"What in the heavens were you thinking, Iryna?"

Gillian’s voice cut through the quiet carriage, completely lacking the playful teasing tone he had been using to annoy Zarius just minutes earlier. He dropped his hand, fixing his sister with a sharp, unyielding gaze. "Stomping your heel and tearing up the Duke’s private gardens within days of our arrival? Pulling your elemental magic on his sister? We are here to secure a fragile peace treaty, not to test the structural integrity of the Northern faction’s patience."

Gillian slumped back against the plush, silk-embroidered cushions of the seat, letting out a long, deeply exhausted sigh that seemed to drain the playful charm right out of his posture. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his usual easygoing grin replaced by the stern, calculating expression of a seasoned crown prince who spent half his life preventing his family from starting accidental wars.

Across from him, Iryna sat with her spine still perfectly straight, but her hands were trembling slightly. It wasn’t a tremor of fear, nor was it the shaking of a fragile princess recovering from a traumatic assault.

Her fingers were twitching with pure adrenaline.

Instead of flinching or offering a haughty, defensive retort, Iryna let out a soft, breathy laugh. She brought her trembling hands up, staring down at her own palms as a faint, genuine flush of excitement colored her cheeks.

"I didn’t start it, Brother. As I stated back there, I was merely offering Cherion a hand," Iryna murmured, though there was an undeniable, thrilled spark in her eyes that she couldn’t hide. She looked up at Gillian, her perfect royal composure completely gone now.

Gillian narrowed his eyes, leaning forward slightly. "She pulled master-crafted daggers on you and nearly sliced through your barrier, Iryna. If we hadn’t intervened, you both would have taken a limb off each other."

"Exactly!" Iryna burst out. A wide, remarkably sharp smirk spread across her face. "Don’t you see, Gillian? No one back at the Solaric ever fights me with their whole heart like that. The moment I step into a sparring ring or a magical duel, the opponents choke. They hold back. They pull their punches and misdirect their spells because I am a princess. They are terrified of accidentally scratching my skin or offending the royal lineage. It is dreadfully, utterly boring."

She balled her hands into tight fists, her eyes flashing with a dangerous, competitive hunger. "But that lady? She had absolutely no idea who I was, which means she had no reason to hold back. She didn’t hesitate for a single fraction of a second. She just looked at me, saw an absolute threat, and swung those blades with the genuine intent to cut me down. She fought with everything she had." Iryna leaned back, a soft, almost wistful sigh escaping her lips. "Because of her ignorance, I finally got a real fight. I haven’t felt my mana boil like that in years. It was magnificent."

Gillian stared at his sister for a long, silent moment. The absolute exhaustion on his face slowly morphed into a wry, highly amused expression. He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning his head back against the cushions as a quiet chuckle rumbled in his throat.

"Unbelievable," Gillian murmured, shaking his head. "So, let me get this straight. If I am counting correctly, there are now two things in that household that you have taken a sudden, volatile liking to. The Valtrane siblings."

Iryna’s posture stiffened slightly at the teasing comment, her haughty royal demeanor instantly snapping back into place. She tilted her chin up, looking out the window with an entirely aloof expression. "I have no idea what you are implying, Brother. I merely find their... personalities to be a refreshing change of pace."

"Right, of course," Gillian teased. He tapped his fingers rhythmically against the seat.

Iryna rolled her eyes smoothly, completely ignoring her brother’s romantic delusions. However, as she adjusted her silk skirts, her hands suddenly brushed against a small, elegantly wrapped velvet pouch tucked securely into the hidden pocket of her cloak.

She froze, her eyes widening slightly as she pulled the pouch out.

Gillian noticed the sudden movement, his eyes falling on the specialized velvet pouch as she pulled it from her cloak. A knowing smile instantly tugged at his lips.

"Ah, the little ice wolf," Gillian remarked, leaning his head back against the cushions. "I completely forgot you were still carrying that around."

Iryna let out a small, genuinely irritated click of her tongue, opening the drawstrings just enough to peer inside at her handiwork. Gently, she extended a white-gloved finger into the pouch, carefully caressing the sleek, frosty contours of the miniature wolf. Her touch was remarkably tender, her thumb tracing the fine, sharp lines of the frozen fur she had spent hours meticulously carving with her own mana.

Gillian blinked, looking at the velvet pouch and then back to his sister’s face. "Don’t tell me you forgot to give it to him."

"You were standing right beside me the entire time, Gillian." Iryna countered. "Aside from the disaster in the garden, did you see a single moment where I was logistically able to present him with this gift? We were marched straight into his study, reprimanded like unruly schoolchildren by our respective older brothers, forced to mutter mutual apologies."

Gillian burst into a fit of vibrant, unrestrained laughter, slapping his knee. "So what do you plan to do, Sister? Send a royal courier back with it tomorrow?"

Iryna looked down at the velvet pouch, her fingers tightening around the sculpture inside. The sharp smirk from earlier slowly crawled back onto her lips, her eyes flashing with absolute mischief.

"Send a courier? For an official imperial gesture of goodwill? Absolutely not," Iryna said smoothly, her voice dripping with a rigid, high-and-mighty authority that hid her true, chaotic intentions. "That would be a severe breach of imperial etiquette. A royal gift must be delivered by a royal hand."

Gillian’s laughter cut off instantly. He stared at his sister, a sudden wave of apprehension washing over him. "Iryna... what exactly are you planning?"

"Nothing but absolute diplomatic precision, Brother," she replied innocently, turning her eyes back to the window as the carriage finally rolled through the grand gates of the Imperial Palace.

The very next morning, Iryna found herself rolling right back through the gates of the Valtrane estate. Honestly, Cherion had explicitly invited them to come back sometime soon, and it wasn’t like she had anything better to do at the palace anyway.

As her imperial carriage pulled to a stop at the front driveway, the door was promptly opened, and Iryna stepped down onto the cobblestones. Looking up toward the grand entrance, she immediately spotted Cherion and Marielle just walking out of the estate doors, clearly drawn out by the sudden, frantic announcement of her arrival.

Clutching the small velvet pouch securely in her hand, Iryna walked gracefully across the courtyard toward them.

As she closed the distance, she watched their reactions perfectly unfold. Cherion froze completely on the spot, his eyes wide with utter shock, while Marielle went entirely rigid beside him, her hand locking instinctively over the weapon at her waist in a fraction of a second.

A remarkably smug smile crawled onto Iryna’s lips as she tilted her chin up, holding her rival’s lethal glare before offering a serene nod to the shell-shocked boy.

"Good morning, Lord Cherion, Lady Marielle," Iryna greeted smoothly, her voice cutting through the heavy silence like a polished crystal bell. "I do hope I’m not disrupting your breakfast."