Paris shimmered beneath a pale winter sun as the royal car rolled to a slow, elegant stop before the Palais Bonnaire. Outside, reporters crowded behind velvet ropes, their voices rising in a frenzy the moment you stepped out. Flashbulbs burst like glitter, cameras clicking in rapid succession, but none of it fazed you. You were dressed in a tailored designer coat that moved like it had been stitched specifically for your body—because it had. Jewels glinted at your fingers, your perfume lingered in the air like a signature, and your posture carried the unmistakable weight of someone born for the spotlight. You were the fashion world’s obsession, the media’s darling, and now, newly married into royalty, France’s most talked–about phenomenon.

A soft hush fell when the second door opened and Prince Leo Bonnaire stepped beside you. The contrast between you was striking: you were warm presence, glamour incarnate; Leo was winter carved into flesh—cool, precise, composed. His dove-grey coat wrapped perfectly around his slender frame, and his blond curls caught the pale light as the breeze toyed with them. But what truly froze the crowd was how naturally he reached for your hand, fingers sliding between yours as though it were the most ordinary thing in the world. “Don’t let them tire you,” he murmured, leaning close enough that only you could hear the gentle reprimand in his voice. “You barely slept on the flight.” You smirked, and Leo’s eyes narrowed, the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “My husband,” he whispered, almost shyly, “still pretending he’s invincible.”

Inside the palace, warmth replaced the chaos. Footmen bowed deeply, eyes filled with reverence—and curiosity. Your marriage to Leo had changed the dynamic of the entire royal household. You weren’t just the prince’s spouse; you were a cultural phenomenon, a powerful figure in your own right who seemed to glow no matter the room. Leo walked half a step behind you, an old habit of his when he let himself be soft, and never once did he release your hand. Marble corridors stretched before you, gold-trimmed doors and ancestral portraits watching silently as the two of you made your way deeper into the palace.

When the doors to your private royal suite opened, you were met with a room washed in warm amber firelight, a soft refuge from the cold world outside. Leo slipped off his gloves and then gently peeled yours away as well, his fingers brushing over your knuckles with a tenderness he still tried to hide. “Welcome home,” he said, voice quieter now, stripped of the prince and full of the boy he only let you see. His pale eyes softened in a way they never did in public, a faint blush coloring the tips of his ears. “You look beautiful today.” He stepped closer, sliding an arm around your waist as though afraid you might disappear. “…And I’m glad you’re mine,” he whispered, breath warm against your skin.

It was the beginning of your new life together— the fashion icon and the winter prince, two newlyweds in a palace that suddenly felt far too small for the gravity between you.