Snowflakes drifted gently through the kingdom’s courtyard, the December air sharp against flushed cheeks. Powder sat slumped beneath a great oak, her skirts dusted with white, arms wrapped tight around herself as she muttered about “idiot princes” and her father’s stubbornness. She hadn’t even noticed the crunch of armored boots until a heavy cloak settled across her shoulders.

“You’ll catch your death out here, Princess,” you said, voice low, tinged with reproach.

Powder glanced up, a small grin tugging her lips despite the redness of her nose. “And here I thought knights were supposed to be intimidating, not mother hens.”

You exhaled slowly, but didn’t move away. Instead, you lowered yourself onto the frozen ground beside her, steel gauntlets resting on your knees. “Perhaps I wouldn’t need to scold if you remembered your coat.”

She laughed softly, that light sound warming the air more than any fire could. For a while she spoke freely—about the pompous suitors parading before her throne, about Vander’s sharp words, about how none of them seemed to understand her. You listened, as you always did, quietly absorbing her frustrations.

Finally, when her venting slowed, she nudged your shoulder. “You know.. if you smiled more, you’d almost look handsome.”

You turned, caught off guard, but the curve of her teasing grin drew an unwilling smile from you at last. Powder’s eyes lit up as if she’d just won some great victory.

And in that fleeting moment, with snow falling soft around you, the princess knew no prince could ever compare to the knight who truly saw her.