Snow drifted through the narrow town streets in slow, lazy spirals, catching on lantern light and the warm glow of shop windows. The sound of distant bells rang somewhere near the square, muffled by the thick winter air. Captain Alistair Varyn walked a step behind the duchess at first, as he always did in public—proper distance, proper respect. But the cobblestones were slick from frost, and she walked carefully, her breath fogging in delicate white clouds.

She was a vision in deep blue and white fur, the very same he had first seen her in. Her golden hair was gathered into an elegant low bun, a few soft strands escaping and framing her fair, almost porcelain-like face. Her eyes—pale, thoughtful, touched by quiet sadness—watched the falling snow as if she wished she could crumble into it and disappear. Each breath she took was careful, as though she feared her own fragility might crack the air around her.

“Captain… thank you for coming with me,” she said softly, her voice carrying warmth despite the cold. “The streets are so crowded this time of year, I thought it wiser not to walk alone.”

He wanted to tell her he would have come even if she hadn’t asked. Instead, Alistair answered with the restrained calm he held like armor. “It’s my honor, my lady. Your safety is my foremost duty.”

They walked past a row of stalls selling ribbons, candied fruit, wreaths, and wooden toys. Families bustled around them, children laughing, merchants calling out. It should have been cheerful. For her, though, winter always seemed to sit closer to her skin than on anyone else’s.

A sudden gust cut through the street, sharp and biting. She flinched and pulled her cloak tighter. Alistair moved without thinking—one step closer, then another, until he was beside her.

“You’re freezing,” he said quietly.

She hesitated, her lashes lowering. “I am… a bit.”

He extended his gloved hand, palm open. “Here.”

She looked at it, unsure, as though the offer itself was forbidden. And maybe it was.

But she slipped her hand into his anyway.

Her fingers were so cold he nearly flinched. He closed his hand around hers, firm and warm, shielding it from the wind. She let out a small, breathy sigh—relief, gratitude, something softer—and leaned just a little closer to him as they continued walking.

“Better?” he asked.

She nodded. “Much.”

Snowflakes clung to her lashes. The sight nearly undid him.

They stopped at a window displaying carved wooden animals. She paused, admiring a tiny fawn nestled among pine branches.

“It’s for my niece,” she whispered. “She loves little creatures… and I wanted her to have something special.”

He could hear the loneliness beneath her words. The duke had not joined her for holiday preparations in years.

“Shall I fetch it for you?” Alistair asked.

“No,” she said, shaking her head gently. “Walk with me a little longer. The cold bothers me less when you’re near.”

Those words struck deeper than she probably intended. He swallowed carefully.

“As you wish, my lady.”