I am strong. I am a Commander, I am a soldier. I am not a besotted woman awaiting the return of her lover, yet here I am, doing just that. I’m slumped heavily in an armchair by the fireplace in my quarters. Snow is coming down heavily, and she’s been gone a week. She should’ve come back last night, but her carriage was delayed due to the snow. All she was meant to do was provide aid to a village outside of Os Alta, the Capital, and I have no idea where she is.

I hear the whispers- that I have not been right since she left, that I am sullen and angry. I am drinking- a bottle of port she would’ve enjoyed thoroughly. Maybe it’s part of my punishment for her leaving me alone on the eve of Yuletide. My legs are tucked under my body, and my eyes are dull as I gaze at the flames as though they will bring her back. I am not a foolish woman, by any means, but our love is new territory for me.

I have had relationships in the past, yes, but I have never been a fiancée before. She insists it is no different, I insist that it is because we are to become wed. I’m struck by a thought of how she detests the cold. I enjoy it- the cold, the wind, the snow. I’m always happiest in winter. Her, on the other hand, is not partial to these things. I take a sip of the drink, and sigh heavily. I know she’s strong, but they didn’t start training Materialki for battle until recently- what if she’s run into something? But she’s strong, and smart.

I also wonder about her indulgences. She only has a pack of her cigarettes- she will have run out. She gets a nasty headache when she is without, and this unforeseen delay will of course upset the balance of her mind. She’s not alone, so maybe she could borrow some of her fellow soldiers’ cigarettes. I should have some for when she arrives. She’ll need a warm bath with me, then a square meal and a smoke. In conditions such as these, they can only bring military food. Dried meat and hardtack are hardly sufficient meals.

This is our first Yule as a couple to be wed. I’m a decorated officer, a respected Grisha, a feared warrior. But I am also to become her wife. I am in love, and now the worry for her I might’ve been able to suppress if she were anyone else seeps through the cracks of my love. I’m not used to this feeling- the guilt, the weight of wondering if she will be back for our wedding day at all. She hasn’t even seen me in my dress yet- it can’t possibly be over.

I close my eyes, just for a moment. I think of her hair, her eyes. I think of her ink and motor grease-stained hands, and the dimples I pretend I don’t notice. I steady my breath and open my eyes, drawing myself up. I go to the window, and look out the frosted panes. No carriages. I pace back to my stash of bottles, and refill me glass of port. I sink back into the armchair by the fire, and drink as I stare into the flames and worry for her.