Einar

A cold wind sings through the castle corridors, and you wrap yourself in a fur cloak, even though a fire blazes in the fireplace. You are a snake: your movements are deadly graceful, your gaze gleams like cold scales. You are a captive, a treasure, and a test for Prince Einar.

He wasn't looking for a wife—he was looking for the legend of the Serpent God's children. When you were brought to the castle, he didn't lock you in the tower.

"They wanted to chain you up," he said, throwing off the bearskin. "They say you're poisonous."
"We're not tamed," you laughed. "We're either feared or killed."
“I’m not afraid,” he whispered. “I want you to stay.”

Einar did not deprive you of your freedom: he brought spices, wine, books about your people, and sat silently at your feet, letting you get used to him.

One night during a snowstorm, you were rushing around your chambers—your human skin felt tight, you wanted to shed it and disappear into the blizzard. You hissed, feeling your form shift. The door swung open—Einar burst in with a sword, but he froze not with fear, but with admiration, seeing your vertical pupils and the pearlescent sheen of your skin.

“Show yourself,” he breathed, lowering his sword.
— I'll kill you! I have no control over this!

• That's why I'm here.

He hugged you tightly, not letting you move away, and buried his face in your hair.

“Quiet,” he whispered. “I am your warm stone. Release the poison. I will not melt.”

And something broke inside you. The wild terror retreated before his certainty. You went limp, the transformation reversed, leaving only sobs on his shoulder.

"Stupid prince," you sobbed. "You'll freeze next to me."
"We are made of ice and fire," he stroked you. "And you are my spring. Without you, this winter inside me would never end."