OPERATION WINTERSPINE (Strings Between Us Book 2)

CHAPTER ONE: OF DAGGERS, DRESS CODES, AND THE PRINCESS WHO

CHAPTER ONE: OF DAGGERS, DRESS CODES, AND THE PRINCESS WHO OVERSLEPT

Riyee's POV

"Why do girls take forever to get dressed?"

I sighed and glanced at Xythe—currently stretched out on my bed like this entire General Assembly could wait until I was done with my eyeliner. He was in full Ardent Court ceremonial uniform today. Not his tactician one—the Prince one.

Obsidian black. Crimson trim. Polished to calculated perfection.
And yes, the stupid silver dagger brooch was still there.
Because Xythe without a hidden weapon?
Unthinkable.

He looked like he belonged in two places at once: war and a throne room.

His blazer was tailored like it was custom-fit by a war strategist with fashion trauma. Crimson seams framed every movement like warning labels. His collar? Uneven, of course. Like he got halfway through fixing it and suddenly remembered he didn't care.

Silver aiguillettes draped over his shoulder like reluctant royalty.
One sleeve had a cracked grid embroidered faintly—because obviously, even his brain patterns had to be stitched into fabric.
His boots? Red-soled and silent. Designed to disappear before you realized he was ever there.

His hair? A storm of wind-kissed, sleep-wrecked, battle-distracted chaos. Court stylists gave up on him in year one. At this point, whatever this is... is the look.

And over his heart: half of the Ardent Court crest.
The other half?
Mine.

He might not be the dangerous tactician right now.
But the dagger? Still there. Always.

I frowned. "You've been saying that for ten minutes."

"Because, Ari, we're thirty-four minutes and twenty-two seconds late," he said flatly—like he had a stopwatch embedded in his skull. Which... I wouldn't doubt.

I rolled my eyes. "I overslept, okay? And I spent, like, ten years debating whether I should wear this or not."

He arched a brow. "The Headmaster literally gave you an order."

"Yeah, well, so did gravity when I tried to get out of bed and it almost killed me." I groaned. "Besides, I've had enough people whispering behind my back since Day One. You know what happens if I wear this."

"Let them whisper," he said, rising as I pinned the final strand of my braid. "You're not alone anymore. We're here. We've always been here."

Typical Xythe. Short, sharp, and tactical. If he ever said something genuinely emotional, the universe might reboot.

I didn't respond. Just stared at my reflection.

Gone was the rebellious SAA uniform that landed me in Section Nova 3-B. Not that sections mattered anymore—the merge class was now permanent.
Translation:
More eyes.
More whispers.
More pressure.

And now?
Now I wore the Ardent Court ceremonial uniform.
Not the school version. Not the combat one.
The Princess variant.

The one that matched his.

This wasn't just a uniform.
It was memory stitched into fabric.

Obsidian jacket with crimson flame embroidery, cape lined with my initials like a soft-spoken threat. The tunic clung like battle-breath—red gradients shifting like I was still bleeding purpose.

The skirt? Formal enough for diplomacy, rebellious enough for a quick pivot. Crimson buckle. Hidden slit. Tactical holster loops.
Pretty lies over practical truths.