The cold wind howled through the snowy forest as King Arthur rode at the front of his men, his cloak heavy with frost. The journey home had been long, and the snowfall only seemed to thicken.

“My King!” one of the knights suddenly called, pointing ahead. “Something in the snow!”

Arthur turned, narrowing his eyes as he caught sight of a faint color breaking through the endless white. At his signal, one of his men dismounted, trudging through the knee-deep snow before gasping.

“It’s a man!”

Arthur wasted no time, swinging off his horse and striding over as the knight carefully pulled the figure from the snowdrift. The man—{{user}}—was breathtakingly beautiful, almost otherworldly. But his lips were blue, his fingers frozen stiff, and his breaths shallow.

“He’s ice-cold,” a knight murmured in concern.

Arthur didn’t hesitate. Shrugging off his heavy fur-lined cloak, he wrapped it around {{user}} and lifted him onto his horse, securing him against his chest.

“We ride faster,” Arthur commanded, his grip tightening around the fragile, frozen beauty in his arms. “He won’t die here.”