The silence in the throne room stretched like a noose. Lena stood there, defiant, barefoot, hair tangled, eyes blazing. The Night King didn't move. He sat there, like a carved statue, fingers laced beneath his chin, mismatched eyes unreadable.
"I don't know who you think you are," she hissed, "but locking someone in a dungeon because you're too emotionally stunted to ask questions is a garbage move."
Still, he didn't blink. Didn't speak.
Lena took a step forward. "Did I steal your crown or something? No? Then why treat me like filth?"
The guards shifted. The tension in the air turned sharp, but the king lifted a hand. Silence.
"You speak boldly," he finally said, voice as cold as ice breaking. "Recklessly."
"You think I'm afraid of you?" Lena shot back. "You look like a villain from a sad anime. Black hair. Cloak. Creepy eyes. Congratulations, you're a cliché with a throne."
The room gasped. A maid almost dropped the tray she was holding.
Still, the king smiled. Just barely. His lips curved—dark, amused. "You amuse me."
"I'm not here to entertain your undead boredom."
"No," he said, rising slowly. "You are not."
He stepped down from the throne. Each movement was calculated, precise. A predator sizing up something new. His boots echoed in the room, and every step felt heavier than the last.
Lena took a step back. Just one.
"You are not like the others," he said. "They kneel. They cry. You spit venom."
"I spit facts."
"You act like you're in control."
"I'm not scared of you."
He stopped in front of her. Close. Too close.
"You should be."
And suddenly—without warning—Lena felt the temperature drop. Her breath hitched. The room dimmed, shadows swirling around his cloak like smoke.
"You're not from this world," he said softly. "You smell… strange. Molding clay and heat. Magic that doesn't belong here."
Lena's heart pounded. "What are you talking about?"
"You don't know, do you?"
A flicker of surprise crossed his face. Then something like interest.
"I will find out," he said.
Lena clenched her fists. "Touch me, and I swear—"
"Swear what?" he cut in, voice lower now, a threat wrapped in curiosity.
"I'll kill you."
The guards almost drew swords.
The king smiled. "Interesting."
Then—blackness. The room spun, light twisted, and Lena gasped.
She opened her eyes in a forest. No, not a forest—a reflection of one. The colors shimmered unnaturally. Trees moved like they were breathing. Above her, the sky swirled purple and silver.
"What the…?"
"You shouldn't be here."
She turned. The king stood there again, only younger, no crown. Same eyes. No guards. Just him.
"I'm dreaming," Lena muttered.
"Or remembering," he replied.
Suddenly, she was back in the throne room—same moment, no time passed. Her knees gave way. She dropped to the floor, heart pounding.
"What just happened?" she whispered.
The Night King knelt beside her.
"You're more than a thief," he murmured. "You're a puzzle."
"I don't want to be part of your games."
"But you already are."
He stood again. "Prepare her chambers."
"Wait!" she snapped. "You're just going to dump me in a room like I'm your prisoner?"
"No," he said, walking away. "You're my guest now. Until I decide what you truly are."