Chapter 6: The Merchant and the Prince

The grand ballroom of the Frostheart palace buzzed with life, a symphony of laughter, music, and the clinking of champagne glasses. Ice sculptures, sparkling under the magical frost-light chandeliers, lined the walls, reflecting the merriment of the evening. Yet, Prince Caspian Frostheart found his attention drawn away from the festivities, his gaze fixated on a lone figure near the refreshment table.

The man in black moved with an unhurried grace, his presence a stark contrast to the vibrant chaos of the ballroom. He seemed completely at ease, despite the opulence and grandeur surrounding him. His height, taller than most men present, made him an easy target for Caspian’s persistent observation.

"Intriguing," Caspian murmured under his breath, a smirk playing on his lips. "He thinks he's being subtle, but his eyes betray him."

Caspian watched as the man selected a delicate pastry from the table, his gaze subtly sweeping the room. It was the calculated movement of someone trained to observe, to assess, and perhaps, even to blend.

A spy, then?, Caspian mused. But for whom? And what is he after?

His initial amusement began to morph into something akin to annoyance. People practically tripped over themselves to be in Caspian's presence, to earn a sliver of recognition from the Ice Prince, as he was often called. Yet, this man, this enigmatic figure cloaked in shadows, seemed utterly indifferent to Caspian's status.

Could it be genuine disinterest? Impossible. Caspian scoffed internally. No one could resist the allure of power, of influence. He's playing a game, I'm certain of it.

A mischievous glint sparked in Caspian’s sapphire eyes. He was not one to back down from a challenge, especially one posed by someone who piqued his interest in such an unorthodox manner. If this stranger wanted to play a game, then Caspian would gladly indulge him.

Caspian straightened his tailored jacket, adjusting the golden accents with a practiced hand. He would orchestrate a little "accident", something to draw the stranger out, to test his reflexes and perhaps, glimpse a flicker of genuine emotion behind that placid mask.

"Excuse me." Caspian said, his voice a melodious purr, to a passing servant carrying a tray laden with crystal goblets filled with sparkling wine. "Might I borrow that for a moment?" Then Caspian gestured for the servant to follow him as he saunter near the target.

The servant, flustered by the prince's unexpected request, readily obliged. As they neared the target, with a subtle gesture, Caspian "accidentally" brushed against the servant, sending the tray tilting precariously. The crystal goblets, filled to the brim, tumbled from their perch, hurtling towards their unsuspecting target – the man in black.

"Oops," Caspian said, feigning a look of concern, his eyes never leaving the man.

Time seemed to slow as the goblets arced through the air. Caspian watched, a mixture of anticipation and a strange, unwelcome flutter in his chest, as the stranger reacted.

The first goblet struck his shoulder, the liquid splashing against the pristine black fabric of his suit. A second followed, then another, the sweet aroma of wine filling the air as the man stood motionless, seemingly unfazed by the deluge.

"Oh my," Caspian exclaimed, rushing over to the man’s side with a theatrically gasped. "I am so terribly sorry! How clumsy of me." He gestured towards the flustered servant, who then went to clean up the mess. "Please, accept my sincerest apologies. Allow me to introduce myself. Prince Caspian Frostheart, at your service."

He extended a gloved hand towards the man, his eyes, however, held a glint of amusement. The stranger was good, Caspian had to give him that. Most people would have reacted with a startled cry, a flurry of movement. But this man, this enigmatic figure, simply stood there, his composure unwavering. It was as if he'd anticipated the entire charade.

Wine dripped down the man's hand. The man stared at it for a moment, then hesitated, the wetness a cold prickle against his skin. With a small, helpless gesture, he waved his hand. "It's okay," he said, his voice mild. "Accidents do happen," he added, a knowing look flickering in his eyes for a brief, almost indiscernible second.

Caspian's hand lingered in the air, momentarily surprised by the nonchalant refusal of his handshake. It was an unexpected breach of etiquette, especially within the gilded cages of royalty. Most would have jumped at the opportunity, even with sticky wine-soaked fingers.

"Indeed they do", Caspian conceded, retracting his hand with a graceful shrug. A ghost of a smirk played on his lips. "Though, I must confess, I’m not usually prone to such blunders."

He raised an eyebrow at the man's knowing look, a silent challenge passing between them. The man was onto him, that much was clear. But instead of being annoyed, Caspian found himself oddly intrigued. This silent game of cat and mouse was far more entertaining than the sycophantic smiles and empty pleasantries of the court.

"Might I at least offer you a handkerchief?" Caspian pressed, pulling a pristine white silk square from his breast pocket. He studied the man, his gaze lingering on the way the fabric of the black suit clung to broad shoulders, now stained by the spilled wine.

The man tilted his head in a subtle gesture of thanks, accepting the proffered handkerchief with a graceful hand. "You are too kind, Your Highness," he replied, his voice a low, soothing rumble that seemed to resonate deep within Caspian's chest. The corner of his lips twitched upwards, a hint of a smirk momentarily breaking through his stoic facade.

Caspian watched as the man dabbed at the wine stains on his suit, each movement measured and controlled. He seemed entirely unfazed by the incident, the amusement in his eyes suggesting he found the whole charade rather amusing.

"Tell me," Caspian began, deciding to press his luck a little further, "have we perhaps met before? Your face seems… familiar." It was a blatant lie, of course. Caspian had an impeccable memory for faces, especially ones as striking as the stranger's, but he was determined to draw out this intriguing game.

The stranger paused, with a handkerchief dangling from his hand for a moment before pocketing it. The stranger then continued to take his time, those mesmerizing tiger-like eyes holding Caspian's gaze captive. After a few more seconds, a slow, knowing smirk spread across his lips, the amusement in his expression impossible to misinterpret. "Mm, probably in our dreams." he purred, his voice a low rumble that made a strange, alluring warmth spread through Caspian.

Caspian, normally unflappable, felt a blush creep up his neck at the blatant flirtation. He, Prince Caspian Frostheart, the Ice Prince himself, was being toyed with. And the most infuriating part? He was enjoying every second of it.

He's bold, Caspian thought, impressed despite himself. No one dares to speak to me like that, especially not after…

"Indeed?"" Caspian arched a skeptical eyebrow, schooling his features into an expression of cool indifference while crossing his arms. "And what pray tell, was the nature of this dream?"

Let’s see how he handles a little heat. An idea, mischievous and a tad reckless, sparked in Caspian’s mind, the gears in his head already turning. This little game was about to get much more interesting.

The stranger's smirk widened, threatening to morph into a full-blown grin. He took his time, savoring the moment, his eyes twinkling with something akin to mischief. "Nothing much," he finally drawled, his voice a low, seductive purr. "Just the two of us, strolling through a strawberry field on some lazy afternoon."

The image, so vivid and unexpected, caught Caspian off guard. He, the Ice Prince, strolling hand-in-hand with this stranger through rows of sun-kissed strawberries, their laughter mingling with the buzz of bees… It was a preposterous notion, utterly ridiculous, and yet… strangely alluring.

"Is that so?" Caspian managed, fighting to keep his voice steady, unconsciously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He could feel his cheeks warming under the stranger's intense gaze. No one had ever dared to flirt with him so openly, so boldly. It was equal parts infuriating and exhilarating.

"Perhaps," he continued, leaning in slightly, his voice a low murmur, "you could refresh my memory? I seem to have misplaced the details of this idyllic afternoon."

He subtly shifted their conversation towards a quieter corner of the ballroom, away from the prying eyes and gossiping ears of the court. The man in black, still nameless, followed effortlessly, his movements as smooth and silent as a panther.

Once they were sufficiently secluded, Caspian turned to face his enigmatic companion, his sapphire eyes narrowing slightly. "Forgive my inquisitiveness," he began, his voice taking on a more serious tone, "but your presence here intrigues me. You haven’t yet favored me with your name, nor your purpose in attending my brother’s engagement gala."

He studied the man carefully, taking in the impeccable tailoring of his black suit, the way the fabric clung to his broad shoulders, the glint of intelligence in his tiger-like eyes. Every detail, from the subtle callouses on his hands to the confident set of his jaw, screamed of someone accustomed to danger, to intrigue, to secrets whispered in the shadows.

"Are you, perhaps," Caspian pressed, unable to contain his suspicions any longer, "a representative of a foreign court?"

The corner of the stranger’s lips twitched, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes as if he’d anticipated Caspian’s line of questioning. "My name is Sonne," he finally replied, his voice a low, resonant hum that seemed to reverberate in the quiet corner they occupied. "Just a strawberry merchant."

Caspian leaned in slightly, his curiosity piqued. It was a name as intriguing as the man himself, radiating warmth like the sun, yet tinged with an air of mystery. It didn’t quite fit the image Caspian had constructed in his mind, the image of a hardened spy cloaked in shadows.

"Sonne," Caspian echoed, testing the way the unfamiliar name felt on his tongue. "A fitting name, I daresay. And what brings Sonne, the… strawberry merchant, to this gathering of nobles and dignitaries?"

Caspian eyed the man’s attire pointedly. The simple black suit, while undeniably well-made, lacked the ostentatious jewels and flamboyant colors favored by the merchant class. It was far too understated, too… practical.

He watched Sonne closely, searching for a tell, a flicker of hesitation that would confirm his suspicions. This Sonne was an enigma wrapped in a riddle, and Caspian was determined to crack the code. The air was thick with anticipation as Caspian leaned in, his words hanging in the air like a challenge, daring Sonne to reveal the truth.