The road was silent as they departed before dawn, the world still wrapped in shadows. Princess Caroline sat stiffly in the carriage, staring out at the snow-covered landscape, knowing it was the last time she would see her homeland as her own.
The dense forests of the Winter Court stretched before them, vast and endless, their towering pines swaying in the cold wind. Around her, her company of soldiers and maidservants, all dressed as merchants and common travelers, rode in quiet determination. Their true identities were hidden beneath heavy cloaks, their weapons concealed, their eyes watchful.
Lord Gregor, riding at the head of their party, had drilled the men before their departure. "No banners. No crests. No signs of royalty. If we are attacked, we fight as travelers defending our own." His voice had been hard, unwavering. "But we do not lose the princess. If we must fall, we fall after she has escaped."
Caroline had wanted to protest, but she knew it was futile. These men had been trained to die for her. Whether she wanted them to or not.
They traveled for hours, the cold biting at their skin, the hooves of their horses crunching against the frozen earth. The deeper they went into the woods, the more the world changed—the silence of the road replaced by the eerie whispers of the forest, the occasional hoot of an owl, the rustling of unseen creatures in the undergrowth.
By nightfall, they set up camp in a small clearing, far from the main road. Fires were lit, tents raised, and the scent of roasting meat filled the air.
Wrapped in a heavy fur cloak, Caroline sat near the flames, listening as the soldiers laughed and swapped stories, their voices a rare comfort in the bitter cold.
"Did I ever tell you about the time I bested three men in a tavern brawl?" one of the younger knights, Edwin, boasted, gesturing dramatically with his mug.
Gregor snorted. "You bested three men, did you? With that arm of yours? You can barely lift your own sword."
Laughter rippled through the camp.
Caroline almost smiled. Almost.
But she saw the way their eyes flickered toward her, the shadow of fear behind their easy grins. They weren't only telling stories to pass the time. They were nervous. They knew the danger that lurked in these woods.
And so did she.
The first arrow struck a tree with a sharp thud.
The second landed mere inches from one of the horses, sending the beast into a frenzied panic.
Shouts erupted through the camp. Swords were drawn. Gregor bellowed orders as the men rushed to form a defensive line.
"Stay behind me, Princess!" one of her guards ordered, stepping in front of her.
Caroline's heart pounded as shadows moved between the trees, swift and silent. Hunters. Dozens of them.
And then, he emerged.
A man on horseback, his presence demanding, his dark cloak billowing behind him. His hair was the color of sunlit embers, his amber eyes sharp as a blade, scanning the scene before him.
The Summer King.
He dismounted with fluid grace, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
"This is our hunting ground," he called out, his voice low and commanding. "You have wandered where you do not belong."
Gregor stepped forward, his grip tightening on his weapon. "We mean no harm. We are travelers, passing through."
The Summer King's gaze flickered across the disguised guards, lingering on their too-straight postures, their concealed weapons. A slow, knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
"Travelers," he mused. "Heavily armed travelers."
The tension in the air was thick, ready to snap like ice beneath too much weight.
Caroline's breath hitched. This was it. This was how it ended—not in a grand palace, not in the halls of the Summerlands, but in a frozen forest, cut down before she even reached her fate.
And then—
His eyes landed on her.
More specifically, on the gold ring that glinted in the firelight, the one she had been absently twisting on her finger since they left home.
The royal crest of the Winter Court shone clear and unmistakable.
Silence fell.
The Summer King stilled, his expression unreadable as he took a slow step forward. His men, once poised for attack, hesitated.
Caroline's pulse thundered as he reached for her hand.
For a breathless moment, she thought he meant to take it. To remove the ring, to cast it aside.
Instead, his fingers brushed against hers—just enough to tilt her hand, to confirm what he already knew.
Then he released her.
His next words were unexpected.
"This is the woman I am to wed?"
His tone was not cruel, nor mocking. Just… surprised.
Caroline's throat tightened. "Yes."
A strange, unreadable expression crossed his face. And then, he let out a soft laugh—a dry, amused chuckle, as if the entire situation was some kind of cosmic joke.
"Well," he murmured, turning back to his men. "Stand down."
Gregor hesitated. "Your Majesty—"
The Summer King raised a hand. "No more blood tonight." His gaze flickered toward Caroline once more. "I will escort my bride the rest of the way."
And just like that, the attack was over.
The hunters lowered their bows, the soldiers sheathed their swords, and Caroline found herself standing beneath the golden gaze of the man who would soon be her husband.
His touch had been warm.
Warmer than she expected.