Northern winds

"What about her?" The girl was wearing a long, cherry-red gown and a similar shade of blush on her cheeks. Her posture was a little stiff and her demeanour anxious, but her smile was charming and her features innocent.

"Ah, too ordinary." Sam leaned casually against the balcony railing, just like her. They adopted each other's posture, a glass of champagne in their hands, watching the crowd dance, drink, and chat easily in the night. Most of the girls were dressed in vibrant colours, choosing shades that matched their aura or perceived mood. Seraphina was dressed in black, despite the brightness and colourfulness of the event. Her long, flowing dress was held up by only two thin straps, her back exposed, one side of the skirt slit up to her thigh. She wore delicate silver and gold jewellery on her arms, in her hair, around her neck, and in her ears. It all depicted the moon, the sun, and the stars.

“And what about—” She would have pointed at a girl in an emerald-green dress, with black, springy curls and a freshness about her that reminded her of something like a rainforest, but Sam cut her off.

“She was already forgettable for the moment she arrived.”

“What? Why, what’s wrong with her?”

“Too high heels, and she’s drinking champagne way too fast.”

“Well… okay.” After this much alcohol, that was all Seraphina could muster. Not to mention, she genuinely liked Sam; his friendship mattered more than her own opinion.

“Aaaand what do you think of her?” she said, deliberately drawing out the words teasingly, as if the lady might be one of the most tempting opportunities of this night of his.

“You know, girls like her are a bit too—” Instead of finishing the sentence, he launched into wild gestures, shaping enormous imaginary spheres in front of his chest and at either side of his hips. “You get it.”

Seraphina tried to suppress the laughter threatening to bubble out of her. After all, giggling drunkenly at other women’s curves was hardly appropriate, at least not in public, and especially not here in the South. Walls had manners down here. However, she could not deny her nature and, overcome by a smile, she replied:

"Yes, but isn't that how you like it?" The look she received was somewhere between "tell me more" and "let's not go there right now."

"All right, so here we are, me helping you find a woman. " She took a delicate sip of champagne, which was heavenly, just as it should be on an evening like this. It was not like the northern plonk she had sometimes stolen a bottle or two of as a child.

"By the way, I didn't ask for your help." This sentence lost its edge because of the playful smile that accompanied it.

"Of course not, it's my job. Because I'm your friend." He couldn't help smiling and laughed out loud. So heartily that even those standing around the balcony noticed him.

"Shall we dance?" This took her by surprise. I mean, she didn't know Sam liked to dance; as far as she could remember, he had never asked anyone but Cassey to dance. He was more the type to approach girls quietly and then take them to a more private place. Anyway...

"Why not?" Then she accepted the hand extended to her. Anything. Anything that would distract her. Anything that would make her feel alive. And with Sam, she definitely felt alive.

She quickly finished her champagne, and they headed for the dance floor. On the way, she placed her empty glass on a waiter's tray. They were having a good time in the middle of a huge ballroom as distinguished members of a prominent event. They whispered to each other, leaning close, gossiping about the outfits and bad habits of the attendees, sometimes laughing a bit louder than etiquette allowed. They spun and twirled until Seraphina felt almost dizzy—at least until her gaze landed on a calm, solid figure leaning casually against one of the marble columns.

It was him.

She froze. Suddenly, the only thing she could see was the man—tall, striking in his elegant, traditional attire, the fur-trimmed cloak draped over his shoulders. The Prince of the North. He could be no one else. She would have recognised him among a thousand, as though she were seeing him not with her eyes, but with some other, otherworldly sense.

Years had passed since their gazes last parted, yet now it felt as if none of it mattered. As if not a minute had passed between then and now. The man was also looking at her, and she could see in his eyes that he realised who she was. In her mind, she was back in the North—in the snow-covered city ringed by stone walls. The black-and-white landscape was painted red with the blood of people, and in the main square, a mutilated human body was impaled on a stake...

Air. She needed air.

Slowly shaking off her daze, she turned and headed for the exit. There were too many people here; she needed a few minutes alone. He heard Sam calling after her, but didn't care. She wanted to get out of there. She headed for the moonlit terraces but ended up in the bathroom, leaning over the toilet and emptying the contents of her stomach. She continued to retch even when there was nothing left to vomit—that damn champagne. She stepped out onto the dim, open, arcaded corridor, and instead of returning to the ballroom—where golden light and poetic music spilled outward—she plunged into the night, heading toward the dormitories. She’d had enough revelry for one evening.

“Are you all right, miss?” a man’s voice asked.

She jumped, nearly gasping aloud in fright.

His voice. He had found her, and now, after all these years, they stood face to face.

She wanted to back away, but her shoulders hit the stone wall of the corridor. Now only inches separated them. She could almost feel his scent—crisp as snow-capped peaks—and the warmth of his body, which only made the sweat break out on her skin. Again, she couldn’t breathe. The man noticed, and as though embarrassed by the impropriety of looming so close to a woman who should have been a stranger to him, he stepped back a few paces.

Her heart was still pounding in her throat, but she tried to steady herself as she looked at the prince, who was no longer that skinny pale boy preserved in her memories. He had been tall even back then, but now his shoulders had broadened, and his arms and back had become muscular. His posture was now dignified and distinguished. His dark brown hair was slightly curly, and his eyes sparkled with fatigue. He wore the insignia of the North pinned to his chest, the snarling head of a snow tiger surrounded by seven stars.

“I’m fine.”

She had to pull herself together. She wasn’t the little girl anymore who once roamed the northern mountains. She belonged to the South now, —not to the North. The prince was only a guest here, at her home.

“I assume you came for tomorrow’s Assembly.”

“Yes.”

That was all. They stood in silence, facing each other, studying one another with a kind of guarded curiosity. At last Seraphina turned to continue in the direction she’d been heading. But then a strong hand closed around her arm.

“Wait. I need to speak with you.”

She glanced down at his hand. The prince seemed to realize what he was doing and immediately let her go, staring instead at the shadowed patterns of the stone floor, embarrassed. His touch felt the same as it had been back then, and for a fleeting moment a familiar tension rushed through her, though she worked hard not to show it. The past was the past. She wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

“What do you intend to talk about?” She tried to sound indifferent, but her voice trembled.

“Not here.”

The prince started up a broad staircase with the confidence of someone who already knew the Palace well, even though he had arrived only recently. Seraphina hesitated for a moment, then followed. Their steps were soundless on the thick carpet; this wing of the castle was empty at such a late hour. In the end, curiosity was what finally broke the suffocating, awkward silence between them.

"You know, it's not often that we see northerners around here. If I count correctly, none of the seven governors were present at the last Assembly. Yet here you are. May I ask what brought you here?"

"I said, not here," he replied curtly, without looking back. "By the way, as far as I know, you're from the north too." The girl said nothing in response.

Reaching a sparsely lit, deserted corridor, they opened one of the doors and entered a large office. The walls were lined with shelves groaning under the weight of books, and the huge mahogany desk in the middle was covered with a friendly mess that reflected its daily use. The prince did not hesitate and began to speak.

"I need your help." Now this was getting interesting.

"Well, well."

"Please hear me out. I know there have been frictions between us in the past..."

"Frictions?! You betrayed us! Me!" Then, a little more quietly, almost inaudibly, she added, "You didn't keep your promise."

A painful grimace crossed the prince's face, like a storm cloud—regret? Perhaps. Another awkward silence fell between them, which the man broke this time.

"Do you like this life?" There was something accusatory in his voice, and at the same time something deep, sad and gloomy.

"Why wouldn't I?" she replied briskly. "Here I don't have to worry about the weather, I have plenty of warm food and clothes, and they accept me for who I am. I have friends I can count on, which may be a foreign concept to you."

"They accept you."

"Yes, they do." She thought of Sam, who was almost like the South itself. Light, cheerfulness, abundance. And the others, the time they spent together, the past years at the Academy. Yes, she had friends she could count on. And she wouldn't go back to where she came from for anything. She'd built up something for herself, a life that some handsome, egocentric jerk couldn't destroy.

"Yes, but what would they say if they found out who you are and how you got here?" She couldn't believe her ears. How dare this guy! She was so angry she could have spat fire. She didn't even notice that her hands were clenched into fists and the distance between them had significantly decreased.

"Are you threatening me?"

The prince, on the other hand, remained cool and calm throughout.

"No. I'm asking for your help."

"Forget it." She turned her back and started to walk away. The man who had promised her the stars when she was a little girl did not stop her. She turned back at the door, and even though she knew it wasn't over, she said before slamming the door:

"Goodbye."