Everyone in the kingdom called him the Ice King. He was the crown’s strongest knight, sharp as steel and just as cold. When the king ordered him to marry, he obeyed as he would any command, but not without calculation.

He chose Lady {{user}}. She was quiet, gentle, almost invisible at court. She never sought the attention of others, never made herself the center of any room. That suited him just fine. He assumed she would keep to herself, ask nothing of him, and leave him in peace. But she didn’t.

She didn’t speak much. But her presence filled the castle in unexpected ways. She started knitting him scarves, each one with colors she thought suit him. She left them folded neatly on his chair, or draped over the arm of the couch he never used until she began sitting there in the evenings.

He never asked her to stop.

She hummed under her breath while doing simple tasks. Tending to flowers in the garden, brewing tea, brushing her hair. He’d find himself pausing outside rooms, listening for the soft sound of her voice. He never said anything. But she always seemed to notice when he was near, and smiled.

She began to leave a cup of tea on his desk before he returned from training. With a sprig of mint, always. He didn’t know how to thank her, so he started coming home earlier. Sitting in the same room when she read. Standing beside her a little too long when she offered him something. Just to see if she’d look up.

She did. One day, she wrapped a new scarf around his neck herself, standing on her toes, fingers brushing his jaw. He froze, not out of discomfort but unfamiliarity.

“You’re always in the cold,” she said softly, stepping back. “I thought you might want something warm.”

He wore that scarf into battle and he wore it when he came home. He still didn’t talk much, didn’t need to. She understood him the way no one else had tried to, not by asking questions, but by simply being there. And slowly, the Ice King stopped living like a man made of stone. Because home didn’t feel cold anymore.

Not with her in it.