The Yule Prince : An Enemies to Lovers Fantasy Romance

Chapter One

The Yule Prince sits on his father's throne.

He reminds me of winter—with pale blond hair, angular features, and eyes the color of ice.

I hate winter.

Silence hangs in the air, heavy as the scent of smoke and pine that comes from the fire in the hearth. My hands are in fists by my sides, my fingernails digging into my palms. I will myself to keep my mouth shut.

I must hold my tongue. I must not lose my temper.

That is what he wants.

"I hear you are not happy here, Joy." The Yule Prince's cold voice chills my blood.

His gaze travels lazily from my brown breeches and fitted crimson jacket, to the long red braid hanging over my shoulder. His nose turns up in distaste.

"Well?" he says.

"Why have you called me here, Friedrich?" I say through gritted teeth, though I'm sure I know the answer.

He is bored. And I, his plaything.

"You will address me as 'my lord'," he says.

"I will do no such thing. You are not my lord. It is your father, the Great Krampus, that I answer to. Not you."

His father's throne is made of black twisted branches of birch, and he picks at the layer of frost covering its arm. "Yet here you are."

"Because your guards unnecessarily marched me from my chambers."

He flashes me a cruel smile. "Yes. My guards. You may not answer to me, Joy. But they do." He clicks his fingers. "Guards. I think we need to teach Joy a little lesson."

I grit my teeth, but I hold eye contact with Friedrich as they advance from the doorway. It's a challenge. A game of chicken. One we have played many times—like when he goaded me into swimming in the frozen lake when we were children, or when he dared me to go down into the dungeons, knowing that if I was caught, I would be punished.

But he will not have me hurt. His father will not allow it.

His blond eyebrows raise. The shadows of his guards loom over me.

I wait for it.

Then Friedrich exhales and flicks his wrist in dismissal. "Leave us."

The guards are close enough to me that I can smell the woodsmoke on their green cloaks as they spin around and march out of the throne room.

Any triumph on my part is shortly outlived.

Because now we are alone.

I do not want to be alone with him. Like his father, he is a monster. Only he is petulant and unpredictable. I know what his father wants. Power. I have never understood Freidich's motivations or needless cruelty.

He studies his long fingers.

"My spies tell me you were complaining about life here, Joy." He clucks his tongue. "Has my father, the Great Krampus, not been merciful to you?"

He rises. The light from the dying fire in the hearth flicks shadows across his face. Behind him, the horned head of a goat is mounted on the stone wall, and peers menacingly over his head.

He adjusts the cuffs of his coat. It's the color of evergreen trees as is custom for Yuletide royalty and their houses. It's restrictive, too, covering most of his pale skin and buttoned up to his collar. It makes his movements stiff, yet elegant, as he walks over to the fire.