I woke in the dim light before dawn, my breath clouding the air inside my tent. A hush had fallen over the woods, broken only by the distant burble of the river and the soft rustle of canvas as the others stirred in sleep. I sat up slowly, tugging my cloak tighter around my shoulders, and peeked outside.
The world had changed overnight. A fine layer of powdery snow blanketed the earth, turning the gnarled roots and twisted bramble of Wildervale into something briefly beautiful. Frost clung to leaves like delicate silver veins.
I slipped out quietly with my satchel and sketchbook, boots crunching softly in the snow. The cold bit at my cheeks as I crouched beside a cluster of frost-kissed flowers growing along the bank of the river. I reached out, gently brushing snow from the petals of a sleepvine bloom, blue-white and trembling in the wind. One could gather the shimmering frost from its leaves, a whispered secret for crafting calming draughts. A draught Jasira desperately needed, for she had beenthrashingthrough the long night, unable to find peace.
I plucked a few petals and uncapped a small glass vial. As I worked, I heard footsteps, light but sure, and froze.
A heavy cloak settled over my shoulders.
“You’re going to freeze to death over a flower, Princess,” Erindor murmured behind me.
I flinched, muscles locking instantly, then my head snapped up, my breath a sharp gasp. He was there, closer than could have been imagined, closer than he should be. The chill air turned his breath to mist, and there was a softness in his expression I hadn’t seen before. He knelt beside me.
“It’s for Jasira,” I said, recovering. “Sleepvines can help with dreams.”
He didn’t reply immediately. Then, surprisingly, he smiled, a faint, rare curve of his lips.
His hands moved to adjust the cloak, which had slipped too far to one side. Fingers steady and sure, he tugged it snug around my shoulders, brushing snowflakes from my collar. His touch lingered longer than it needed to.
“You tied it wrong,” he murmured.
I blinked. “I didn’t tie it at all.”
“Exactly.”
He carefully fastened the clasp under my chin. Time seemed to slow, every heartbeat echoing in the hush between us. I was acutely aware of the warmth radiating from his body, the gentle firmness of his touch. He was so close, so careful, as though he was afraid to shatter something fragile and precious between us. The world faded until there was only him, only this moment suspended in the crystalline morning air.
The silence between us felt fragile and full.
“There,” he said, stepping back, but only slightly. “Better.”
We stood together in the morning hush, strolling along the frozen bank. The snow silenced the world, giving the impression that we were the only two awake.
“I used to do this in the garden back home,” I said. “Sketch plants. Take notes. My mother said it wasn’t proper for a princess to have dirt on her knees.”
“She sounds delightful,” Erindor said dryly.
I laughed softly. “She was...practical.”
He was quiet for a moment. Then I felt him glance at me again.
“Erindor,” I said, stopping beneath a tree heavy with frost. “You don’t always have to protect me, you know.”
“Yes,” he said. “I do.”
I turned toward him, heart thudding. I felt my cheeks flush, and not only from the cold. Snowflakes dusted my eyelashes.
He reached out without thinking and brushed one off my cheek. His fingers lingered for a breath.
“I—” I began, but a voice rang out from the trees.
“Breakfast, snow fairies!” Gideon called. “Come get it before it freezes solid!”
We pulled apart, a silent, almost reluctant severance. My eyes closed briefly before opening to blink back the present. Then, with a heavy heart, I turned toward the smell of the camp.
As we walked back together, he looked over at me and asked, “Is that why you can’t swim?”
I blinked. “What?”
