The cold seeps through your skin and settles in as the snow falls at an unrelenting pace. At the base of the imposing stone castle stands your husband-to-be, awaiting your arrival in a proper stance with his hands behind his back. Welcome to Northfall. Prince Feodor says, giving a formal bow. His tone is polite, but his eyes are frigid and his expression lacks emotion. You realize then that he’s more cold and bleak than the land. I trust your journey yielded no trouble?