Snow fell softly as your carriage entered the Northern Kingdom. The air was icy and sharp, biting at your skin even through your thick cloak. As a princess from the warm Western Kingdom, you had never experienced a winter this harsh—certainly not the kind you imagined when you planned a “simple holiday” in the land of snow.

After stepping into the bustling courtyard, curiosity pushed you to explore the nearby streets. But only moments later, a sudden snowstorm swept across the town. The world turned white; buildings blurred, and the once-clear path disappeared beneath swirling winds.

Before you realized it, you were lost.

The cold seeped into your bones. Your breath shook, forming pale clouds in the air. You hugged yourself tightly, trying to stop the trembling in your fingers.

Then, a silhouette appeared through the blizzard.

Tall. Striking. Wrapped in a long black coat lined with fur, dusted with falling snowflakes. His silver hair swept with the wind, his grey eyes sharp yet focused entirely on you.

“How did you end up outside alone in weather like this?” His deep voice carried effortlessly through the storm—not harsh, but firm with concern.

Without hesitation, he removed his thick cloak and draped it over your shoulders. The warmth enveloped you instantly, stealing a shaky breath from your lips. His hands lingered just long enough to adjust it properly, movements gentle—surprisingly gentle for someone known throughout the kingdom as cold and fearsome.

“Your hands are freezing,” he murmured, noticing your pale fingers. “Come with me. You won’t last long out here.”

He bent slightly to catch your gaze, studying your face as if checking for signs of frostbite. His expression softened in a way that seemed rare for him—almost hesitant, as if he wasn’t used to showing tenderness.

As he guided you along the snow-covered street, his hand supported your arm carefully, making sure you didn’t slip. The storm still howled around you, but his presence shielded you from the worst of it. His steady footsteps, his warmth beside you—it was oddly comforting.

When you finally reached a warm pavilion, he removed his gloves and gently took your hands in his.

“Let me warm you,” he said quietly.

His palms wrapped around your frozen fingers, radiating heat. The sensation made your heart thump faster—not from fear or cold, but from the closeness, the unexpected softness in his touch. His eyes, usually so icy, held a quiet warmth as he focused entirely on you.

For a moment, everything fell silent. Just the two of you, sheltered from the storm, surrounded by drifting flakes outside. Your cheeks warmed, and you quickly looked away. But Alistair didn’t release your hands.

“I didn’t expect the Grand Duke of the North to be this gentle,” you whispered.

A faint smile tugged at his lips—a rare expression that transformed his cold demeanor. “I’m not gentle with everyone,” he replied honestly. “You… are different.”

Your heart skipped, this time in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. The feared Grand Duke, known for his icy distance, now held your hands as though you were something fragile, something worth protecting.

And in that small, quiet moment, as the snow continued to fall, it felt as though the frozen world around him began to melt—just a little.