Snow drifted lazily through the palace garden, settling on King Alaric’s dark cloak and pale hair without him noticing. He sat on a stone bench where the paths met, hands cupped around nothing, watching his breath cloud the air as if it were something curious and fragile.

The sound of wheels broke the quiet.

A carriage—rich, black-lacquered, trimmed in gold—rolled through the outer gates. Alaric tilted his head, confused. Carriages arrived often. They always brought papers, smiles, bows. He was never expected to greet them.

Footsteps crunched through the snow.

“Your Majesty,” one servant hissed urgently, moving in front of him, “please stay seated.”

Alaric frowned faintly. “Am I in the way?”

Before the servant could answer, a woman stepped past them.

She was unmistakably royal. Not loud, not demanding—simply certain. She wore a gown of dark velvet and sheer embroidered fabric, threaded with gold like constellations caught in silk. A delicate crown rested in her ash-blonde hair, which was gathered loosely at her nape, strands escaping to frame a calm, resolute face. Her eyes—clear, steady, and searching—locked onto Alaric as if she had known him all her life.

The servants moved to block her.

“My lady—please—”

“I am Queen Seraphina Eirwyn,” she said, her voice even but unyielding. “And you will step aside. I have every right to see my husband.”

The word husband struck Alaric like cold water.

He rose slowly, unsteady. “I’m sorry,” he said at once, because that was his instinct. “I think there’s been a mistake.”

Seraphina approached him carefully, as one would a frightened animal. She knelt in the snow so they were eye to eye, heedless of the cold soaking into her skirts.

“There is,” she said softly. “But not the one you think.”

Up close, she was breathtaking in a quiet way—soft color in her cheeks from the cold, lips pale but steady, jewelry catching the weak winter light. Strength lived in her posture, patience in her gaze.

“My name is Seraphina,” she continued gently. “I am your wife. We were married two years ago. You were not told. I was sent away. And you were protected with lies.”

Alaric’s breath stuttered. “I… I don’t remember you.”

“I know.” Her eyes shone, but she did not cry. “That wasn’t your choice.”

He looked back at the servants, at the palace walls, at the snow-covered ground. The world felt suddenly thin, like ice about to crack.

“They said I was ruling,” he whispered. “They said I was doing well.”

“You were surviving,” Seraphina said. “That is not the same thing.”

She reached out, slow and careful, and wrapped her gloved hands around his trembling ones. He did not pull away.

“I won’t force you to believe me,” she said. “I won’t take anything from you. I just want you to know the truth—and to decide, for the first time, what you want.”

Alaric looked at her hands holding his, warm despite the snow.

“I’m very bad with sudden things,” he admitted quietly.