King Prospero

{{user}} had been in the Kingdom of Caohme for only a handful of weeks.

Long enough to learn that waking inside the body of the villainess from a beloved fantasy romance series was not nearly as glamorous as it sounded.

Caohme itself remained breathtaking.

Snow had transformed the kingdom into something almost otherworldly. White-capped mountains rose beyond the vineyards, their slopes glittering beneath the pale winter sun. Marble towers and terracotta roofs were dusted with frost, while enchanted lanterns floated through the palace gardens like captured stars. Spirits drifted between snow-covered cypress trees, their translucent forms shimmering in the cold. Somewhere beyond the mountains, the winter elves were preparing for their own celebrations.

And today, the nobility of Caohme had gathered for the Midwinter Plunge.

One of the strangest traditions in the entire kingdom.

At the edge of the frozen Lake Caohme, a great section of ice had been broken open, revealing dark water beneath. Priests of the Horned God stood around the opening with ceremonial staffs, while enchanted blue flames burned along the shoreline despite the snow.

The tradition was simple.

The nobility jumped into the freezing lake.

Why?

Courage.

Honor.

Tradition.

Possibly madness.

Nobody seemed entirely certain anymore.

Nobles gathered around the lake wrapped in elaborate winter clothing, velvet capes, fur-lined coats, jeweled gloves, and embroidered boots. Crystal snowflakes had been woven into the branches overhead, glowing whenever the wind passed through them.

The royal family stood nearest the ceremonial platform.

Prospero, however, had apparently decided that being king did not exempt him from participating.

He stood at the edge of the lake wearing nothing but loose black trousers and a heavy dark robe thrown around his shoulders. His chest and arms were bare to the winter air, his skin covered in a faint sheen from the cold.

For perhaps the first time since becoming king, Prospero looked genuinely offended by a tradition.

Duke Contrep stood nearby in similar attire, looking considerably less troubled.

"You could simply refuse," Contrep remarked.

Prospero gave him a long look.

"I am the king."

"Exactly."

"I cannot order thousands of nobles to participate in a tradition and then declare myself exempt."

"You could."

"I won't."

"You could also order them to stop."

Prospero looked toward the enormous hole in the frozen lake.

"...I am beginning to dislike you."

Contrep's mouth twitched.

"You've said worse."

A ceremonial horn sounded.

The first noble stepped forward.

The man was an elderly duke who looked as though he would rather face a dragon.

He raised his chin.

"For Caohme!"

He jumped.

SPLASH.

The assembled court applauded.

The duke resurfaced several seconds later with an expression of profound spiritual regret.

Prospero stared.

Then, despite himself, a quiet laugh escaped him.

Contrep glanced toward him.

"You find this amusing."

"I find it difficult to understand."

Another noble approached.

Prospero watched them jump.

Another.

And another.

His amusement became increasingly obvious.

"This is one of our most respected traditions?"

"So I'm told."

"We dress them in their finest clothes, make them listen to a religious ceremony, and then throw themselves into an icy lake."

"Essentially."

Prospero shook his head.

"Caohme is strange."

"You are Caohmian."

"Unfortunately."

Nearby, Amberlynn stood surrounded by several noblewomen.

She wore a little white sailor-style dress beneath a winter cloak, the skirt brushing her knees. Her hair had been divided into two neat pigtails, each tied with a pale ribbon. Against the snow, she looked almost like a porcelain figurine brought to life.

The court adored her.

"Oh, isn't she precious?"

"Look at her."

"Such a sweet little thing."

"She looks absolutely perfect beside His Majesty."

"Much more suitable than Lady Bermonte."

That last comment earned several quiet nods.

The subject had become almost inevitable.

The villainess.

House Bermonte's daughter.

The woman who had spent years humiliating servants, insulting nobles, embarrassing her family, and treating her engagement to Prospero as though the crown itself were her birthright.

The court had already begun treating the marriage as a foregone conclusion.

Or rather, the end of it.

"Lady Amberlynn is so gentle."

"She would make a wonderful queen."

"She actually understands kindness."

"His Majesty needs someone like that."

Someone laughed softly behind a fur-lined glove.

"Not someone like Lady Bermonte."

"Certainly not."

"Poor King Prospero."

"Perhaps the gods have finally offered him a better choice."

Amberlynn's smile remained soft and demure.

She lowered her lashes modestly as another noblewoman praised her.

"I couldn't possibly compare myself to Lady Bermonte."

The words were humble.

The expression was sweet.

The court adored her for it.

Prospero, however, was paying very little attention to the conversation.

His eyes remained on the lake.

Another noble jumped.

SPLASH.

The king's shoulders shook with quiet laughter.

Contrep looked at him.

"You're enjoying yourself."

"I am observing."

"You're laughing."

"I can do both."

A servant approached with Prospero's ceremonial cloak, but the king waved it away.

"I'll be fine."

"Your Majesty, it's freezing."

"I am aware."

"You're already shivering."

Prospero gave the servant an unimpressed look.

"I said I'll be fine."

Contrep sighed.

"He'll spend the next three days pretending he isn't sick."

"I heard that."

"You were meant to."

Prospero looked toward the frozen lake again.

Snowflakes settled in his dark hair.

For all his reputation as an intimidating king, there was something almost boyish about his expression now.

Another noble approached the edge.

Prospero watched.

The noble hesitated.

Prospero's mouth curved upward.

"Jump."

The noble jumped.

SPLASH.

Laughter rippled through the royal party.

Amberlynn glanced toward Prospero.

Her expression softened.

There he was.

The man she had admired from afar.

The king everyone feared.

The cold, brilliant monarch who seemed incapable of warmth.

Yet here he was laughing at a ridiculous winter tradition.

And the sight of it only strengthened the quiet certainty that had begun taking root within her.

She wanted him.

She wanted the crown.

She wanted the place beside him that the court increasingly seemed willing to give her.

Across the snowy grounds, whispers continued.

"Just look at them."

"They suit each other beautifully."

"Imagine Lady Amberlynn as queen."

"She'd be adored."

"And at least she knows how to behave."

"Unlike the Bermonte girl."

The laughter of another noble drowned out the quieter conversation.

Prospero finally stepped toward the edge of the platform.

The crowd immediately fell silent.

The king glanced down at the freezing water.

He sighed.

Then, with all the dignity expected of Caohme's monarch, he removed his robe.

Contrep folded his arms.

"Try not to look too offended when you hit the water."

Prospero gave him a murderous stare.

"Be quiet."

Contrep grinned.

Prospero took one final breath.

And jumped.

SPLASH.

The entire court erupted into applause.

Snow continued falling around the lake.

The Horned God's banners snapped in the winter wind.

And beneath the glittering white sky, Caohme's nobility celebrated another Midwinter Plunge—while quietly deciding, among themselves, that perhaps the king's future queen had already been chosen.

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