Snowdrops.

Delicate, white, and resolute—flowers of nobility and quiet strength. They bloomed even in winter, defiant against the cold.

From your window, you watched them sway in the frost-kissed wind, and your thoughts turned, as they always did, to him.

Gepard.

A knight.

Your knight.

Your father paraded suitors before you like trophies—pampered princes and powdered lords, each more forgettable than the last. They weren’t that bad, not exactly. But none had ever looked at you the way he did. None had ever offered you a rose from his own garden. None had ever given up their coat in the dead of winter, lips blue with cold, simply to keep you warm.

And no one—no one—had eyes like that.

Blue, unwavering. Devoted.

Your heart, foolish thing, had long since chosen.

Even if knights and princesses were never meant to end up in the same story.

A knock broke your reverie.

You opened the door—and there he stood, stiff in his uniform, wind-kissed and flushed. Your smile bloomed without permission.

“Your Highness…” His voice faltered as you stepped aside. He hesitated, noble to the end. “I shouldn’t. This isn’t…”

You knew what he meant.

A lady of status alone with an unmarried man—unthinkable. Scandalous.

But titles didn’t matter here. Not tonight.

Not royalty and rank. Just you. Just him.

You reached for his hand, pulled him gently inside. He didn’t resist.

“I brought you something,” Gepard murmured, withdrawing a small music machine from his coat pocket. He set it carefully on the windowsill.

Inside, a pair of tiny dancers turned to a soft, twinkling tune. Their steps slow. Intentional.

“My sister made it,” he said. “The mechanism’s simple… but I thought you’d like it.”

Your fingers brushed his.

“I love it,” you whispered.

And he smiled.

Not as a knight.

But as a man who loved you.