Yesss. Time to step into the cold, silent world of Prince Ruvan — and see what that rooftop moment did to him. He may seem emotionless, but deep down… he felt something. And that scares him more than battle ever could.
CHAPTER TWELVE: The Crack in Ice 🧊🔥
The girl looked back at him.
Not just toward him—but at him. As if she could see through the cloak, through the rooftop shadows, through the mask of silence he wore like armor.
Ruvan stood motionless even after she turned away. The echo of her gaze lingered like heat on skin. He hadn't expected her to sense him—not that quickly. Not that clearly.
He should've left the moment he saw her.
But he hadn't.
He had watched.
The wind shifted, carrying smoke and laughter from the chaos in the market. Somewhere below, that ridiculous boy with messy hair had exploded a fruit cart. His distraction had been so stupid it had almost worked.
Yet all Ruvan had seen… was her.
The flame in her.
Ariya.
He stood alone now in the quiet tower near the city's edge, one hand resting against the stone. The pulse of the Shard in his chest was steady and cold.
But for a moment back there—it had flickered.
Not with fear.
Not with pain.
With something else.
Something almost like recognition.
Or… warmth.
Ruvan scowled and pushed away from the wall. His cloak stirred behind him as he moved through the halls of the abandoned outpost. He'd been taught since childhood that emotions were distractions. They made kings weak. He didn't need fire or fury to win wars.
He needed control.
And yet…
Her flame hadn't burned with rage.
It burned like it belonged.
A pair of shadow-guards fell in behind him as he passed. He ignored them, barely hearing their soft-footed steps. His mind was still on the girl. On her stance. Her eyes. The fire that coiled through her like it was part of her bones.
She didn't even flinch, he thought.
She should have.
She looked at me—and she didn't flinch.
He entered the war room, lit only by one lantern and a map of the Eastern Range. His commanders stood at attention, awaiting orders. He didn't look at them right away. His fingers traced the edge of a marked path leading to Emberdeep.
"She's heading east," he said quietly.
One of the commanders hesitated. "Shall we intercept, Your Highness?"
"No."
A pause.
Ruvan's voice turned sharp. "Not yet."
He didn't understand it.
Why he'd frozen.
Why he hadn't attacked.
Why something in her had felt… familiar.
He had trained all his life to destroy the Fireborn.
He believed in it.
He had to.
And yet, on that rooftop… his blade had stayed sheathed.
Later that night, alone again, Ruvan lit a single candle in his chamber. The room was cold, the walls silent. He stared at the flame, watching it dance.
He lifted his hand toward it.
The flame froze. Cracked. Snuffed out.
Still, he could feel the echo of hers.
Wild. Alive. Untouched.
His power destroyed fire.
So why had hers made him feel like he was the one unraveling?