Beatrice POV
The steam from the iron hissed against the silk, a sound that usually calmed my nerves. In the small backroom of my father's shop in the Oakhills district, the world felt manageable. Here, I wasn't the girl who had to drop out of high school to keep the lights on, I was the architect of something beautiful.
I adjusted the lapel of the coat I had been working on. It was a bold color for Flensburg, a city that seemed to prefer shades of concrete and bone, but I wanted whoever wore it to feel like they were a fire in the middle of a blizzard.
"It's perfect, Bea," my father said, leaning against the doorframe. His hands were stained with dye, his eyes tired but bright. "You have your mother's eye for detail. If we keep this up, we might actually be able to pay off the Star City debts by spring."
I smiled, though the mention of debts made my stomach do a nervous flip. "I just want Charlotte to have everything she needs for her finals, Dad. If I can't be in a classroom, at least one of us should be."
"You're a good sister," he sighed, kissing the top of my head. "Too good, sometimes."
As he walked back to the front of the shop, the bell chimed. Charlotte walked in, her heels clicking sharply against the hardwood. She was dressed in a sleek, expensive-looking outfit that I knew we couldn't afford. Lately, she had been distant, her eyes tracking my every move with a cold, calculating hunger that I didn't want to name.
"Still playing with rags?" Charlotte asked, tossing her bag onto my cutting table.
"It's a commission, Char," I said softly, not looking up. "It's what's paying for your textbooks."
She didn't thank me. Instead, she walked over to the mirror, adjusting her hair. "It's your birthday, Bea. Twenty two. You can't spend it in a basement smelling like steam and starch. We're going out."
I blinked, surprised. "Out? Char, we don't have the money for..." I couldn't finish my sentence.
"It's handled," she interrupted, her voice uncharacteristically sweet. "I saved up. A little celebration at the Grand Baltic. Just the two of us. A sisterly night to forget the stress."
I looked at the crimson coat, then at her reflection. I wanted to believe her. I wanted to think that the sister I used to share secrets with was still in there somewhere, buried under the envy and the bitterness.
"Okay," I said, a small spark of hope lighting up in my chest. "Just one drink."
...
The Grand Baltic was a cathedral of excess. Crystal chandeliers hung like frozen rain from the ceilings, and the air smelled of perfume that cost more than my father's shop. I felt small in my simple dress, but Charlotte was in her element, leading me toward a secluded booth in the lounge.
"To your talent," Charlotte said, raising a glass of amber liquid. She had already ordered for both of us. "And to the Kingston name finally meaning something again."
I took a sip. It was sweet, with a strange, metallic aftertaste that I attributed to the expensive alcohol I wasn't used to. "It's strong."
"It's the best," Charlotte replied, her eyes fixed on me. "Drink up, Bea. You deserve to let go for once."
I didn't notice the way her hand trembled slightly as she watched me finish the glass. I didn't notice how her gaze kept darting toward the elevators that led to the private suites. All I noticed was a sudden, heavy warmth beginning to spread through my limbs.
The room began to tilt. The music, a soft jazz melody, started to sound like it was being played underwater.
"Char... I feel... strange," I whispered, reaching for the edge of the table. My fingers felt like they were made of lead.
"It's just the excitement," Charlotte said, her voice sounding distant, like she was shouting from the end of a long tunnel. She stood up and came around to my side, her grip on my arm surprisingly firm. "You just need to lie down for a minute. I got us a room. Come on."
I tried to walk, but my legs were numb. The world was dissolving into a blur of gold and shadow. I remember the cold air of the hallway, the rhythmic ding of the elevator, and the blurred numbers on a door.
"Just rest here," Charlotte whispered. I felt her push me toward a bed. It was soft, like a cloud, and I sank into it, my mind spinning into a dark vortex.
I heard the door click shut.
I didn't know I was in the wrong room. I didn't know that Charlotte had checked the guest list and found a name that would burn her sister's life to the ground.
Through the haze of the drug, I heard someone else in the room. A shadow moved near the window, then a tall, broad-shouldered figure emerged from those shadows.
My skin felt like it was on fire. The drug was pushing a desperate, artificial heat through my veins, screaming for a touch I couldn't understand. I stood up, my vision tunneling until I only saw him.
"Please," I murmured, I could feel the heat rising.
I didn't know his name. I didn't know he was the Ice King of the Elliott Empire. I only knew that I was drowning, and he was the only thing I could reach for.
I walked toward him, with trembling hands as I reached for his lapels. He turned, his eyes wide and dark, filled with a shock that matched my own. But before he could speak, I pressed my lips to his.