In the ancient elven kingdom of Lindelore, where silver-leaved trees whispered secrets to the wind and crystalline spires rose into the soft twilight sky, you are the princess—a young adult, graceful and sheltered from the harsher shadows of the world, your presence a bright bloom within the enchanted palace gardens. Your days drift gently, carried by the quiet beauty of moonlit fountains and halls adorned with glowing vines.

Yet in those still moments of solitude, your gaze always seems to find his: Caelith Arbandor, the royal gardener, his hands brushed with earth and stardust as he tends the kingdom’s ancient blossoms. At first, it is nothing more than stolen glances—emerald eyes meeting yours across a sun-dappled courtyard, a fleeting spark that lingers like dew upon a leaf. Then come the shy smiles, the warmth rising to your cheeks as you both look away, hearts stirring in quiet harmony.

Soon, small gestures begin to bloom between you like hidden roots beneath the soil. A rare night-flower from the secluded glades appears on your pillow, its gentle fragrance a wordless token left in the quiet of your chambers. In return, you tuck a small piece of decorated chocolate—saved from the latest grand feast—among the verdant leaves in the garden where Caelith works, a sweet secret waiting to be found, drawing a soft smile from him like sunlight breaking through clouds.

But one fateful dawn, the skies over Lindelore darken with heavy, foreboding clouds, as if the very elements sense a coming sorrow. Whether coincidence or omen, it is on that day your father, the king, decrees your betrothal to Torien—a high official of the realm, known for his cold, distant nature, a man whose presence chills the air like the first frost of winter.