SWORN TO THE ALPHA KING

[37.1] A COLD THOUGHT

[PRINCE ROMAN ACE VERIDIAN]

There is silence around me. An exquisite rarity, akin to a coveted antique.

It's in this precise sliver of time - 45 minutes and 23 seconds before the dawn breaks its silence - that I find my mind at its sharpest, my focus at its zenith.

The world is still, the day yet to stir, and in this tranquility, I am at my best.

The superfluous nature of excessive clothing is a sentiment I find myself aligned with. The constriction, the unnecessary discomfort, it's all rather bothersome.

Instead, I favor the freedom of a bare back, the ease of loose trousers, and the grounding touch of the floor beneath my bare feet.

And in the simplicity of my attire, I find solace.

Leaning over the counter, I draw my gaze over the width of my chess board, my mind dancing with the infinite possibilities of the game.

It's a dance of strategy, a battle against my intellect, and it's the most exhilarating kind of war.

I guide the Knight seven steps forward and release, pausing as a symphony of potential moves to combat this one plays out in my mind and I rotate the board.

It will require a few more moments before I am ready to counter my power move, but when it finally materializes, it will be... formidable.

This sensation is the nearest I've come to the term- excitement. At least, I believe it is.

If it is truly anything as it is defined, 'The thrill of the unknown, the allure of the unexpected, aligned with a rigid increase of a heartbeat,' 

Then I am duly right in comparing it to the subtle tug within me. Whatever the case, it is sufficient.

As the minutes meld into one another, I find myself ready to engage, my hand reaching for my queen.

Suddenly, I freeze, caught in a moment as an unfamiliar sensation sweeps over me like an odd wave.

I recognize its definition, I am acutely aware of what I've just experienced.

A shudder. A frisson.

My eyes fixate on my arms, watching as a trail of goosebumps rises on my skin. I am well aware that it is 'cold'.

The chill is ever-present, particularly in these pre-dawn hours, but I never truly experience the cold.

My eyes scrutinize my arms. I am fascinated.

The soft thud of the chess piece against the board echoes as I retract my arm, my head tilting ever so slightly as I study the curiosity that trails along the length of my arm.

It's peculiar.  This feeling is peculiar.

I exhale in quiet awe, my attention shifting suddenly bemused at the misty puff of cold air that forms after my breath. My fingers graze my lips, and I feel it again -

Cold.

My fingers are cold.
My lips are cold.

I am at a loss of words as I feel this new feeling. I am unsure if I am uncomfortable bearing it, or simply struck in awe at the funny sensation.

Deciphering the origin of these sensations is not a challenge, of course and quite unfortunately. Not when these sprouts of rigid emotion only began after the ball.

A ball I did not wish to attend in the first place.

Pain.

It is an odder sensation than cold.