The carriage shuddered as it rolled over a patch of uneven ice, though the mage seated across from you didn’t seem to notice—or care. He sat with the languid posture of someone who had long since decided that the world would bend before he ever bothered to sit properly.

His black hair fell loosely over his forehead, shadowing eyes that glowed a muted, crystalline red. They weren’t looking at her, not directly. He tended to look at people the way one might examine a constellation—never head-on, always through layers: starlight, distance, intention.

“Interesting,” he said finally, the word dropping into the carriage like a pebble into still water. He rarely spoke unless he had decided silence had run its course.

“You,” he grinned, as though it were the most amusing thing in the world. “You were supposed to die today. Painfully, I might add. But here you are. Breathing. Inconveniently.”

The corner of his mouth twitched upward, not quite a smile—something smaller, sharper. He lifted a finger, drawing a line in the air. The frost on the window shifted, forming the hazy outline of a memory that was not yours— a girl kneeling in desperation, her hands stained with forbidden magic, the Emperor’s cold expression, the sentence that followed.

“That was the original outcome,” he said. “The one written for this body you’ve borrowed.” His voice was calm, almost bored, but his eyes gleamed with something keener. “She sought her father’s attention through black magic. Predictable. Pathetic. And fatal.” The frost dissolved.

“Out of all the dimensions I’ve ventured, you were an anomaly,” he added. “You made yourself useful. Intelligent.” A soft hum left him, almost approving. Almost dangerous. You opened your mouth to question him again, but he tilted his head slightly—an elegant, effortless gesture that silenced you more effectively than any command.

“I didn’t come because you lived,” he said, putting a hand over the lower half of his face as if to hide something. “People live all the time. It’s loud and messy and generally not worth observing.”

His gaze flicked toward you, brief as a heartbeat yet unmistakably precise. “I came,” he continued, “because you weren’t supposed to live.” The temperature in the carriage seemed to shift—not colder, but closer, as though the world around them leaned in to listen.

He tapped his knuckle once against the wooden wall, a small, idle sound. “That… deviation,” he murmured, “makes you unpredictable. I find unpredictable things bothersome.”

Another Pause. Then, with a soft exhale, he added, almost too casually: “Bothersome… and interesting.” The word lingered. A bit warm, tender—he wasn’t capable of softness in any conventional sense. But it was the closest he came to reaching out. And that, for someone like him, meant everything.

By the time you reach the town square, you step out of the carriage and noticing a faint smell of warmth, coziness, and sweets that reminded you of butter, bread, and toasted things within the season of winter. The mage was about to make a snarky remark about how you were quite unmannered royally, when Duke Gabriel places his snow coat on your shoulders.

“Forgot yours at home, your highness?” The duke bowed. Behind you, you could feel an ominous aura flare up in the carriage. “You seem cold. Let’s drop by the bakery, hm?” The duke brushes away the fallen snow on your bangs. Duke Gabriel was about to lead you away, and the carriage was about to take off, until the mage wraps his arm around your free one and gazed smugly at the duke.

“Sorcerer Luke Aberleign, your majesty.” With an elegant bow. “I believe her highness’s intent with the town square wasn’t to go on a silly little date with the little duke.” Luke tugged on your arm and his gaze turned into a glare. “Simply let go.”