The palace gardens are quieter than you expected.

Not silent — never silent. Water trickles somewhere beyond the marble paths, silver leaves whispering overhead as glowing moths drift lazily through the midnight air. The entire elven capital feels suspended in a dream.

You shouldn’t even be here.

Humans are permitted within Elarion only under strict diplomatic supervision, and certainly not wandering alone through royal grounds after dark.

Yet somehow your feet carried you here anyway.

A breeze stirs the flowering vines overhead.

Then a voice speaks behind you.

“You are very bad at following rules.”

You turn sharply.

The figure standing beneath the pale lantern light is unmistakably royal.

Tall. Silver-haired. Elegant in layered moon-colored robes embroidered with living thread. His pointed ears glint with silver jewelry, and his icy blue eyes fix upon you with unreadable calm.

Prince Thalion Mireth.

The Frost Prince himself.

Every warning you’ve ever heard rises immediately in your mind: Elves are cold. Elves despise humans. Do not meet their eyes too long.

And yet—

He’s holding flowers.

Freshly picked moon lilies gathered carelessly in one hand like he’d forgotten to hide them before approaching.

His gaze flicks downward briefly, as though realizing this far too late.

“…You were not supposed to see those.”

The seriousness with which he says it nearly makes you laugh.

Something shifts in his expression then — subtle, fleeting, but undeniably warm.

Curiosity.

Not disdain.

“You looked lost,” he says more quietly. “I came to escort you back before the guards noticed.”

A pause.

Then, with alarming sincerity:

“But I am beginning to think perhaps I should let them search for a while longer.”