The roses were blooming early that year.
The gardeners whispered that it was a sign of good fortune—that the gods had blessed the southern spring. But Aria Everen, seated on the edge of the garden fountain with her slippers forgotten in the grass, only thought: They're too early. Too fragile. They'll wilt before they're ready.
A soft breeze drifted through the rose-covered arches, tugging gently at the loose strands of hair falling from her braid. She had meant to read. There was a book beside her, unopened and likely forgotten, its edges curled from the morning dew. Instead, she simply sat, toes pressed to the cool marble, letting her thoughts float like the bees that wandered lazily from bloom to bloom.
"You look like a painting," came a familiar voice from behind her. "All tragic and barefoot and full of mysterious longing."
Aria smiled without turning. "You're late."
Jalen stepped into view, his dark curls a mess, his coat half-buttoned as always, and two slices of honeyed bread balanced awkwardly in one hand.
"I had to bribe the kitchen maid," he said, offering her one of the slices. "With promises I fully intend to break."
She accepted it with a grateful nod. "You owe me three favors and a poem."
"I gave you a poem."
"It was three lines long, and one of them compared me to a badly behaved goose."
"Which, I stand by." He grinned. "You honked at Lady Marrin last week."
"I cleared my throat."
"Loudly. In her ear."
She laughed, the sound soft and warm, a flutter of something still untouched by the weight of duty. They sat side by side at the fountain's edge, comfortable in the silence between them. The sun painted their skin gold, and for a moment, it felt like nothing could touch them.
But Jalen noticed, as he always did, the tension in her shoulders.
"You're quiet today," he said.
"I'm always quiet."
"No," he said gently, "you're thoughtful. Today you're silent. That's different."
She didn't answer right away. Her eyes had drifted to the horizon, where clouds were beginning to gather like slow, quiet soldiers. She didn't know why, but something about the sky unsettled her.
"I had a strange dream last night," she murmured. "I was walking through the manor, but everything was frozen. Even the candles. No one was there."
Jalen tilted his head. "And what were you doing?"
"Looking for something. Or someone. I couldn't remember when I woke up."
He didn't mock her. He never did when she told him about her dreams. He only looked at her for a long moment, then said, "You'll figure it out. You always do."
She wished she believed him.
....
Later that afternoon, as the sky turned pale with thin clouds, Aria sat in her chambers while her maids fussed with her hair.
"Hold still, my lady," Lira said, gently guiding a silver thread into the braid over her shoulder. "You move like a child who doesn't want to be dressed."
"I don't want to be dressed," Aria said lightly. "It's spring. Let me wear nothing but sunlight."
Lira gasped, scandalized. Sella, the second maid, nearly dropped the comb.
Aria laughed and gave them both an innocent look. "Fine. Silk, then."
They both snorted and returned to their work. The window was open, letting in birdsong and the scent of lemon blossoms. Everything about the room was familiar, warm, safe.
And then came the knock.
Not a polite rap from a servant. Not the gentle chime of her younger brother asking for a sweet.
It was a sharp, formal knock. Followed by silence.
Lira straightened. "That's Alric."
Sella gave Aria a nervous look. "Should I answer it?"
Aria rose herself and opened the door.
There stood Alric, her father's personal man. Tall, stern, and far too serious for most occasions.
"Lady Aria," he said. "The Lord Duke wishes to see you in his study. Immediately."
That was all.
No explanation. No smile. No suggestion of what this was about.
Aria blinked. "Now?"
"Yes, my lady."
Behind her, the maids had gone still.
"I'll come," she said simply, stepping into the corridor. She walked barefoot, not caring.
Not until she reached the heavy door of her father's study and heard the voices inside.
Her mother's voice came first, sharp and low. "She's not ready. She'll never be ready."
Then her father: "It is done. The seal is inked. If we refuse, it's war."
"You're giving her to a curse," her mother said, each word coated in fury. "You know what he is."
"She is our daughter. But she is also Everen."
The words struck something deep in Aria's chest. She reached for the door handle, hesitated, then knocked.
Silence fell inside the room.
The door opened a moment later, and her father stood framed in the threshold. His eyes, grey and cold, gave away nothing. "Come in, Aria."
She stepped into the study, her bare feet soundless on the thick rug. Her mother sat by the tall window, her back straight, her face turned away.
There was a scroll on the desk, sealed in silver wax. It looked heavy.
Aria didn't sit.
"You're sending me away," she said.
Her father inclined his head. "Yes."
She swallowed. "Where?"
"The Northern Wastes."
The words settled over her like a shroud.
A slow silence followed.
Her mother spoke next. "To the Lycan King," she said bitterly. "To Damon. The Cursed King of the North."
Aria stared at the scroll. "Why?"
Her father's voice was quiet. "He sent an envoy. The North demands a bride from the Southern courts as a sign of peace. The lords met. They voted."
"And you chose me."
"You were on the list," her mother said softly. "They voted in secret. By the time we knew, it was done."
"You didn't tell me."
Her father looked away. "There was nothing to be gained."
Aria felt the breath leave her lungs. "When do I leave?"
"Tomorrow," he said.
...
That night, the maids moved around her in silence. Lira packed her trunks. Sella folded her finest cloak. Every motion felt like a funeral rite.
"I can't believe it," Lira whispered as she laid out the silver dress. "They're sending you to… to him."
"They think I'll survive it," Aria murmured. "Or they don't care if I do."
Sella pressed a charm into her palm. "It's for luck. And… for not dying."
Aria gave a dry smile. "A practical gift."
Neither maid laughed.
Just before dawn, as the sky turned pale behind the hills, Jalen found her in the stables.
She didn't turn when she heard him.
"I heard," he said, breathless from running. "Tell me it's not true."
She turned then, slowly. "I'd rather lie to you. But I won't."
His jaw clenched. "I'll come for you. I swear it."
"No." She reached for him, pressed her forehead gently to his chest. "If you come, he'll kill you. Don't be stupid."
"Then I'll die loudly."
She laughed, one broken, trembling sound, and gripped his hand. "Don't come unless I call."
"I'll listen," he promised. "But only once."
At sunrise, she stood at the gate dressed in silver.
Her mother kissed her cheek without a word. Her father did not appear. Jalen stood back, his fists clenched.
Aria stepped into the carriage and sat alone.
The gates opened and the horses moved forward.
And as the sun spilled over the courtyard, a single snowflake drifted down and landed on the hem of her gown.
It melted before it could be seen.
She did not look back.