Snow had fallen gently the night before, blanketing the duchy in a delicate hush. It was the kind of silence that calmed the soul—white, pure, undisturbed. And in the center of it, Kazriel stood barefoot in the gardens, his long coat unbuttoned, the morning light gilding his silver hair like a dream.
Aria watched from the doorway for a moment. She didn't speak.
She just smiled.
He turned before she could call his name.
"Come here," he said, softer than she expected. Like the anger of yesterday was no longer chained to him.
She walked toward him, boots crunching lightly in the snow. He held out a gloved hand, but the other was bare—bandaged, bruised.
She took that one.
"Still hurts?"
"Not as much."
His thumb grazed her knuckles. "You made it bearable."
They walked in silence for a bit. The air smelled of pine and distant frost. Icicles clung to the fountains like crystal daggers, but the sun was bright, warm on their faces.
"You scared them yesterday."
"Good."
He said it without remorse. Then added, quieter:
"But I'm glad you weren't scared of me."
She turned to face him.
"I'll never be. You forget—I was born in storms too."
He chuckled—actually chuckled—and the sound startled even him.
"Gods. You've ruined me, Aria."
She leaned up, brushing her lips across his cheek.
"You were never ruined. Just waiting to be loved properly."
They stopped at the heart of the garden, where a frozen pond reflected the clear sky. He pulled her close, wrapping his coat around both of them.
"Do you ever regret it?" he murmured. "This… engagement? The politics, the pressure, me?"
She touched his face, eyes fierce with truth.
"Not for a second."
His lips found hers—slow, deep, reverent. A kiss not of lust, but of healing. Like saying thank you without words. Like don't ever leave again.
And when they broke apart, breath mingling in the cold, she whispered:
"Let's stay like this. Just a little longer."
He nodded, tightening his hold.
"Forever, if you want."