Breathing in the cold winter air, Katherine descended the broad Romanesque staircase, taking in the formal gardens that stretched before her. Even in this season, their elegance was apparent—carefully sculpted hedges and graceful fountains stood as testament to the castle's splendor. Winter had come unnaturally early this year, and the snow had frozen the last roses that climbed the tall colonnade pillars.

She clutched the heavy cloak more tightly, though the winter sun felt warm on her skin. The crisp snow crunched beneath her feet, and her breath formed twisting plumes in the frigid air. Walking along the snow-covered gravel path, she let her gaze wander over the castle's massive façade—a masterpiece crafted by the finest stonemasons and architects of its time. She wondered, not for the first time, why a man so cold and cruel would choose to surround himself with such beauty and light.

Idly studying the grand structure, she wandered aimlessly, lost in thought. When she reached the low wall of the gallery bordering the courtyard, she ran her hand over the cold stone, brushing away the thin layer of snow. At the gallery's end, she paused and leaned against a carved pillar. Despite the garden's serene appearance, unease gripped her, as though a lurking darkness weighed on her mind. She had lost everything, and now stood here as his slave—his whore—without rights, surviving only by his whim. He could take whatever he pleased from her, then end her life when it no longer suited him to keep her.

She fought against tears; if she started weeping, she feared she might never stop. With a trembling sigh, she pushed herself away from the wall. Gathering her skirts, she stepped onto a short flight of steps that led up to the thick inner wall, peering out over its edge. Below lay the outer courtyard and, beyond it, the snow-laden forest. The dense trees concealed all that lay within their shadows—safe from the watchful eyes of the castle's guards patrolling walls and towers. Her heart pounded. If she could just reach the forest, she might be free.

She stretched for a crack in the stone to gain a better vantage, pressing her free hand to the wall. She slipped, gasping as her palm grazed the sharp thorns of a rose now stripped of its blooms.

"You should be more careful."

She spun at the sound of the Prince's voice, losing her footing in alarm. She nearly fell backward, only managing to steady herself by clutching the wall with her left hand. As she did, her father's ring slipped from her grasp and landed with a soft thunk in the snow at his feet.

Struggling to maintain composure, she turned to face him with as much dignity as she could muster. He stood at the opposite end of the balustrade, his crimson cloak pooling at his heels.

"I must say, Katherine, I find your disregard of protocol very refreshing," he remarked, picking up the ring from the snow and turning it thoughtfully in his hand.

Remembering that he was not only her jailor but also her king, she sank into a curtsey. He inclined his head, granting her leave to stand. At once, her gaze drifted to his hand, hating the sight of her father's ring in his possession. As if aware of her distress, he extended his hand in silent invitation.

"An ornament fit for a queen. It should be worn, not hidden away," he said, gently sliding the ring onto her finger, his gloved fingertips brushing lightly across her skin.

Even that faint contact brought back the memory of his touch the night before. Appalled at her body's immediate response, she pulled her hand away.

"Come, walk with me, Katherine."

She hesitated a moment, then slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, her heart hammering within her chest.

They walked in silence for a while along the snow-covered path, until they reached a stunning suspended walkway spanning two halves of the formal gardens. The morning sun's brilliant light gave the bridge the illusion of floating above a gleaming sea of gold. Katherine marveled at the sight, her gaze tracing the parapets that lined the bridge and the intricately carved columns beneath them. Each one was unique, and as she studied their design, she realized the carvings formed a sequence, telling some ancient story. He noticed her interest.

"It is an ancient parable about the king who sells his soul to save his kingdom from destruction."

"How very fitting," she replied.

He gave a soft chuckle. "Oh, it is."

Katherine hesitated, reluctant to voice her curiosity, then finally asked, "What does it say about the king?"

He raised an eyebrow, as though the question had caught him by surprise. "It tells of a king facing an unbeatable foe who threatens to annihilate his lands. He prays for deliverance, yet it's not God but the Devil who answers. The king accepts a bargain for power—enough to triumph over his enemy. But as with all deals made in darkness, the gift was twofold: along with the beast's unmatched strength came its cruelty and insatiable hunger for domination. Having destroyed his foe, the dragon-king didn't relent; instead, he assumed the conquered tyrant's role, laying waste to his own realm in the pursuit of greater power."

"How does the tale end?" she asked, trying to quell the growing knot of anxiety in her stomach.

He paused, then said quietly, "That is what makes it so intriguing. The story has no end—it leaves each listener to decide the king's fate."

She swallowed hard. "What do you believe? How does it end?"

He didn't answer, and her unease deepened. She dared not look at him, afraid of what she might see in his eyes.

"Sometimes the answers to our questions," he said gently, "are better left unexplored."