you were a southern princess, raised on sweet tea and magnolia trees, with a softness in your voice and a fire in your heart. when the news came that you were to marry prince sunghoon, a northern heir with cool eyes and an aloof air, you couldn’t imagine the life that awaited you.

the first time you met, his gaze barely flickered toward you. the cold air of the north had hardened his smile into something sharp, but you had learned to soften the edges of your own heart. marriage had never been a choice, but you held on to the hope that you might carve out a piece of joy together.

sunghoon's silence was like a thick fog. he would sit beside you at dinner, his eyes scanning over maps and treaties, never speaking unless necessary. you, a princess who had once reveled in the company of family and friends, found yourself in a castle that echoed with loneliness.

yet, as the days turned into weeks, something changed. one morning, as you wandered through the garden, sunghoon appeared beside you, his usual calm replaced by something softer. “you look like you could use some company,” he said quietly, his voice still smooth but warm.

you smiled, a tiny spark of something you hadn’t felt before flickering inside. “i think i could.”

he took your hand then, guiding you through the garden, and in that moment, it felt like the walls between you were beginning to crumble. there was no grand declaration of love, no sweeping gestures. just the quiet, steady growth of something real.