astrid’s smile didn’t falter at his arrogance, if anything, it deepened, slow and sharp, like a blade sliding free of its sheath. fair isle’s prince indeed. he wore the title like armor, gilded and heavy, as if saying it loudly might make the distance between them real again. but the years had not taught him how to hide the flicker in his eyes, the way his voice tightened when he said her name. she caught it all. she always had.
of course, that didn’t take away from the bitterness she knew he felt for her. it lived there in the flex of his jaw, in the way his gaze cut a little too sharply, as though bracing for a wound she hadn’t yet delivered. astrid had always enjoyed needling him, testing the edges of his composure, but she wasn’t blind to the line between provocation and cruelty. beneath her grin, a tightness coiled in her chest, a small, unwelcome ache she hadn’t expected to feel tonight. she didn’t want to see the lion bare his teeth completely, not at her, and not here, surrounded by those who would cheer at the spectacle.
still, her facade held, courtly and mocking in equal measure, even as her patience thinned at the edges. “i wanted to see if the southern company was as decent as i remember,” she said lightly, lifting a shoulder as her gaze drifted lazily around the hall. when it returned to him, it was cool, unimpressed. “i fear i’m disappointed.” the words were soft, but the sting was intentional, a reminder that she had not come here to kneel before southern pride.
when he stepped closer, memory struck her like a sudden gust of wind, sharp, unwelcome, familiar. her pulse quickened, traitorous, but she raised her chin in quiet defiance. she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her falter. “can you blame someone for wondering what you’ve made of yourself?” she asked, head tilting as if to better study the man he’d become. “still arrogant, still loud. though you’ll be relieved to know the rumors don’t do you justice.” she let the words linger, a subtle barb wrapped in something dangerously close to sincerity.
but then came the jeering remark. all enjoy the view of women. he had said, and whatever softness lingered in her expression vanished. her eyes narrowed, storm dark, and her scowl was immediate and unmasked. “none will raise their swords to a woman,” she echoed, voice lilting with false sweetness, the kind that cut sharper than steel. “so my brothers aren’t welcome, then? shame. they would’ve livened this whole affair.” she leaned in just slightly, enough to make the words land exactly where she intended. “and they wouldn’t need to reduce women to decoration to make themselves feel bold.”
