Life is amazing.

Barry Allen seems to think so. He is a prince, with great riding skills as well as the occasional charm that keeps the ladies on his arm, as his running mate and best friend Cisco would rhyme.

But inside the confines of the castle of Central Kingdoms, he never really found happiness.

It would be fleeting, like a pigeon in the fall, perching on a window and flying away. There are more than a hundred rooms in the castle—others equipped for his own entertainment, but he never really has been happy.

He has always found that the happiness his mother, Queen Nora, and his father, King Henry, would be different from his.

As if they had a secret of their own that Barry could never figure out.

He always thought that perhaps it was brought by the ecstasy of ruling a kingdom. His parents were always excellent at it—charming other dignitaries and teaching him the proper etiquette and form of riding, eating and even curtsying—and they made sure he was fit to rule the kingdom too.

But they never forced his hand on him, so he had the freedom to ride and frolic as he wanted.

That same freedom is what led him to get lost in the forest, become unconscious and be taken care of a beautiful young woman.

Caitlin is amazing, he finds out, after spending only a few days in her quaint castle. She has found herself locked in a bubble of her own, with all she needs for sustenance and satisfaction. And that same independence is what Barry has always sought, all these years of growing up with butlers and advisers.

But even as Caitlin is alone, in her own sanctuary, with time at her dispense and will to do anything she pleases, she is not free.

He sees it in her eyes, the caged bird that wants to fly. He's not entirely sure who has caged her spirit—but all he wants to do is for it to break free.

And fly with his.

It's a thought that has been bothering him for a while now. He's close to spending a fortnight in her castle, and the more time he spends with Caitlin, the stronger the urge to learn about her feels. Granted, it hasn't been one of his best courtships—Caitlin has the tendency to flee whenever he closes the gap between the two of them, and he feels that the only time appropriate for Caitlin to touch him is when she checks his wounds, light fingers ghosting over his skin.

The urge to learn about Caitlin is insatiable. But he's obviously failing, and he only has a few nights more to spend before Caitlin has to send him on his horse. He's running on borrowed time, he reminds himself, and that once he sets foot out of Caitlin's castle, there possibly could be no turning back.

But he tells himself again that life is amazing.

It is his way of keeping his serene state of mind, and he knows it.

And yet there is just one more thing that's bothering him—that Caitlin may not know that it is.

And so Barry summons the great Prince Bartholomew into his self again—and sets out on his mission.

And he won't allow himself to fail.

Caitlin is insane.

Well, Caitlin is a fraction away from losing all semblance of common sense and going insane.

And it's all because of one person, in this castle, resting in the bedroom that's across hers.

Barry.

She isn't certain what or why this has happened, but over the past few days, and hours, Barry has inched closer and closer to her.

And while her feminine body is certainly entertained by this new stranger, she is not.

Her castle and her position will not allow for any distractions. And she knows this, she repeats as she scolds herself again and again.

She has been sitting in her room for around seventeen hours, including the time she told him that she was turning in for the night, but instead spent the whole night—and morning—pacing her room and looking for various ways in which she should give herself a slap in the face as a wake-up call.

She shouldn't have rescued him that evening. She shouldn't have gotten up on Phyllis and rode into the forest, for her leisurely ride.

And she shouldn't have looked into his hazelnut eyes and brought him home.

Caitlin tells herself all these things, but she refuses to believe it.

If she had not gone on her conditioned leisurely stroll with Phyllis in the forest, then she could not have been able to rescue Barry. He would have been lying there, in the cold snow, being feasted upon by some direwolves.

And if she had not been able to rescue him, she would not have honoured her vows to remain merciful to those who need her help.

And the gods and goddesses of medicine and healing would have thrown down their sorrows at her if she had not honoured her vows.

Caitlin tries to remain sensible, but she falls helplessly, to the spiral that she has been on for the past day.

A brisk knock on her door shakes her and she smooths down her skirt and her voice before bellowing. "Yes?"

"Caitlin. It is I, Barry," the strong baritone of Barry's voice sends a thrill to her body, and she ignores it. Unsuccessfully.

"I would like to talk to you. May I have your permission to come in?"

Barry's chivalrous question makes her smile a small one, and she answers. "Certainly."

At her answer, Barry enters, and she's surprised at how robust Barry looks. Dressed in his finery, he looks almost like a dutch or a prince.

And she's also glad to see his wounds heal beautifully, even if it meant that he had to leave her.

Insanity befalls her once again.

"Do you mean to go?" The bitter taste of the question is lingering on her tongue, and she struggles to keep her voice from shaking, and fails.

"Yes, but I need you to go with me," he smiles and holds out his right hand. Caitlin looks at it, steadily, and doesn't waver.

"Take my hand." Barry whispers to her with a note of confidence, and suddenly she shrinks back, back to her ice-cold demeanour.

"Where do you need to go that demands my presence?"

"Outside. To the meadow."

Caitlin looks at his eyes, sparkling, with an intensity she's never seen before, and laughs. Coldly. "There is no meadow. It's only a kingdom of ice and snow."

"So we shall go outside, in the snow."

"We are not going to do that. You're not well enough yet, and—"

Her statement is cut off when Barry swoops in and lifts her by the waist and places her over his shoulder, and she kicks the air.

"If I was sick, could I do this?"

"Put me down!" Caitlin struggles, and her fists hit Barry's back. Not enough to leave a bruise nor a mark, but just to irritate him, enough to put her down.

But he continues to walk out of the room and into the back door of Snowcastle and into the stables. She hears Phyllis whinny, and upside down, she looks at Barry's stallion.

He's beautiful, she thinks, much like his owner.

She surmises that the blood driven to her head must have made her think of that statement.

"Please put me down," she says quietly and as sternly as possible, but Barry merely laughs.

"Why won't you put me down?"

"Because, I have a feeling that when your feet hit the ground, you're going to be running. Which shouldn't be your option. I'm a fast runner."

Caitlin sighs and lets her body go limp. As Barry unlocks the stables with a deft hand, the other one anchoring her, she decides that the faster she goes with Barry, the faster she's going to get out of his arms and into her bedroom.

She lets out a small squeal as Barry places her on the horse, and he hurriedly mounts his stallion. She strokes Phyllis and looks at Barry afterwards, a huge grin on his face.

And she has the instinct to smile the same way.

But she fights it, just like most of the urges to do similar things with Barry.

"So, Barry," she looks at him inquisitively, "where are we going?"

All Caitlin gets in response is a smirk, as he bellows out the horses out of the castle.