Chapter Text
The Ember court always believed in presenting its best self forward.
Heat rolled through the Great Hall in slow, steady waves from the massive braziers that lined the walls. Their flames burned low beneath the intricate metal cages, shaped like rising wings. Banners bearing the Hollander crest hung between carved stone pillars, catching the firelight in deep folds of black, crimson, and gold.
Even the floor seemed warm beneath Shane’s boots, as though the palace itself was built on the surface of something alive.
The Ember court did not simply welcome guests. It reminded them exactly where they were.
Shane stood one step below the dais where his father sat on the throne, posture straight, hands clasped loosely behind his back. His wings were folded tightly against his shoulders, their dark feathers pinned neatly by the gold clasps of his uniform.
Stillness had been drilled into him since childhood.
When you were the only heir to the Ember Kingdom, every movement carried weight. Every gesture became part of how people imagined their future king.
Shane had learned long ago how to stand without shifting, how to hold silence like armour, how to make people believe control came naturally to him.
Across the hall, the large doors opened.
The cold entered first.
Not enough to change the temperature of the room, but enough to sharpen the air- cut through it.
The Winter delegation stepped inside.
Their colours were pale- silver and blue, frost-white silks lined with delicate embroidery that glittered faintly in the firelight- a stark contrast to the warm tones surrounding them.
Winter had arrived nearly two weeks ahead of the treaty ceremony- long enough for the palace to reorganize half its guest quarters and the court scholars to spend several very tense days arguing over the exact mechanics of the ritual and wording of the contracts that would seal the peace. Officially, it was seen as preparation. Unofficially, Shane knew it was a way for the two courts to examine one another more closely than diplomacy usually allowed.
Where the Ember court burned bright with warmth and colour, Winter moved with a kind of distant, quiet elegance.
King Rozanov walked at the front, a tall and composed man with greying curls and a crown made of thin crystalline ice.
Behind him-
Shane noticed the prince immediately.
Not because he tried to stand out, but because he didn’t seem to care whether he did.
Prince Ilya Rozanov walked like someone who had never once worried about the weight of expectation. His winter-blue coat hung open, pale yellow hair curling loosely at his temples, his posture relaxed in a way that bordered on arrogance.
And he was smiling.
Not politely, not diplomatically, no. He was smiling like the entire room was mildly entertaining.
Reckless. Undisciplined.
Exactly the kind of prince that turned delicate diplomacy into disaster.
Shane’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
The Winter King approached the platform and inclined his head.
“King Hollander,” he said, voice cool and measured. “The Winter court is honoured to be resigning the peace treaty in your kingdom.”
Shane’s father nodded.
“The Ember court welcomes Winter’s presence, King Rozanov.”
Then, the Winter King stepped aside, spreading his hand to gesture.
“This is my fourth son, Prince Ilya Rozanov.”
The prince stepped forward.
His gaze drifted easily across the court, taking in the nobles, the banners, the flames, until it landed on Shane.
And lingered.
Shane stepped down from the platform as was tradition- the formal introduction between sons.
Ilya extended a hand. “Ilya Rozanov,” he said, sounding almost casual.
Shane took it.
The moment their hands touched, something strange moved beneath Shane’s skin.
It wasn’t heat. It wasn’t cold. It was something else entirely. A sudden sharpening sensation, as if his magic was leaning forward to investigate.
Ilya felt it too. Shane saw the flicker of surprise in his eyes, the tension in his grip.
Interesting.
Shane released the handshake first.
“Welcome, Prince Rozanov.”
Ilya’s head tilted to the side, a grin on his lips.
“So you’re the famous Golden Boy.”
Shane blinked once, brows furrowed.
“I’m sorry?”
“Golden Boy? You know…what everyone calls you?” Ilya replied easily. “The disciplined hier, brilliant general. The pride of the Ember Kingdom.”
Shane’s expression remained calm, but something in his chest stirred. He raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, so you researched me.”
“Of course,” Ilya said. “I enjoy knowing who might kill me if diplomacy fails.”
A polite laughter rippled through the court.
Shane did not laugh.
Ilya didn’t break eye contact with the prince, in fact, he winked at him.
Shane decided immediately.
This man was going to be a problem.
After the formal introductions, Shane’s father suggested a tour of the palace grounds as a gesture of goodwill.
The delegation moved through the corridors in a slow procession of silks and armour, courtiers and servants murmuring politely as they passed.
Shane walked near the front beside the two kings. Behind him, Hayden fell into step.
Captain Hayden Pike of the Ember Guard looked every inch the disciplined officer he was in public. Posture perfect, expression neutral.
He also happened to be Shane’s best friend and closest confidant, like the brother he never had.
Hayden leaned in as they walked.
“Dude, he’s totally your type,” he murmured just loud enough for Shane to hear.
Shane didn’t look at him, but his fists clenched by his sides.
“Shut up and focus.”
“I am focusing,” Hayden quipped, tone remaining perfectly professional.
“Tall, blond, smug…absolutely terrible for you.”
Shane kept his eyes trained forward.
“You’re imagining things.”
Behind them, Ilya laughed at something a noble said. The sound carried easily, Hayden’s head snapped back to look. He continued pleasantly.
“I’ve seen you staring.”
“I have not.”
“Dude.”
Shane exhaled slowly, almost rolling his eyes, if not for his perfect princely image he was trying to uphold.
“Please. Just...stop talking.”
Hayden smiled faintly, hands moving up like he was surrendering. “Fine. But I’m just sayin-” He was practically wiggling his eyebrows.
As if sensing the attention, Ilya glanced over.
His eyes met Shane’s, and he smiled.
He called out, just loud enough for the nearby nobles to hear. “Your Highness, are you supervising the tour or judging my posture?”
Several nobles chuckled.
Shane stopped walking and turned, his expression still nondescript.
“I was considering whether Winter envoys always speak so freely.”
Ilya clasped his hands behind his back, shoulders moving up in a shrug.
“Only when the company is interesting.”
Hayden made a thoughtful noise beside Shane.
Shane ignored him.
They eventually reached the palace training grounds.
Steel rang against steel as Ember guards drilled formation and weaponry.
Shane’s attention sharpened instantly.
These were his men. His army. His responsibility.
King Rozanov watched the drills with interest.
“You train them like they are preparing for war.”
“We prepare for every possibility,” Shane replies firmly.
His father nodded towards the sparring circle, hands outstretched.
“Why don’t we have a demonstration? Son?”
Shane’s posture went straight, before he gave a small bow towards the king and then walked up to the sparring circle. He made a signal, resulting in two of his soldiers stepping forward and following him.
Shane drew his blade, ready to perform.
“Wait.”
Ilya stepped forward.
Eyes glinting, smiling like someone about to cause trouble.
“I can’t possibly let you have all the fun.”
Shane groaned internally.
“This is an Ember demonstration.”
“Then allow me to demonstrate, Winter,” Ilya responded brightly, turning to look at his father.
The king sighed, with a small nod.
Shane met Ilya’s gaze.
“You’re sure?”
“Very.”
Shane stepped into the ring.
Ilya followed.
Shane moved first.
After years of disciplined training, his fighting style had evolved into something quite lethal. Precise strikes, controlled movements, every step deliberate. He was fast and strategic.
Ilya pulled a blade from his side that Shane hadn’t realized he had.
He fought differently.
Ilya moved like someone who enjoyed the fight. He was loose, fluid, and unpredictable, using his height, mass, and often times brute force, to overpower his opponents.
Steel rang sharply as their blades met.
Shane pivoted into a swift strike, just as Ilya vaulted backward.
His wings snapped open, and a burst of frost scattered through the air as he lifted off the ground.
Shane reacted instantly.
Heat flared along his wings as he launched upward after him.
They collided midair. Blades crossed, magic surged along the steel.
Fire and ice met, and instead of clashing apart, they surged brighter.
Shane’s flames burned hotter, Ilya’s ice sharpened like crystal.
Power feeding power.
Ilya laughed.
“Well, that’s new.”
Shane shoved him back.
They spiraled downward, landing hard on the training stone.
Ilya slid across the ground on a sheet of ice, regaining his balance. Shane lunged again.
Three rapid strikes.
Ilya blocked two, the third knocked his blade from his hand.
Shane pivoted, leg swinging, pinning him, knee against Ilya’s waist, blade hovering just beneath his jaw.
The training yard erupted in cheers.
Ilya looked up at him, breathing hard and completely unbothered.
Then, he grinned.
“Well,” he said smoothly, “I didn’t expect to enjoy being under you quite this much.”
Hayden coughed loudly. Shane stood immediately, hoping the exercise could be excused as the reason for his reddening ears.
“You talk too much.”
Ilya rose easily, reaching over to collect his blade.
“You fight beautifully.”
“Are you actually trying to flirt with me right now?” Shane huffed out, sheathing his sword.
“Maybe. Is it working?”
Shane walked away.
The tour eventually ended at the palace's guest wing, where the Winter delegation would stay during their visit. There were servants already stationed at the doors, bowing their heads as each member of the delegation was shown to their rooms.
It was just Shane, Hayden, and Ilya left at the end of the hall.
“These are your chambers,” Shane said, pointing to the door in front of him.
Ilya stepped inside, looking around, before tuning back. A grin spread across his face, his posture was loose and lopsided as he grasped the door with one hand, the other pressed against the doorframe.
“It’s comfortable.”
He stepped closer.
Too close.
“Tell me something,” he said quietly, head tilted to the side.
Shane held his ground. “What.”
Ilya smiled slowly, almost deviously.
“Do you usually enjoy pinning men to the ground the first time you meet them?”
Behind Shane, Hayden made a strangled sound. Shane could feel the heat rising up his neck, hands balled into fists by his side.
Ilya’s grin widened.
“I’m just asking for future reference.”
Then, without waiting for an answer, he stepped into the room and shut the door.
Shane stood there, blinking.
Speechless.
Hayden finally exhaled, letting out a small laugh.
“Well-”
“Don’t.” Shane ground out, rubbing his temples.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
Hayden clapped him on the shoulder as they started walking back down the corridor.
“Buddy,” he said cheerfully, “that man is going to make your life so interesting.”
Shane could only roll his eyes. He really needed to get back to his regular duties.
But the strange fire in his magic hadn’t faded. The fire had burned hotter when it met frost.
And for reasons he tried to ignore, he couldn’t stop thinking about the way Ilya Rozanov had smiled up at him from his position on his back, under Shane’s knee.
This visit was going to be a problem.
A very serious problem.