Dawn finds us in Balthren's messy study, surrounded by ancient literature and mystical equipment. The elderly magician strides enthusiastically, his earlier anxiety about the western ward temporarily forgotten in light of our discoveries.
"Extraordinary," he mutters, scrutinizing a frost blossom we've brought. "Absolutely extraordinary. The books speak of balance magic, but I never anticipated seeing it manifested in my lifetime."
Thorne stands at the window, watching the sunlight shed golden light across the frost-covered gardens. Though he maintains a healthy distance from me now, his eyes tell a different story every time they contact mine.
"Can you explain exactly what happened?" Balthren asks, staring at us over his spectacles with knowing eyes.
I felt heat rise to my cheeks. "We... that is... Prince Thorne and I..."
"Our magics connected," Thorne interrupts, saving me from my stammering. "One moment we were in the garden, and the next..." His words trail off, but his gaze finds mine across the room.
"And then the garden responded," I finish. "Not just with growth, but with these." I gesture to the impossible bloom—petals edged with exquisite frost yet alive with life at their center.
Balthren lifts the blossom cautiously. "This shouldn't exist. Winter magic kills. Spring magic generates. They're opposing forces."
"What if they're not supposed to be?" I ask, articulating the thought that's troubled me since last night. "What if they're meant to complement each other?"
Thorne crosses the room, standing closer to me than strictly required. "My ancestors' records indicate winter magic alone protected Thornwall. If balance was always needed, why did we survive so long without it?"
Balthren grabs an antique scroll from his shelves. "Perhaps you didn't. Look at these records of mystical disturbances. They've been increasing for years, but your father's council ignored them as regular variations."
"The blight isn't new," I know. "It's been building steadily. The gardens had been compensating till they couldn't anymore."
"Precisely," Balthren nods. "And now, with your combined magic..." He trails off meaningfully.
Thorne's expression darkens. "If you're suggesting I abandon generations of tradition to—"
"To save your kingdom?" Balthren interrupts sharply. "Yes, Your Highness, that's exactly what I'm suggesting."
I rest my hand tentatively on Thorne's arm, feeling the chill that continuously surrounds him. "Can we at least try?"
His glittering eyes catch mine, tension palpable within them. After a moment, he nods once, fiercely.
"What do we do?" he asks Balthren.
The old mage beckons for us to follow him into the grounds. The dawn light catches on frost-covered walkways as we travel to a tiny area near the center fountain.
"Stand here," Balthren orders, situating us facing each other. "Now, focus on the sensation you felt when your magics combined."
I swallow anxiously, remembering the intensity of that moment—Thorne's lips on mine, the rush of power, the garden exploding with life around us. From Thorne's gaze, he's recalling too.
"Must we..." he begins.
"Physical contact helps channel magic," Balthren confirms, failing to hide his delight.
Hesitantly, Thorne grabs my hands in his. His touch sends shivers through me that have nothing to do with the cold emanating from his skin.
"Now focus," Balthren instructs. "Visualize your magic flowing together, creating something new."
I close my eyes, focusing on the warm stream running beneath my skin. Gradually, I become aware of Thorne's magic—a chilly, crystalline power that runs like a winter stream. Where our hands contact, the magics meet and mingle.
"Good," Balthren murmurs. "Now direct it toward the soil."
Together, we channel our total energy downward. The ground underneath us trembles slightly. When I open my eyes, a circle of frost flowers surrounds us, their centers ablaze with bright color, their rims ringed with exquisite ice crystals.
"Perfect balance," Balthren breathes in admiration. "Creation tempered by control. Structure energized by expansion."
Thorne releases my hands slowly, marveling at what we've produced. "These could strengthen the wards?"
"Better than strengthen," Balthren says. "They could alter them. The ancient wards rely on pure winter magic, requiring continual regeneration. These balanced creations would be self-sustaining". For the rest of the morning, we experiment with different combinations of our magic. Each attempt becomes simpler, the bond between us deepening. By midday, we've created an entire bed of frost flowers, each one radiating balanced magical energy.
"The western ward," Thorne suggests. "It's the weakest. Could we test our theory there?"
Balthren guides us to the western garden, where moon orchids strive to survive. The protective energy is so faint I can barely sense it.
"This section guards against the Shadowmere Forest," Thorne explains. "If the wards fail here completely..."
"Then let's not let them fail," I interrupt, grasping his hand confidently now.
This time, our magic flows together naturally. Frost-rimmed orchids bloom across the garden bed, their centers throbbing with silver-white light. The mystical barrier beyond the garden wall clearly strengthens, rippling like the surface of a pond.
Thorne's visage alters with wonder. For the first time since I met him, he looks hopeful. "It's working."
"Indeed," Balthren responds, observing the new growth. "The balanced magic creates stronger protection than either winter or spring magic alone. With enough time, you might repair all the kingdom's wards this way."
"Time," Thorne repeats sadly. "That's what we don't have. The solstice is approaching, and the Shadowmeres grow bolder each night."
"Then we work faster," I respond, grasping his hand. "We propagate these throughout the gardens, starting with the weakest sections." As day fades to evening, we create a pattern—creating frost flowers in Balthren's study, then transplanting them to strategic spots around the gardens. Each fresh planting helps the corresponding ward.
I catch Thorne observing me carefully as I work. When our eyes meet, he doesn't look away.
"What is it?" I ask quietly.
"You're the first person outside my family who hasn't feared my magic," he says. "Even Balthren keeps his distance when I use it."
"I'm not afraid of winter," I assure him. "Every gardener knows you need winter's rest before spring's renewal."
A flicker of a smile brushes his lips. "And if winter lasts too long?"
"Then spring fights harder to return," I explain simply.
As dusk strikes, tiredness overtakes me. I've never channeled so much magic in one day. Thorne notices immediately when I waver on my feet.
"Enough," he commands, seizing my elbow to balance me. "We'll continue tomorrow."
Balthren nods approval. "The balanced plantings are taking root. By dawn, they'll have strengthened these parts greatly."
As Thorne walks me back to my cottage, the air between us feels charged with unspoken words. At my door, he hesitates.
"What we're creating," he says finally. "It goes against everything my ancestors built."
"It honors what they tried to build," I correct him. "They constructed barriers to protect. We're making them stronger."
He observes me in the growing darkness. "You're changing everything."
"We're changing everything," I reply. "Together."
For a second, I believe he might kiss me again. Instead, he bows formally, yet his eyes stay warm. "Rest comfortably. Tomorrow we continue."
I watch him walk away, frost gleaming in his wake. As I prepare for bed, I realize with shocking clarity that I'm falling in love with the Winter Prince—not despite his chilly magic, but because of how heroically he wears its weight.