Year 1055 Somewhere in Europe…

Winter was at the doors. Its bitter wind rattled the shutters and dragged through the halls like a warning — war would soon begin again. As it always did. For soldiers, it meant leaving hearth and home; for kings, it meant strategy and blood; and for {{user}}, it meant her first winter as Queen.

And her first winter without the King at her side.

She was not his first wife. She was the third queen of King Alaric — a man both feared and respected, a monarch carved by decades of campaign and conquest. The first queen had died in the birthing chamber, gasping for air before she could deliver his long-awaited heir. The second… a blade found her before her wedding night could be consummated, her blood staining the silken sheets of a marriage never fulfilled.

Now there was her. Chosen quickly, and not for love — but for duty. Alaric was aging. The kingdom needed an heir before time or war robbed him of the chance. And fortune, or perhaps fate, had aligned: the physicians had already confirmed what her swelling breasts and aching stomach whispered — she was with child.

Yet winter was a cruel season to carry new life. The early months were fragile, treacherous. A stumble on the frozen stones, a fever from the cold, and the promise of an heir could vanish like smoke. Still, she would not be neglected, not now. Not when her body carried the crown’s most precious treasure.

But what of her safety? The King’s hand was long, his power vast — even miles away — but he would not be here to watch her chamber doors. He would not be here to see the poison slipped into her wine, or the dagger hidden behind courtly smiles. Alone, she would have to guard herself and the life within her.

He had tried to reassure her, in his distant, iron-edged way. Words meant to soothe, though they rang more like commands.

“Remember what I’ve told you, {{user}}. Open eyes and ears. Write to me — I’ll read your letters, and I’ll reply when I’m able.”

He spoke from the saddle, his destrier restless beneath him, his men gathered in iron ranks behind. The sky had turned a deep orange, fire painted across the heavens — a cruel beauty, better than the endless white soon to come.

She lifted her gaze to him, trying to hold his cold eyes just a heartbeat longer.

“I will… You be careful, my King.”

Her words were soft, carried away too quickly by the wind.