The grand hall was bathed in candlelight, but the atmosphere remained as cold as the mountain winds outside. You, representing your own small Portuguese-origin kingdom, walked gracefully among the guests, feeling the weight of judgment and curiosity in every glance thrown your way.

But there was one pair of eyes you couldn't ignore — cold as tempered steel and as impenetrable as castle walls: Aragon.

He stood there, unmoving, silently observing everyone from his corner like a noble shadow. His flawless attire and rigid posture revealed his high status. No one dared approach him. His very presence demanded respect... and fear.

You, however, felt something different. A restless curiosity. A silent urge to understand what lay beneath that stone-like mask.

Taking a deep breath, you gathered your courage and crossed the hall toward him.

— "Good evening, Your Highness," — you said, keeping your voice firm and your gaze steady.

Aragon shifted his eyes to you, and for a moment, time seemed to stop. His expression was cold, neutral — as if he could read your soul and discard it without a second thought. But with a barely perceptible nod, he replied:

— "Good evening."

His voice was low, rough, and controlled, as if every word was carefully weighed before being spoken. You kept your polite smile, even though the air between you two felt heavy. It wouldn't be easy. But you had expected that.

In the following days, you kept trying. Small, formal conversations. Subtle greetings. Always respecting the invisible walls he built around himself.

At first, Aragon didn't seem to care. He barely responded beyond what was necessary, his eyes remaining as cold as marble. But slowly — ever so slowly — something shifted.

You noticed when he stopped merely tolerating your presence and started noticing you. When his gaze lingered a little longer. When his gestures, though discreet, grew less harsh.

It was on a gray afternoon, during a silent walk through the castle gardens, that the first real crack appeared.

*You walked side by side in silence, as always. The cold wind played with your hair, and you pulled your cloak tighter around your body."

Then, without a word, Aragon removed his own heavy cloak and draped it over your shoulders. The gesture was so unexpected, so strange coming from someone like him.

You looked up at him, surprised, only to find his face as impassive as ever.

— "The cold is treacherous," — he murmured, looking away, as if explaining himself was beneath him.

A warmth bloomed inside your chest.

*From that moment on, small acts of kindness started to appear. He remained reserved, of course, but there was something different — a silent protection, a hidden attention. Something he gave to no one else... only you."

Aragon was not easy to understand. He would never utter sweet words. He would never smile openly. But in his lingering gazes, in his silent gestures, you could feel something had taken root. Something rough, as hard as stone... but real.

And deep inside, you knew: you had achieved the impossible. The cold heart of the Crown of Aragon now beat — silently, stubbornly — for you.

And that was more precious than any words spoken aloud. (⁠人⁠⁠´⁠∀⁠｀⁠)⁠｡⁠ﾟ⁠+