A fairytale of a beautiful maiden, the beloved Frost Flower Princess was supposed to be staying in the comfort of her castle masquerading as a cage to protect her from the dangers outside, imprisoned by her own brothers.
That is, until a mysterious...
* "I know it sounds sordid, But you'll be rewarded When at last I am given my dues. And injustice deliciously squared. Be prepared!"
** Mirror Chamber
It was time for the housewarden meeting.
Y/n sat at the polished conference table like the calm eye within a raging storm—composed and ethereal, entirely unaware of the chaos that brewed beneath every glance directed her way. Her mere presence in the chamber, seated as Ramshackle's representative, had altered the very air itself—turning order into quiet, simmering obsession.
To her left sat Leona Kingscholar of Savanaclaw, his elbow resting lazily on the table but his gaze anything but relaxed. Just past him was Kalim Al-Asim, too cheerful to be threatening, but even he glanced her way more than was necessary. To Y/n's right, Vil Schoenheit of Pomefiore sat with his usual poise, eyes gleaming with veiled elegance. Beside him floated Idia Shroud's tablet, glowing faintly as it hovered closer to her shoulder than decorum allowed. Then came Riddle Rosehearts—stiff, focused, but very much aware of the tension in the room. An empty chair followed, meant for Malleus Draconia... yet conspicuously vacant, as if someone had ensured the prince wouldn't receive the invitation.
Especially since Malleus Draconia was the most dangerous love rival of them all.
And seated with a polished smile and hands folded neatly in front of him was Azul Ashengrotto—calm on the surface, but the glint behind his spectacles betrayed a mind already calculating how to keep Y/n tethered to him.
A stack of pristine documents lay before each warden, but none made a move to start the meeting. The air was too thick. Charged. Territorial.
"You've the most beautiful natural hair I've ever seen," Vil murmured, his fingers already drifting toward her like petals on the breeze. "May I do your hair, princess?" His tone was soft, velvet-wrapped affection, but the possessive curl of his smile warned anyone thinking to stop him.
Y/n blinked at him, then offered a small nod. "Alright."
Vil's fingers wove through her hair with the reverence of a priest. He was careful, reverent almost, as if touching something sacred. But the others were less than pleased.
Leona's gaze sharpened. "Tch. Grooming her like she's your pet," he muttered under his breath. "You think touching her first makes you the winner?"
"I'm simply appreciating her ethereal beauty," Vil said without looking at him.
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"I call to order this meeting of housewardens. Our agenda today concerns the October Spelldrive tournament," Crowley says, signaling the meeting to begin. "Let us begin with the report from the heads of the tournament planning committee: Mr. Ashengrotto of Octavinelle house and Miss Frostinelle of Ramshackle,"
