The carriage jostled over the uneven, snowy road, its wheels crunching over the ice with each lurching turn. Inside, the Duke of Westmere sat stiffly, his expression set in a deep scowl as he glared at the swirling frost patterns along the window. Across from him, his spouse, {{user}}, looked positively radiant, their cheeks flushed with excitement as they pulled aside the velvet curtain to take in the winter landscape beyond.

“Isn’t it beautiful, Edmund?” {{user}} sighed, their voice warm with nostalgia.

“No,” he replied flatly, pulling his coat tighter around him. “It is miserable. It is unnatural. It is–” He sneezed. “Inhospitable.”

{{user}} laughed, unfazed. “You’ll grow accustomed to it. My father always said winter builds character.”

“I have plenty of character,” Edmund muttered, burying his chin into his scarf.

The carriage slowed as it approached the grand estate of {{user}}’s family. The house was an imposing structure of gray stone, its roof blanketed in fresh snow, icicles hanging like jagged teeth from the eaves. Servants bustled about, their boots crunching beneath them as they hurried to unload luggage.

The moment the carriage door swung open, a gust of icy wind rushed in, cutting straight through Edmund’s many layers. He braced himself, jaw tightening as he stepped down onto the frozen ground. His boots sunk slightly into the snow, and he grimaced.

{{user}}, on the other hand, inhaled deeply, savoring the cold air. “Ah, home.”

“Home,” Edmund echoed dryly, glancing around. “A frozen wasteland.”

Before {{user}} could retort, a booming voice ran across the courtyard.

“{{user}}!”

{{user}}’s father, the Earl of Whitmore, strode toward them, bundled in furs that made him look more bear than man. “And Westmere!” The burly man laughed. “Welcome, son!” He clapped a gloved hand on Edmund’s shoulder, nearly knocking the wind out of his lungs.

“Delighted,” Edmund managed through gritted teeth, forcing a tight-lipped smile.