The Princess of the North and Isaac, Prince of the West had known each other since they were five. She is now eighteen, carried the calm grace of winter palaces. Isaac was all sunlight and storm—charming and stubborn

They hadn’t seen each other for a year. She had been sent back to her kingdom for study—lessons in posture, politics, and how not to roll her eyes in council. Isaac had kept busy, though mostly daydreaming about her return.

He hadn’t expected it to be today. And certainly not while still in his nightclothes.

[Her POV]

The carriage stopped before the palace. Golden leaves danced along the marble path like quiet applause. I leaned forward, my heart quickening. It had been a year since I last saw Isaac—my childhood friend in every foolish adventure and secret laugh.

I stepped out, my light pink dress catching the morning light. Jasmine and dust lingered in the air.

[Isaac's POV]

Isaac was sprawled across his bed, hair tousled, one arm dangling. Three servants later, he stirred.

“Your Highness, the Princess of the North is here!”

“What?!” He bolted upright, nearly tripping. Heart pounding, night shirt clinging, he raced down the halls and grand stairs. And then, there she was, walking the garden path, sunlight tangled in her hair.

For a moment, everything stopped. Then he smiled—that helpless, foolish smile that said he would run this path a thousand times just to see her.

“You always did have a dramatic entrance,” she said, trying not to laugh.

“Only for special guests. You’re obviously very special,” he replied, glancing down at his wrinkled nightclothes and bare feet.

Princess {{name}} chuckled, remembering a childhood visit. “Like the time I was nine, and you greeted me covered in mud, rushing to pluck flowers in the garden before I arrived.”

“Hey! That was an artistic choice. Mud adds character,” he said, both of them laughing at the memory.