The palace was bustling as it always was, full of servants and officials.
Evira took it all in—the polished tiles, the high ceilings—
but she didn't see any of it.
She saw a garden.
An old stone bench.
The way his hand felt against hers.
His *smile...*
Then a voice pulled her back.
"Princess?"
She glanced up to see a servant smiling politely.
"The meeting is about to begin."
She gave herself a mental shake, trying to focus.
"Yes. Thank you." She glanced around, smoothing her skirt. "Where should I go?"
The servant pointed up a grand staircase, then bowed and hurried away.
Evira took a deep breath,
straightened up,
and started climbing.
Her heart beat faster...
But not with fear.
Just hope.
Each step echoed through the marble hall—
polished shoes on stone,
duty calling her forward.
But Evira wasn't climbing for the throne.
She was climbing *for him.*
The meeting doors loomed ahead—massive, carved with royal crests, guarded by two silent knights.
And just before she reached them—
she paused.
Not because she was afraid.
But because she remembered:
*Jackson's voice.*
*"Are you happy?"*
And now?
As she straightened her spine,
tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear,
and stepped into the chamber—
the Ice Princess returned...
but something had changed.
Her eyes were softer.
Her hands steady—not clenched in fear, but open to choice.
And when they all turned to look at her—ministers and generals and noble lords—
she didn't flinch under their gazes.
She simply said:
"I'm here."
Not cold.
Not distant.
Just *certain.*
The room went quiet—not surprised, but caught off guard by her confidence.
Then one of the ministers spoke up, a man with gray hair and a stern expression.
"Princess Evira," he said stiffly, "you're late."
She met his gaze, unruffled. "I apologize. I was delayed by a... social engagement."
Murmurs spread through the room, some of the nobles whispering to each other.
One of them—an older woman with sharp eyes,
raised an eyebrow:
"A social engagement?"
Evira didn't flinch. She lifted her chin and said, clear as a bell:
*"I was walking with my fiancé."*
Silence.
Then—
A tiny, muffled *squeak* from the far end of the table.
All eyes turned.
Elodie sat there, hand clamped over her mouth like she'd been caught stealing sweets—but her eyes were shining with pure joy behind it.
Fabian beside her quietly slid his teacup a few inches away—wisely avoiding collateral damage when she inevitably exploded into silent celebration.
The gray-haired minister cleared his throat. "F-fiancé? But Princess, you've never spoken of—"
"I have now," Evira cut in gently—but firmly.
And for the first time...
she smiled just a little as she said it:
*"His name is Jackson Hewitt."*
Another beat of silence—
then whispers burst like spring thaws across ice:
*"Hewitt?"*
*"The Marquis' son?"*
*"The one who was once engaged to Crown Princess Elodie?"*
Elodie removed her hand just long enough to whisper-scream:
***"YES! FINALLY!"***
Then clapped it back over her mouth, eyes watering from holding in laughter—and maybe happy tears too.
Evira let them talk. Let them wonder. Let them judge—if they dared.
Because none of that mattered anymore.
She wasn't hiding their story now...
and tomorrow?
She'd say it again—
louder—
until every stone in this palace knew:
Jackson Hewitt held the heart
of the girl who once feared feeling anything...
and he hadn't even needed words to take it.*
He'd just asked one question:
*Are you happy?*
And today,
in this room full of cold politics and old rules,
she answered without saying a word—
by standing tall,
smiling small,
and letting love walk beside duty
like they were meant to be all along.*
Evira nodded and took her seat beside Elodie, hands folded neatly on the table.
Her expression was calm—regal, even.
But Elodie, still buzzing with barely contained joy, leaned over the second she sat down and whispered:
*"You called him your fiancé."*
Evira didn't look at her. Just sipped from her teacup—cool as morning mist—and said:
"So I did."
Elodie nearly kicked the table in excitement—but caught herself at the last second.
Instead, she straightened up dramatically and clapped her hands once.
"Lords and ladies," she announced with royal authority (and barely suppressed glee), "we *shall* begin."
And as the ministers shuffled papers and cleared their throats,
no one noticed how Evira's lips curled—just a little—
at the corners.
Because for once?
She wasn't just surviving duty.
She was bringing *love* to it.
For the next two hours, the ministers and lords and generals droned on, talking business and politics and planning.
Evira paid attention—mostly.
But sometimes her mind drifted...
to a quiet moment in an almost-forgotten courtyard...
and when she felt herself slipping away,
she took a quick sip from her teacup—
and came back just in time to listen again.
It was tedious business. Boring at times. But it still mattered. Because her people mattered...
and so did he.
When the meeting finally ended three hours later, the other ministers and lords filed out, leaving just Evira and a very impatient Elodie.
The moment the doors closed with a soft click, Elodie whirled in her seat to face Evira.
"Okay, spill."
Evira raised an eyebrow. "Spill what?" she asked pleasantly.
Elodie waved her hands like she was swatting away flies. "Don't you *dare* act cool and calm like nothing's happened. *My sister* just stood up in a room full of stuffy old ministers and told them *she was *engaged!"*
Evira just calmly sipped her tea—
"And?"
Elodie sputtered, indignant. "And? You can't just drop something like that on me and then not tell me everything!" She grabbed Evira's shoulder. "Come on," she pleaded, trying to shake her in her chair, "we're alone, you can tell me! When did this happen?"
Evira relented with a sigh. "Fine. I know you well enough to know you won't stop until I tell you."
Elodie bounced in her seat, nodding quickly.
"Exactly! You know I can't focus on anything else now."
The corner of Evira's mouth lifted in a tiny smirk.
"Of course you can't," she mumbled—then sighed, putting her teacup down.
"But very well," she said, a bit more loudly. "If you must know..."
Elodie leaned closer, eyes wide as saucers.
The second she began to speak, Elodie squealed.
"A secret place? Oh my gosh, like a *secret hideaway?"*
Evira tried not to smile at her sister's reaction. "Yes. A quiet place in the capital."
Elodie was practically swooning in her chair. "How romantic," she sighed. "And then what happened?"
"We talked," Evira replied simply.
Elodie's eyes lit up. "Oh, and what did he say?? Something sweet, I bet." She clasped her hands dramatically. "Oh, you know what? You probably don't need to tell me. I bet it was romantic and deep, and sweet, and he made you laugh—"
Evira looked amused. "Oh, really?"
Elodie missed the dry tone. "Of course! All the best love stories have laughs and tears and flowers and—"
"Elodie."
Evira shook her head, still trying not to laugh. "Not everyone needs some grand romantic gesture," she scolded gently.
Elodie leaned over the table again, eyes gleaming. "Then what was it, if you're so wise? What happened that made you want to call him your *fiancé?"*
Evira looked down, suddenly quiet.
"He asked me a question," she said softly.
Elodie paused.
This time, she didn't interrupt.
"He asked me... if I was happy."
Elodie's playful smirk faded.
She leaned back slightly, studying her sister's face—the way her voice softened, the faint warmth in her pale cheeks.
"And?" she whispered.
Evira didn't answer right away.
Instead, she looked at the teacup between her hands—steam long gone—and smiled.
A small smile.
Quiet.
Real.
"And I realized..." she said gently, "I *am*."
The room fell still.
Then Elodie stood up—walked around the table—and pulled Evira into a tight hug without warning.
"Oh," Evira huffed, startled. "Elodie—"
"You're glowing," Elodie whispered into her hair, voice thick with emotion. "You really are happy."
And for once—
Evira didn't pull away.
She just closed her eyes,
rested a hand on Elodie's back,
and let herself be held...
because love wasn't always words—
sometimes it was silence,
a shared look,
or a sister who cried because your heart had finally found its home.*
Elodie pulled back, wiping a tear from her cheek. "I'm sorry," she sniffled, "but I waited *so long* for this."
Evira rolled her eyes again—fondly—and handed her a handkerchief.
"You're going to ruin your makeup," she said dryly.
Elodie dabbed at her eyes dramatically. "Worth it."
Then she grinned through the tears.
"You know... Jackson might actually be perfect for you."
Evira looked away—out the window, where the sun was beginning to dip low over the palace gardens.
The sky blushed pink and gold.
She didn't say *yes.*
Didn't say *no.*
Just whispered:
"...He asks me questions no one else ever has."
Elodie's smile softened. "Like whether you're happy."
Evira nodded—once, small—and finally met her sister's eyes.
"And... he stays quiet when I need him to."
"He holds my hand like it means something."
"And he found a place... just for us."
She paused.
Then added, so softly Elodie almost missed it:
"I think... I'm falling for him."
Elodie let out a noise halfway between a sob and a squeal—then lunged forward for another hug.
"*Finally!*" she cried into Evira's shoulder. "I get to tease you about love instead of watching you read political treaties like romance novels!"
Evira groaned—but didn't push her away this time.
Because maybe—
just maybe—
being loved wasn't so cold after all.
Jackson lay on his bed, arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling.
The sun had set.
The capital quieted.
And still—
he couldn't stop thinking about her.
Her voice.
Her blush.
The way she looked at him when he asked if she was happy...
His chest tightened—like joy and fear pressed together into one breathless feeling.
"She almost said it," he murmured to the empty room.
He remembered how close they'd been under the apple blossoms...
How her hand trembled in his...
And then—the interruption.
*That cursed carriage.*
He sat up with a groan, running a hand through his hair. "Why do you always say *everything* so simply?"
Because that's what hurt most—
not losing her to duty...
but wondering if she'd walk back into silence
and forget what they almost had.
Jackson sighed, falling back onto the bed with a thud.
"Forget it?" he muttered to himself. "Yeah, right."
He stared at the ceiling again—then smirked.
"No. Not forgetting a damn thing."
Because that moment—the warmth of her hand, the way she leaned into him—it wasn't *almost* anything.
It was *real.*
And if one kiss didn't happen today?
He'd just have to make tomorrow his new chance.
Jackson swung his legs off the bed, pushing off his covers.
Because the one thing he knew with absolute certainty...
was that this time—
no interruptions.
No *carriages.*
He stood, pacing to the window, pulling the curtains back.
Outside, the moon hung high. Stars painted a silver trail across the sky.
He glanced down—
Then,
he froze.
A soft glow shone across the palace lawns.
*Fireflies.*
Flickering, tiny lights like stars fallen to the grass—
A reminder that hope and wonder didn't end when the sun was gone.
And if there were *fireflies,*
then maybe...
Jackson smiled slowly.
That hidden courtyard wasn't the only place with magic.
And if *she* had a golden timepiece that told her when to leave...
then he'd find a way to tell her when to stay.
He reached for his coat.
No waiting.
No retreating.
Because love wasn't about grand declarations in courtrooms or speeches in meetings—
it was quiet looks,
lingering hands,
and showing up—again and again—
even if all you had was hope... and fireflies lighting the way.
So he stepped out into the night, heart full,
whispering into the dark:
"I'll wait, Evira..."
"But not forever."
And somewhere beyond palace walls?
She was already thinking of him too.*
The next day, it rained—a cool spring shower that dripped from the rooftops and made sidewalks slick.
Jackson waited for Evira outside her palace, hair damp and clothes slightly wet from the walk.
But when she emerged from the door, in a cream gown with a parasol that kept the rain from her hair,
he felt like the rain was *made* to kiss the ground on just those perfect golden slippers.
He held out a hand, smiling.
"Ready for an adventure?" he teased gently.
Evira looked at his outstretched hand—
then glanced up at the sky.
Raindrops caught in her lashes like stars in midnight silk.
"...You're already wet."
Jackson grinned. "So are you—if you take my hand."
She hesitated—just for a breath—
then slipped her fingers into his.
"Then I suppose," she said softly, as thunder rumbled far off, "I'm officially ruined."
He laughed—bright and warm against the cool air.
"Only if you care what anyone thinks." He squeezed her hand. "And I don't think *you* do anymore."
Jackson and Evira walked arm in arm, Evira using her parasol to shield them from the rain.
Elodie and Fabian weren't far behind them, ducking behind trees and ducking through alleys.
"Come on," Elodie hissed, dragging a reluctant Fabian along. "We're going to lose them if we don't hurry."
Fabian huffed, brushing leaves out of his hair. "Why do we have to follow them?"
Jackson led Evira to a quiet café, the rain beating like a soft drum against the roof. He held the door as they slipped inside, shaking wet droplets from their coats.
Elodie and Fabian dashed to the windows—but their view was partially blocked by condensation in the glass.
"I can't see them!" Elodie whispered, wiping at the foggy glass. "This rain is ridiculous..."
Fabian sighed. "Why is it so important to see them anyway?"
Elodie looked at him incredulously. "Because *they're in love, you oblivious oaf!*"
Fabian shrugged. "And?"
Elodie smacked his arm. "And *that* is a much more interesting story than the trade agreements I've seen so far today." She squinted through the glass again. "Oh, they're walking to a table! We're getting closer."
On the other side of the glass, Evira and Jackson sat down, shaking off their coats. The café was cozy, a fire glowing in the corner. They sat down opposite each other, Evira folding her hands neatly on the table while Jackson studied the menu.
Outside, Elodie and Fabian crept closer to the glass, ducking below window level so they couldn't be seen.
"Oh, look!" Elodie whispered. "He's pulling out her chair for her. How gallant."
Fabian raised an eyebrow. "You're swooning."
Elodie elbowed him. "You can shut up at any time, you know that?"
Fabian just snorted. "You're ridiculous."
She opened her mouth to disagree—then snapped her mouth shut, squinting through the glass.
"Shhh!" she hissed. "They're talking!"
Inside the cafe, Jackson set down his menu and turned to Evira with a smile.
"See anything interesting?" he asked.
Evira tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, scanning the menu like she was actually reading it.
"A few things," she said quietly. "But I'm not always good at making choices."
Jackson's smile quirked at the corner of his mouth. "You? The princess who reads treaties in her free time and never hesitates in meetings?"
Evira's eyes twined. "This isn't a meeting."
"No," he said softly, leaning in just slightly, "it's better."
Outside the window, Elodie gasped—and immediately clapped both hands over her mouth.
Fabian shot her a look. "What? What did I miss?"
She pointed frantically at Jackson and Evira through the foggy glass.
"He's doing *the smile*—you know the one! The soft one—the *dangerous* one!"
Fabian blinked. "...They're looking at menus."
The waiter approached with a polite bow. "Are you ready to order, my lord, my lady?"
Jackson looked at Evira. "After you."
She hesitated—then said softly, "I'll have the lavender tea... and the honey-almond tart."
Jackson turned to the waiter. "Same for me."
The waiter bowed again and left.
Outside, Elodie groaned dramatically under her breath. "Honey-almond? Lavender tea? That's couple code!"
Fabian blinked again. "It's just dessert."
Fabian just shook his head, exasperated. "So they both have good taste," he muttered. "What's the big deal?"
Elodie smacked his arm, shushing him. "Pay *attention*!" she hissed.
Fabian rolled his eyes, but turned back to the window and the couple inside.
Inside the café, Evira glanced at Jackson as he turned back to her, still smiling.
"Apple pie is... a good choice," she said quietly—almost shyly.
Jackson leaned forward slightly. "It's *our* choice now."
She blinked at him—just for a second—
then looked down into her lap,
where their hands lay side by side on the table,
so close their fingers could have touched.
And maybe...
they did—
just a little.
Outside the window, Elodie and Fabian watched, both quiet for once.
Elodie's eyes were wide with delight.
"Did you *see* that? She blushed! She *blushed*!"
"It was probably the firelight," Fabian said dryly.
Elodie smacked him again. "Stop ruining the moment!"
The waiter arrived with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate—dusted with cinnamon, swirls of cream melting slowly on top—and a single slice of apple pie, golden and warm.
Jackson reached for the pie first, breaking off a small piece.
But instead of eating it—
he offered it to her on his fork.
Evira looked up at him—surprised—
and the whole world seemed to pause in that breathless second.
"Try it," he said softly. "Our first bite."
Outside the window,
Elodie nearly fell over trying to stand up straight again after ducking too long.
"*He's feeding her!*" she squeaked into Fabian's shoulder.
"This is *unbelievable!*"
Fabian crossed his arms. "You're acting like this is some grand romance play."
"Because it *is*," Elodie hissed back, eyes glued to the window.
Inside, Evira hesitated—just for a heartbeat—
then leaned forward... and took the bite.
A quiet hum escaped her. "It's good."
Jackson didn't look away. "So are you."
She nearly choked on her hot chocolate.
Outside—
Elodie made a noise like a teakettle exploding into steam and collapsed against Fabian in pure ecstasy.
"DID YOU HEAR THAT? *'So are you.'* That's *it!* That's the line! He's *in love!*"
Fabian caught her with one arm, sighing as she trembled dramatically against him.
"You," he muttered, "are hopeless."
"And they're not," she whispered back—tears practically forming in her eyes—"because Jackson just made my little sister blush... while feeding her pie."
Then she sniffled once.
"...I need to write this down."
Elodie yanked a small notebook and quill from her cloak—ink smudging the sleeve of her dress as she scribbled frantically:
*"Jackson Hewitt — Feeds Evira pie. Romantic gesture level: Catastrophic."*
Fabian blinked. "Catastrophic?"
She didn't look up.
"*Yes.* As in, emotionally devastatingly perfect. It's going to break her icy heart into a million beautiful pieces."
She paused, pen hovering, as Jackson laughed at something Evira murmured—low and warm—and brushed a stray crumb from her lip with his thumb.
Elodie gasped.
"*He touched her face!*"
Scrabble-scratch went the quill:
*"Physical contact escalation: UNPRECEDENTED. Threat level: SOULMATE IMMINENT."*
Fabian sighed again, louder this time. "You're documenting their date like it's an intelligence report."
"Because it *is*," she shot back, eyes wide with purpose. "The future of royal romance depends on this!"
Elodie froze—quill in mid-air.
Ink dripped onto the paper like a heartbeat.
"He... *licked his thumb.*" Her voice dropped to a hush, filled with horror and awe. "*After touching her lip.*"
Fabian raised an eyebrow. "That's... normal?"
"IT'S NOT NORMAL!" Elodie shrieked in a whisper, clutching her notebook like it could shield her from the emotional damage. "*He tasted where she just was!* That's *advanced intimacy!* Evira is going to die!"
And inside—
Evira *was* dying.
Her face burned crimson as she downed the rest of her hot chocolate so fast she nearly inhaled the cinnamon—and coughed slightly into her napkin.
Jackson blinked at her. "You okay?"
"Fine," she squeaked, voice cracking like dry ice.
Then she stared at him—really stared—as if realizing what had just happened:
His thumb.
Her lip.
The quiet way he'd looked at it... then licked it...
like it meant something.
And now he sat there,
calm,
oblivious,
sipping his drink—
while Evira's heart tried to punch its way out of her chest.
Elodie collapsed against Fabian again, hand over heart.
"*She's not coming back from this one,*" she whispered tragically.
"*This is how princesses fall.*"
Fabian sighed—and this time, even he couldn't hide a small smile.
"...Yeah," he admitted softly. "*They really are."*
Elodie and Fabian turned sharply at the shout.
A woman knelt on the wet cobblestones, clutching her empty satchel. "My papers! Please—my son's life depends on those documents!"
A thief in a dark cloak sprinted down the alley—fast, but not fast enough.
Because in one motion—
Fabian drew his sword, kissed Elodie's temple mid-stride—
and *ran.*
"Stay here," he called over his shoulder.
Elodie rolled her eyes. "*As if I'd miss this!*"
She tore after him without hesitation, notebook still clutched in hand like a battle scroll.
Elodie burst out of the alley just in time to watch the thief round a corner and dart into a side street.
"He went left!" she yelled to Fabian, who was already in pursuit.
She took off after him, boots slapping the cobblestones.
The thief glanced back—face covered by a black cloth—and cursed when he saw the second figure chasing him.
*Two* witnesses.
And one had a *sword.*
"Perfect night," he hissed.
And kept running.
*Faster.*
The street widened as the thief sprinted towards a stone bridge.
Elodie and Fabian raced right behind.
The thief was fast—but Fabian was faster. He was closing the distance fast.
The thief darted into a small side street, cloak flying.
Elodie skidded the turn a second later, but stumbled on the wet cobblestones.
The book in her hand slipped.
"No!" she gasped—but it was too late—
Elodie cursed furiously as the journal sank into the river's murky black depths—but she didn't stop chasing.
The thief was still ahead, but slower now.
"Give *up*," he spat, voice muffled under the cloth as they rounded a curve.
Elodie grinned sharply. "Absolutely not."
The chase went on. The thief darted between streets, trying to shake them.
Elodie and Fabian followed, breath burning and lungs aching in the cool night air.
The thief glanced back. They were gaining on him.
"Damn them," he growled, and vaulted over a low wall.
Elodie cursed and scrambled after him, tearing the hem of her dress.
Fabian vaulted it too, still in a dead sprint.