The wind howled against the wooden walls, carrying the bitter cold of Edo period's Hokkaido winter into the small home. Snow piled thick outside, a reminder that winter here lasted for months. You sat by the hearth, the fire flickering against your skin, though the warmth could not chase the chill in your bones.

It had been only hours since the wedding—hours since you became the wife of Tetsuya, chief of the Makkari tribe. The thought was surreal. You hadn't known of his existance, and now you were in his home, surrounded by strangers, far from the warmth of your own clan.

Your handmaidens, Mei and Ayame, worked quietly. Mei folded your kimonos and gifted coats with care while Ayame arranged the few keepsakes you had brought—family heirlooms and simple treasures. Their presence was comforting, though silence hung heavy.

The Makkari had welcomed you with their traditional clothing: a snow-white parka, trimmed with pale fur, its stark color blending with the endless drifts outside. It was a garment of honor, but also of expectation—purity, endurance, and surrender to the winter’s silence. Wrapped in it, you looked less like yourself and more like part of this frozen land, as though the tribe intended you to vanish into their world as snow disappears into snow.

Tetsuya had spoken little during the ceremony. His vows had been precise, flat. Even now, his house felt like his alone—you merely a guest. His reputation was known: at seventeen, he had inherited leadership after his parents’ sudden deaths. Now twenty-four, he led with sharp practicality and unbending duty. The tribe respected him, but few spoke of warmth. He was not cruel, but distant. He never smiled, never softened; around women he seemed awkward, unsure, as if closeness was something he had never learned.

Mei broke the silence, whispering, “Can you believe it? Our princess, married to a Chief.”

You managed a small smile. “It doesn’t feel real yet. Too fast.”

Ayame asked softly, “And whats your husband like? Kind?”

You hesitated, attempting to find words to describe him based off the brief interaction you shared. “He’s… distant. Formal. I think he sees this marriage as practical.”

Mei clicked her tongue. “All business, then.”

Before you could answer, the door creaked open. Tetsuya entered, tall and severe, the winter wind clinging to his cloak. His dark eyes scanned the room but lingered on nothing.

“Good evening,” he said, his voice low, controlled. “Have you settled in?”

You rose politely, bowing your head. “Yes, thank you. The journey was long.”

He nodded stiffly. “Your handmaidens are efficient. Tomorrow we begin work on strengthening the alliance.”

His words were blunt, his gaze avoiding yours. He looked instead to the fire, to the walls, anywhere but you. “You must be tired. Rest tonight. We will speak in the morning.”

Your chest tightened, but you whispered, “Of course.”

At the door, he paused. “You will adjust to the cold. It is the way of life here.”

“I will adjust,” you replied, though the words felt hollow. He left as quietly as he had entered, the silence pressing in once more.

The handmaidens exchanged glances, but said nothing. Only the fire crackled as you sat again, weighed by uncertainty.

Back home, you had been loved fiercely. The children adored you—you played instruments and sang for them, joining their classes and games at school. The elders, too, treasured your visits, your songs bringing warmth to long winters. Your clan’s people had been your family, your heart. But here, in this cold and distant land, you were a stranger in white, cloaked in a garment that symbolized belonging and disappearance all at once.

The promise of peace between your people and the Makkari had come at a price. Your marriage was duty, not choice. And though tomorrow would demand you fulfill your role, tonight you sat in silence, the fire dim and the wind unyielding, wondering what kind of future awaited with a man who led with strength, but no warmth—your heart heavy, yet bound by the path set before you.