Ice

1

Ice. Beautiful. Dangerous. Sharp. Unforgiving. Swift.

The five features of ice have always been the centre of my world and people. For centuries we have prided ourselves on being the best element.

Sure there are many other ways for us to use our element, such as water. But the raw form of ice is the easiest and most powerful. I, and many others, have never used anything else. Our ice represents our empire.

I turn my head at the feel of a hand pressing against my shoulder. The cold of the skin blocked by the warm fur of the bear coat.

"Nivia, a suitor wishes to ask for your hand," Fervion, one of the city guards notifies me.

I sigh with resignation. "Where is he?"

"The city gates. He is annoying and persistent," he rushes.

"Now now. Why are you so hasty? He should not be of greater status than I."

"Of course, however his demands unsettle us, and he refuses to listen to we, who are superior."

"I will see him gone; now tell me of the suitor. His occupation?"

"Chief of a dry land Terra Region. A conquered region, speaking down to us," he grits.

"Hm. A chief. Pity. Well, I should at least dismiss him in person. Entertaining him seems troublesome at best," I contemplate.

My companion laughs. "And at worst?"

I hum, "Well I will see what worst may be. Likely dead."

The sheathed blades are always on my person for dealing with any pests that are not worth my ice. How dare a Terra nation inhabitant ask me for my hand. If he decides to leave quick, maybe his life should be spared.

I despise them. I expect anyone of my own nation at the very least, not some earthen scum. They are hardly worth my attention. For what they did to my aunt, attacking her unprovoked on a hunt, venturing into our own lands, and cutting off her leg.

The war is to punish them for their insolence. Yet they think themselves good enough to propose marriage to me and through their customs. It is as if they do not consider a woman fit to be the Head of the Military or the crown heir.

"Princess..." A man dressed in the greens of the Terra nation greets me, flowers in hand.

I glare down at him. He gets on his knees, grovelling at my feet, as if some sort of slave. I do not marry slaves. I expect a warrior on par with myself.

"Would you accept these and be my- "

Shards of ice shoot up from the ground, encaging him, with the mere flick of my hand. I laugh.

"Flowers? Grovelling? Who do you think I am? Are your princesses weaklings who must be given pieces of wildlife due to perish soon enough, especially in the cold? I am a military leader, the heir to the throne. The future empress. Tell me why should I accept a minor leader of a conquered nation, that can never stand on equal footing with me? I require someone who can strategize and be with me on the field of battle. Someone who will never grovel at the sight of a bad battle."

"Nivia, leave him alone, it's time for the council meeting," William says from behind me.

"Inform them that I will be late, I just need to deal with a little gull that is an irking annoyance and does not know his place," I say.

"I see. Do not take too long, you are required for the meeting."

"As valued as my input is, my aunts will be the main contribution."