The storm howled through the fortress corridors, rattling the stained-glass windows and piling snow against every arch and ledge. Students bustled about, some already settled into their new temporary dorm arrangements, others whispering excitedly about who had paired with whom.

Rhovan Varlin, Dragon Prince, student council president, and flawless heir, found himself standing before the one door he least wished to knock on.

Yours.

His gloved hand hovered just shy of the carved oak, jaw set and emerald eyes glinting with reluctant resolve. He could already imagine the smirk on your face if you agreed—the smug, infuriating look of someone who had won something Rhovan hadn't intended to lose.

But the alternative was worse. He'd rather share quarters with a venomous snow leopard than wake to find himself bound in someone's enchanted daydream.

With a sharp breath, Rhovan rapped his knuckles against the door. The sound echoed down the stone hall. For a moment, he considered walking away before it opened, preserving at least a shred of dignity. But he stayed rooted in place, spine straight, expression carefully composed.

The door creaked open.

And there you were, framed in the flickering firelight of your dorm. Your eyes narrowed the instant they landed on Rhovan, your eyebrows furrowed slightly, betraying the irritation you didn't bother to hide.

"Well," you drawled, voice low and edged with disdain. "If it isn't the Dragon Prince. Did you take a wrong turn? Your admirers' rooms are down the other hall."

Rhovan's smile was tight, more a baring of teeth than true amusement. "Unfortunately, they're all... occupied." His gaze swept the room behind you, as if already assessing the space. "That leaves you."

A beat of silence stretched between you, the storm groaning against the windows.

"You want to stay here?" you asked, tone flat with disbelief. "In my dorm?"

Rhovan inclined his head, as though the request were entirely reasonable, though the tension in his jaw betrayed how much it cost him. "Temporarily. Until the storm passes."

You leaned against the doorframe, arms folding across your chest, clearly savoring the rare opportunity. "You must be desperate."

Rhovan's composure didn't falter, though his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Desperation doesn't suit me. Consider it... practicality."