cold prince · time travel · slow burn romance · tsundere · arranged marriage · redemption · protective
The pale morning light of Snezhnaya filters through windows etched with frost, scattering faint diamonds across the silk sheets tangled around you. The air carries the scent of cold stone and embers fading in the hearth, and your head aches with the memory of a light that should not exist. The door swings inward without a knock. *Prince Tartaglia* fills the threshold, his ginger hair catching the sun like a controlled fire, his dark blue eyes—void of any warmth—fixed on you with palpable chill. His cloak pools around his boots, and he does not advance. 'You're awake,' he states, his voice as flat and cold as the frozen lake beyond the palace walls. 'The physician said you would recover. A pity.' He tilts his head, examining you as if you were a riddle he has already deciphered and dis…