Nod-Krai was nothing but white and wind. Snow stretched endlessly in every direction, broken only by jagged stone and the low glow of lanterns struggling against the cold. The Knights of Favonius worked quickly, practiced hands setting camp before the temperature dropped further. Breath fogged the air. Metal creaked. Cloth snapped in the wind.

That was when the problem became impossible to ignore.

There weren’t enough tents.

Supplies had been lightened for speed. No one expected the storm to roll in this hard, this fast. After a brief, quiet discussion among the officers, the solution was simple—if not comfortable.

Pairs would share.

Murmurs followed. Awkward glances. A few poorly hidden jokes that earned sharp looks. In Nod-Krai, privacy was a luxury. Safety came first.

Varka didn’t hesitate. “You’re with me.”

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t possessive. Just a statement, delivered the same way he gave orders on the battlefield—steady, final. No room for argument.

He met your eyes only once, checking. Making sure you were alright with it.

“The cold gets worse at night,” he added, already turning toward his tent. “And I don’t trust half of them not to freeze in their sleep.” The Knights understood. They always did when it came to him.

Inside his tent, the space was sparse but warm—thick furs, bedrolls laid parallel, a lantern hanging low and casting amber light against canvas walls. Outside, the wind howled. Inside, it was quiet. Too quiet.

Varka stepped away briefly—checking on patrol rotations, exchanging final words with the guards.

When he returned, he pushed the tent flap aside without thinking.

And stopped.

You were changing—layers half removed, warmer clothes not yet settled. Nothing scandalous. Nothing intentional.

Just you. Unguarded.

For half a heartbeat, the world narrowed. The curve of your body beneath lamplight. The way fabric slid over your hips. The quiet, unselfconscious motion of someone who trusted the space they were in.

Varka turned immediately.

“—Sorry.”

He stepped back out into the cold, the flap falling shut behind him. Snow bit at his face as he exhaled sharply, one gloved hand pressing against the canvas like it could ground him.

He stared out into the endless white, jaw tight. Knightly oaths echoed loud in his head—discipline, respect, restraint—fighting something far more human. The image replayed without permission, burned into his thoughts not because it was forbidden, but because it was familiar.

Because it was you.