…A joke. If I overstepped, please forget it, Your Grace."
Clean.
He'd scraped as far as he could scrape, then pulled his hand back the precise moment before the blade touched skin. Not a fraction more, not a fraction less.
…This guy.
A man who knew the line. How deep you could stab before you died, and where to stop if you wanted to live. Someone who knew that single hair's breadth with his body.
No wonder the master of a fleet had climbed into a great figure's seat.
That night, deep within the Marriage Palace.
Esran was summoned to a deserted gallery.
The one who had called her was the Crown Prince.
The apex of the Marriage Festival. The single person who stood above the five great figures.
Standing in the moonlight, he slowly opened his mouth.
"Forgive me for the late hour."
His voice was gentle. But that gentleness was a sword still in its sheath.
"Since the princess returned from the borderlands, your complexion has changed."
Esran's heart plummeted.
"With the Grand Duke of the North… what happened?"
The question was short.
But that single sentence closed around Esran's throat.
That terrifying man kept showing her kindness. A blanket, fabric, and even that dried-up river.
But a monster never gave freely.
Which meant the price—
…Surely not. As payment… m-my body… is that what he wants.
In this place where romance was a competition, the reason her matched partner kept treating her so well. If it was ultimately to take possession of her.
—No. But she couldn't be certain.
She had never once managed to read what was inside that man. Perhaps it truly was… simple kindness, with no price attached at all.
The possibility was vanishingly small, but that small possibility sealed her lips to the end.
She couldn't declare him a monster. She couldn't trust him as a savior. And she couldn't bring herself to say, "I-I believe he wants me."
She could do nothing at all.
"…That is, I…"
The Crown Prince's eyes narrowed. The soft moonlight bared its edge in that instant.
"…That is?"
Esran, face burning scarlet, could not manage a single word more.