Her gown flowed in layers of pale silver and deep blue, embroidered with ancient sigils that shimmered faintly under the hall’s torchlight. A delicate crown rested upon her dark hair, not heavy with jewels, but refined–meant to symbolize authority rather than excess. Every step she took carried quiet dignity.
Adrian stared.
For a brief, disorienting moment, his mind refused to reconcile what his eyes were seeing.
Miss Reyes…?
“Reyes,” he called instinctively.
She didn’t answer.
Her expression didn’t flicker. No recognition. No surprise. Only calm curiosity, as though she were looking at a stranger.
The silence stretched.
The king turned slightly, frowning. “Who did you just call?”
Adrian hesitated.
Before he could respond, the king looked toward the woman and spoke with unmistakable authority.
“Princess Elowen Venthra, come closer.”
The title echoed through the hall.
Princess.
Adrian’s breath caught.
The woman–Princess Elowen–inclined her head lightly. “Yes, Father.”
The sound of it shattered something in Adrian’s thoughts.
This isn’t possible.
Isabella Reyes–his trusted aide, a modern woman rooted firmly in the present world–standing here as a princess in a realm that still lived by ancient laws and traditions?
His gaze sharpened, searching for cracks. For familiarity. For proof
But there was nothing.
Different posture. Different aura. Different… presence.
Adrian exhaled slowly and gave a faint, self–mocking smile.
“…I see,” he murmured.
The king looked back at him. “You know my daughter?”
Adrian shook his head calmly. “No. I thought I did.” He paused, then added evenly, “Someone who resembles her. I must have been mistaken.”
The king studied him closely but did not press further.
Princess Elowen, however, tilted her head slightly, her eyes lingering on Adrian longer than courtesy demanded. There was interest there–undisguised, almost innocent.
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“He’s handsome,” she said suddenly, voice clear and unguarded. “s he a suitor?”
The hall froze.
Adrian blinked.
The prince nearly choked.
The king stiffened, then coughed lightly. “Absolutely not.”
Princess Elowen frowned. “Why?”
“He’s an outsider,” the king replied firmly. “He does not know our customs, our rites, or our laws. Royal blood cannot mix with foreign roots.”
Adrian remained silent, unfazed. He had no intention of correcting the misunderstanding.
The king waved a hand decisively. “Enough of this. Escort him to collect the herbs. See him safely out of the town.”
“Yes, Father,” the prince said quickly, relieved to escape the awkwardness.
Adrian inclined his head politely. “Thank you for your generosity.
He turned-
–and then a sharp gasp cut through the hall.
Princess Elowen staggered.
For a heartbeat, no one reacted. Then her knees buckled.
“Elowen!” the king shouted.
She collapsed.
Chaos erupted.
Servants rushed forward. Guards shouted orders. The prince caught her just before she struck the stone floor.
“Call the royal physician!” someone yelled.
“Now!”
Adrian stopped walking.
He turned back slowly.
One glance was enough.
Her complexion was pale beneath the torchlight, lips tinged faintly blue, breathing shallow and irregular. Her pulse–erratic. Her internal energy… unstable.
Adrian stepped forward.
“I wouldn’t move her,” he said calmly.
The guards hesitated, unsure whether to obey.
The king looked up sharply. “What did you say?”
Adrian knelt beside her, two fingers already pressing lightly against her wrist, his eyes half–lidded in concentration.
“She has a chronic internal imbalance,” he said. “Congenital. Present since childhood.”
The hall fell silent.
CHAPTER 03
The king’s voice turned hoarse. “How do you know that?”
Adrian didn’t look up. “Because it’s obvious.”
Murmurs rippled.
“That’s impossible- .” “She’s been ill since she
”
“Every physician failed-”
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The king stepped closer, eyes burning. “Say it clearly.”
Adrian lifted his gaze. “She’s been treated incorrectly for years.”
Shock struck like lightning.
“Our physicians-” the prince began.
“Used acupuncture,” Adrian finished. “To suppress symptoms rather than correct the source.”
The king’s face tightened. “And you know better?”
“Yes.”
The word fell with quiet certainty.
“She does not carry a curse,” Adrian continued evenly. “Nor is it fatal–if treated properly.”
The room erupted.
“That’s a lie!” “No one could cure it!” “Even the imperial healers failed!”
Adrian ignored them.
“It’s a misaligned core circulation,” he said. “A minor defect, exaggerated by improper treatment.”
The king stared at him. “Minor?”
Adrian nodded. “You only need morning dew water mixed with Silverleaf Sage.”
Several physicians gasped.
“That herb is common!”
“Exactly,” Adrian replied. “That’s why no one looked at it.”
He stood.
“Seven days,” he continued. “Morning and evening. The dew must be collected before sunrise. No acupuncture. No forced circulation.”
Silence.
Princess Elowen’s breathing steadied slightly, as though her body itself responded to his words.
The king’s hands trembled.
“You’re telling me,” he said slowly, “that my daughter’s suffering. all these years… was unnecessary?”
“Yes.”
The king bowed.
Deeply.
“Please,” he said, voice heavy with restrained emotion. “Stay. Ensure her recovery.”
Adrian hesitated.
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Then he shook his head.
“I can’t.”
The king stiffened. “Why?”
“My master is dying,” Adrian said quietly. “He’s sustained by healing essence alone.”
The hall froze again.
Understanding dawned.
The king straightened, expression solemn. “Then I will not stop you.”
He turned sharply. “Prepare the herbs. Give him unrestricted access to our stores.”
“Yes, Your Majesty!”
The prince stepped forward. “I’ll escort him.”
Adrian nodded once.
Before he left, the king pressed a jade token into his hand. “This grants you free passage into our domain. Any time.”
Adrian accepted it. “Thank you.”
As he turned away, Princess Elowen stirred slightly.
Her eyes fluttered open.
For a brief moment, they met Adrian’s.
Confusion.
Curiosity.
And something else–something unspoken.
He gave a small nod.
Then he walked out of the hall, cloak trailing behind him, time slipping away once more.
The mountain road awaited.
And so did his master.
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
