A blizzard raged beyond the castle windows. A white veil choked the horizon, and gusting winter winds whistled against the heavy oak shutters. Yet inside the seat of House Fornweir, warmth prevailed. Logs crackled in grand hearths, bathing the stone halls in cozy light and a faint scent of pine resin.

The heavy iron-bound doors burst open, letting in swirling plumes of frigid air alongside the clatter of boots. The hunting party had returned.

The head servant hurried forward to take their snow-soaked cloaks. At the lead stepped Marquis Valtorius Fornweir, patriarch of the house. He was a tall, lean man with sharp features and shrewd, fox-like eyes. A cunning, satisfied smile played upon his lips.

“A magnificent day!” the marquis laughed loudly, brushing frost from his coat lapels. “To drive such game through a blizzard like this... Even the Sovereign himself was pleased!”

Close behind came his eldest son and heir, Silvester Fornweir. A tall, imposing youth, he emulated his father in every detail - the same proud posture, commanding gaze, and polished manners of a future ruler.

“Welcome back, Father. Silvester,” said Adrian, the marquis’s second son, his tone measured.

Unlike his fiercely competitive elder brother, Adrian had always possessed a calm, deliberate mind and a keen, observant nature. His rare eyes - the exact shade of a clear sky, inherited from his late mother - gleamed softly in the torchlight.

“Was the hunt successful?”

“More than successful, my son,” Valtorius clapped Adrian on the shoulder with vigor. “We claimed a magnificent prize.”

“Was it a stag?” Adrian asked, scanning the baggage for the impressive antlers his father so loved to bring back. “Or perhaps... a bear?”

“Father didn’t so much as shoot a hare. In fact, he never even touched a rifle.” Silvester smirked, stepping toward the hearth to warm his hands.

Adrian offered his brother a questioning look, but Silvester merely shook his head.

The marquis surveyed the hall as it dissolved into evening shadows, his brow furrowing as his eyes searched for someone.

“Where is Adelissa? Did she not come to greet her father and brother?”

Adrian smiled faintly.

“She waited by the parlor window all day, watching for your banners through the snow until her eyes grew weary. By late afternoon, she fell asleep curled up in the armchair. Godfrey had to carry her to bed.”

Valtorius hummed softly under his breath, his usually cold, fox-like expression softening for a rare moment of paternal warmth.

“Well then... let her sleep,” the marquis murmured. “Great days lie ahead of her.”

Leaving his sons by the fire, Valtorius climbed the wide staircase to the second floor. Entering the quiet, dimly lit nursery, he approached the bed with measured steps. Nestled deep among the pillows slept a girl with hair as white as snow. The marquis gently adjusted the slipped velvet blanket and whispered:

“Sleep, my princess.”

The girl stirred slightly.

“I’m not a princess...” she mumbled through her sleep, burying her face deeper into the pillow.

Valtorius offered a faint smile and quietly left the room.

Meanwhile, in the hall below, Adrian cast another inquiring glance at his elder brother, trying to unravel the meaning behind their father’s words. Silvester beckoned him over, lounging casually into an armchair as he took a sip of warm wine from a goblet handed to him by a servant.

“Adelissa is going to be a princess,” Silvester whispered conspiratorially, meeting Adrian’s stunned gaze.

“A princess?” Adrian repeated, unable to believe his ears. “Our Adelissa? But she’s so young!”

“Not now, fool. In a couple of years. The King proposed betrothing her to the second prince, and Father agreed.” Silvester lazily swirled the dark wine in his goblet. “No doubt the Queen put the Sovereign up to it.”

Sitting beside his brother, Adrian’s brow furrowed deeply.

“But Ashheim is reclusive and sickly. Besides, he is the son of the King’s second wife. Why would Father marry Adelissa to him?” he asked, genuinely bewildered.

Silvester lightly tapped his brother on the forehead.

“To keep the prince under control, obviously. Isn't it clear? If Ashheim becomes part of our family, the Queen can rest easy knowing he won't ally with other noble houses or stage a coup. Or something along those lines.”

Adrian shook his head, staring into the flickering flames.

“I don’t like this idea at all...”

“Father has decided,” Silvester cut in, taking another gulp.

“Even so!” Adrian protested.

“Like it or not, our sweet Lis is going to be a princess.”

“A princess?” a young, clear voice suddenly rang through the hall.

Adelissa stood on the staircase landing, rubbing sleep from her bright blue eyes - even lighter and more translucent than Adrian’s.

“Will I be a princess, Papa?”

Valtorius, who had just stepped back out behind her, instantly frowned, throwing an icy glare at his sons. They had been carelessly discussing royal succession within earshot of the servants, who had frozen mid-task, hungrily taking in every word. Turning to his daughter, however, the marquis gave no sign of his anger.

“Yes, my dear,” he said softly, approaching Adelissa to gently stroke her snow-white hair. “In the spring, you will meet your betrothed.”

“I am Adelissa,” the little girl said with an awkward smile, extending her palm toward him.

Ashheim froze for a moment before quickly regaining his composure. Her blue eyes were strikingly clear, and her snow-white hair shimmered in the sunlight. Kneeling down, the young prince carefully set down the shoe he had retrieved from the grass.

“Men extend their hands when meeting one another,” he said, slightly flustered, helping her slip her shoe back on under the clearly disapproving gaze of his servant. “And young ladies ought not to go throwing their shoes about.”

“I was only trying to knock down that fruit!” Adelissa smiled warmly and openly, pointing a small finger at a ripe apple hanging high on a branch.

“That is no excuse,” Ashheim frowned, striving to appear mature. “You could have hit someone on the head and cracked it open.”

“Except I didn’t! Besides, the shoe isn't even that heavy.”

The prince stared at her as though spellbound. It was not merely her boldness - no, she was impossibly lighthearted, like a gentle spring breeze. In her laughter and movements, there was none of the courtly pretense he was accustomed to, and he could not help but be captivated by it.

“Do you want the apple?”

“Mm-hmm!”

“I’ll climb the tree and get it for you. Just don’t tell anyone.”

The girl stared at him, eyes wide with wonder. Catching that look of admiration, Ashheim knew he could not back down now.

Ignoring the quiet sigh and stern shake of his servant’s head, the prince nimbly scrambled up the trunk. He reached out for the finest, reddest apple and leaped down onto the grass, bruising his knee in the process. Adelissa rushed over immediately.

“Here. Your apple,” he said, extending the fruit on his open palm.

Delighted, Adelissa cradled the gift gently, examining it with fascination. She knew such juicy fruits only grew near the mountain ranges on the far side of the kingdom, but she had never held one so up close.

“Thank you,” she said softly, stepping closer to him. “Oh! What is your name?”

The prince blinked in surprise.

“Ashheim... Ravenholt,” he managed to utter, flustered beneath her direct gaze.

“Ash?” She tilted her head slightly, and the next moment, a burst of bright, melodious laughter filled the quiet corner of the garden.

Her voice sounded like a crystal bell. The prince had never heard laughter so genuine and pure in his entire life.

“What’s so funny about my name?” He pouted slightly, turning his head away.

“Nothing! Really, I mean it. It's just... I thought you were very brave for a boy. And that I’d be happy if my betrothed were just like you.”

“You’re just a child yourself,” Ash murmured, flushing even deeper as his ears glowed traitorously red.

“Forgive me, Your Highness,” she said abruptly, her tone turning solemn.

Holding the apple with one hand, Adelissa gracefully gathered the full skirts of her dress and sank into a flawless, deep curtsy.

“I ought to have introduced myself properly. I am Adelissa Beatrice Fornweir. Your future wife.”