The journey south felt like stepping through the changing of the seasons itself.
At dawn, Caroline left behind the icy forests of the Winter Court, the snow-covered trees fading into the distance as they descended into the milder lands of the border. By midday, the bite of the cold had lessened, giving way to rolling hills and frost-kissed meadows. And by the time they reached the first true stretch of the Summerlands, the air had shifted entirely.
Gone was the chill of her homeland.
Here, the wind was warm, scented with blooming flowers and citrus groves. The sky was no longer the pale gray she had always known but a brilliant, endless blue. The roads were lined with golden fields, and the sun—bright and relentless—pressed against her skin in a way that was both unfamiliar and… unnerving.
She felt out of place, wrapped in her heavy fur-lined cloak while her escorts rode easily in lighter garments, clearly accustomed to the warmth.
The Summer King, however, rode ahead of them, barely sparing her a glance since they had set out that morning.
If the incident in the forest had affected him, he did not show it. His expression remained unreadable, his posture impossibly relaxed yet entirely in control.
He had not spoken much to her since the attack, save for a brief introduction in the early hours of their ride.
"I am King Casimir of the Summerlands," he had said simply, his golden eyes flickering over her. "And you are now under my protection."
Under his protection.
Not under his care. Not under his rule.
Caroline wasn't sure if that distinction should comfort her or unsettle her further.
She sat stiffly in the royal carriage, her fingers gripping the edge of the seat as the wheels jostled against the uneven dirt road. The ride was smooth enough, but the closer they drew to his kingdom, the more she felt like a prisoner being led toward an uncertain fate.
Her maidservant, Elise, sat beside her, casting nervous glances at the Summerland hunters riding alongside them.
"They don't look as fierce as the stories say," Elise whispered after some time, her voice hesitant.
Caroline followed her gaze. The Summer King's men were a stark contrast to the knights of the Winter Court. Where her father's soldiers were clad in steel and carried themselves like statues of ice, these men wore lighter armor, their movements fluid, almost feline. Some had sun-kissed skin, others wore braids woven with gold threads, and a few carried long spears instead of swords—weapons meant for precision rather than brute strength.
"Looks can be deceiving," Caroline murmured, her gaze settling back on Casimir.
She had heard the stories. The Butcher of Solmere. The Storm of the South. The Sun King. He had many names, none of them comforting.
And yet, he had spared her men. He had taken her under his protection.
That was not the mark of a man without reason.
By nightfall, they reached the capital of the Summerlands—Solterra.
Caroline's breath caught as the city unfolded before her.
It was nothing like the Winter Court.
Where her homeland was built of gray stone, towering castles, and frost-bitten landscapes, this city was a kingdom bathed in gold and firelight. The palace stood atop a grand hill, its towers of sandstone and marble glowing beneath the setting sun. Cascading waterfalls lined the outer walls, spilling into lush gardens below, and the streets were alive with music and laughter.
The people—her new people—gathered near the palace gates, whispering and pointing as the procession passed through.
"Is that her?"
"The Winter Princess?"
"She looks so pale—do they even see the sun up there?"
Caroline kept her chin high, refusing to shrink under their stares.
Casimir dismounted first, handing the reins of his horse to a stable boy. Then, without a word, he turned back toward her carriage.
The door swung open.
For a brief moment, neither of them spoke.
Then he extended his hand.
A silent invitation. A silent command.
Caroline hesitated. Accepting his help meant acknowledging the reality of her situation. It meant stepping fully into this new world, into the warmth of a kingdom that was not hers.
But to refuse?
She was a foreign bride, not a queen. She had no power here. Not yet.
Swallowing her pride, she placed her gloved fingers in his.
His grasp was warm, steady.
As he helped her down, he murmured just loud enough for her to hear, "Welcome to the Summerlands, Princess."
Caroline lifted her chin, meeting his gaze head-on.
Let the game for power begin.