"Taming a monster, is it?"
The Duke of Draken studied the creature cradled in his daughter’s arms, his eyes narrowing in disbelief.
He let out a low chuckle, more exhale than laugh. "I’ve seen a lot in my years... Your brother once tried raising a bear cub, remember? Got clawed across the chest for his trouble. And now here you are—going a step further."
He had always appreciated the art of falconry—discipline, tradition, control. But this? This wasn’t a hawk or even a wild wolf. This was a monster.
His gaze drifted to the little snow lion. It whimpered faintly, its tiny body trembling under Alice’s cloak. Despite its size, the silver mane already gleamed like frost under moonlight. That, paired with the icy glow in its eyes, made its identity unmistakable.
"A snow lion," he muttered. "One of the North’s three apex monsters."
And now it was nuzzled against his daughter’s chest, like a spoiled pet.
"I thought..." Alice began, her voice calm but resolute. "If I could tame it—make it my own—I’d turn it into something more than just a monster. A symbol. A weapon. Proof of what I accomplished out there."
Her hand stroked the pup’s head gently, like one might soothe a skittish foal. "Taming a monster to fight other monsters. Isn’t that the perfect way to mark my Successor Trial?"
Her reasoning was clear, maybe even admirable. But the sight before him made it hard to swallow.
"Alice," the Duke said, voice low and warning. "If that creature harms anyone—anyone—I won’t hesitate. I’ll put it down myself."
He didn’t speak with anger, only grim certainty. The kind of resolve carved by decades of harsh winters and harder decisions.
"I understand," Alice replied without flinching. "If it loses control, I’ll do it myself."
But he saw it—just for a moment. A flicker in her eyes. Hesitation.
Not fear. Not doubt. Just... the pain of already imagining that day.
"...Will you, though?" he asked quietly.
"Yes," she said. "Trust me."
That trust was a fragile thing, especially when it came to monsters. But she had returned from the Trial alive, bloodied but proud—and with a snow lion cub in her arms, no less. It was absurd, reckless, and entirely in character.
And he was still her father.
"...Fine," he sighed. "But you’d better prove me wrong."
He gave the snow lion one last look, its eyes barely open, breath shallow against her shoulder.
"Watch it closely. Feed it. Train it. Earn its loyalty. And if the time comes—don’t hesitate."
Alice nodded. "I won’t."
There was a long pause, filled only by the whisper of wind across the palace courtyard. Snowflakes drifted lazily down, gathering in soft mounds.
"Just know," the Duke added, his tone sharpening, "if you fail... I’ll do what needs to be done."
His daughter didn’t answer right away.
But her arms wrapped a little tighter around the cub.
"Also," the Duke added, folding his arms, "I heard from Hans that it was originally your servant Julies’ idea to bring a monster back. Is that true?"
Alice’s expression didn’t shift, but her fingers paused mid-stroke over the cub’s mane.
"He suggested it," she admitted after a moment. "But the decision was mine."
"Hmm." The Duke’s gaze hardened. "Then you’ll understand why I’ve decided this—if the monster kills, Jules dies with it."
"As you should know," he said, voice like stone. "If your monster turns on the people, then both the beast and the fool who endorsed it will pay the price. Actions carry weight, Alice. Especially when taken in my name."
Her jaw tightened. "He already knows the consequences," she replied. "I made sure of that before we crossed back into the city."
"Good," the Duke said. "Then we’re all clear."
The snow lion let out a soft growl—not hostile, but protective. Its tiny form shifted closer to Alice’s chest.
The Duke’s brow furrowed. Even at this age, the beast had presence.
"You’re gambling with more than your life, Alice. If this creature becomes what it was born to be, no legacy will matter. No symbolism. Just bloodshed."
"And if it becomes more than that," Alice countered, standing straighter, "then I’ll have done what no one else has dared to try. Isn’t that what being your successor means?"
For a brief second, silence stretched between them—then a small, reluctant smile tugged at the Duke’s lips.
"You sound more like me than I like to admit."
Alice didn’t smile back.
She only lowered her eyes to the cub again, whispering something beneath her breath, something only it could hear.
Then, looking up, she said, "I’ll make sure Julies never pays that price."
"You’d better," the Duke said simply.
He turned away, cloak catching the wind as he stepped back toward the fortress.
Alice didn’t respond, just watched him go, her arms cradling the snow lion tightly.
The cub let out another faint whimper, then nestled deeper into her warmth.
Above them, the snow kept falling—soft, steady, silent.
The wind howled a little louder as the Duke disappeared behind the towering gate, leaving Alice alone in the courtyard.
For a long moment, she stood there unmoving, the snow lion cupped against her chest like a fragile ember she couldn’t let go of.
"...You really didn’t make this easy for me," she whispered.
The cub stirred in response, one eye flickering open. Not quite understanding, but sensing the tension in her voice. Its small paw brushed against her chest.
Alice exhaled slowly.
...And with that she returns to her quarters.
With Snow Lion still in her hand.