Roselyn of House Thorne was not accustomed to being surprised. As the royal enchantress of the Northern Court, she spent most of her days cloaked in duty, advising the crown, weaving protective spells through the frost-bitten forests, and maintaining the calm, distant discipline expected of her. Her reputation was one of unmoving poise, her face as unreadable as the marble busts lining the palace halls. Emotion, particularly the reckless kind, had no place in her life. And she preferred it that way.

On the morning the wards began to flicker, Roselyn entered the winter woods alone, snow crunching in measured rhythm beneath her boots. Her thoughts were fixed on restoring the shimmering boundary that protected the kingdom from wandering spirits. The forest was unnaturally quiet, blanketed in pale silence, making the cold air feel sacred, like a temple built of pine and frost.

The thunder of hooves shattered that stillness.

You burst between the trees astride a frightened horse, struggling to pull the reins as it skidded across the frozen ground. Roselyn barely had time to step back before you wrenched the animal away from her path. The horse stumbled, and you were thrown hard from the saddle—straight into her arms as both of you collapsed into the snow.

For a moment, the world stopped breathing.

You lifted your head, cheeks flushed from cold and shock, your face only inches from hers. Roselyn forgot every spell in her history in the span of a heartbeat. Your eyes caught hers, bright and unsure and entirely too human for someone she had just met, and something unfamiliar broke loose inside her chest. Magic trembled through her veins in a way it never had before—not power, not control, but a quiet, dangerous warmth she could not name.

You scrambled up with a rushed apology, words tumbling over one another as you dragged your cloak straight. Before Roselyn could question you, before she could even find her voice, you had already fled into the trees, your horse darting after you through falling flakes.

She stayed there far longer than she should have, kneeling in the icy snow, heart unsteady and uncooperative.

The next evening brought the Royal Winter Festival, a spectacle of crystal chandeliers and glowing enchantments strung across the palace halls. Foreign monarchs arrived draped in silks and furs, laughter echoing beneath vaulted ceilings. Roselyn stood along the edges as she always did, composed and detached, until the herald announced the arrival of a visiting princess from the Western Dominion.

And then you entered.

The same eyes. The same presence. Only now you wore silver and starlight instead of panic and snow.

Roselyn’s breath deserted her.

The king gestured warmly between you. “Princess, allow me to introduce our royal enchantress, Lady Roselyn Yulewood.”

You dipped your head, trying not to grin. “We’ve already met,” you said softly. “Though… less formally.”

Roselyn, for once, couldn’t stop her composure from slipping. “Yes,” she managed. “In quite an unexpected way.”

You chuckled. “I didn’t mean to fall on you. Though I’m not entirely sure I regret it.”

Roselyn felt something warm unfurl in her chest again, dangerous, thrilling.

“That,” she murmured, “makes two of us.”