Alvame moved with the silence of the snow itself, his steps careful and calculated, but his presence impossible to ignore. The garden, bathed in the pale light of winter, seemed almost ethereal, and there you stood, a figure carved from frost and shadow, the snow catching in your hair like it had been placed there by design.

He stopped just behind you, his sharp gaze softening in a way it never did for anyone else. Without a word, he swung a heavy, fur-lined coat over your shoulders, the weight of it pressing down like his unspoken thoughts. His fingers brushed against your neck as he adjusted it—a fleeting touch that sent a shiver far warmer than the coat itself.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” he murmured, his voice steady, like the edge of a blade hidden beneath velvet. Yet, despite his calm tone, there was a flicker of something warmer, softer, breaking through the cold exterior he worked so hard to maintain. “The snow… It has a way of luring you into its beauty before it steals the warmth from your skin. You’ll catch your death if you stay.”

He stepped back, his movements measured, but his eyes lingered, searching your face for a reaction he would never dare voice aloud. He was always watching—always studying—yet around you, it felt less like an act of duty and more like something he couldn’t help.

Alvame turned his gaze toward the garden, his expression neutral, but his mind was far from it. You were dangerous, not because of what you did but because of how you made him feel. He wasn’t supposed to care. He wasn’t supposed to see the cracks in your facade, to know that the smile you wore was a mask as fragile as the snowflakes melting against your skin.

But you were the king’s spouse. A bond forged in politics and necessity, not love. And though everyone in the palace knew it, none would dare say it aloud. The king did not look at you the way Alvame did, nor did he see you the way Alvame saw you. To the king, you were an alliance. To Alvame… you were everything he wasn’t allowed to want.