The carriage didn't move forward, it dragged.
Day by day, the world outside lost its color—first I saw it fading, then hallowing out—until nothing remained but an endless stretch of white and quiet suffocation that came with it.
Four days, perhaps five—I don't remember well.
I stopped counting when the cold began to settle somewhere deeper than my skin. Honestly, I have never been this cold before.
I hadn't bathed—not once. The scent of travel clung faintly to me—unpleasant, unavoidable.
And still—
"I'm fine." My lips curled in welcoming smile.
I said it every time, every time he came.
Atticus never announced himself. The door would open, and the air inside the carriage would change—tighten, sharpen, as if something heavier than presence had entered.
Seven times…..eight. Each day he would come without explanation, without announcement—just.....looking. Checking my survival.
Furs were brought. Thick, heavy, expensive—enough to feel out of place in a land like this. Placed over me like covering a sick tortoise.
I accepted it without gratitude. Ware them without command—because I am still a human—and this place was not something build for me.
......…
When we arrived, I understood it at a glance.
The moment I stepped down, the air pressed against my lungs, cold and resistance, as if even breathing here required permission.
The land stretched wide and empty. A few scattered trees, thin and struggling. No fruit, no color, no softness.
Too few people, too less life.
"...…So this is North."
The palace stood ahead—if it could be called that. rough stone, uneven edges, built more for endurance than beauty. It looked less like something constructed and more like something carved out of land itself. And yet—it stood majestic in a way that had nothing to do with elegance.
I followed the servants like some child fearing to be left back. I could tell by their action that they didn't had any settled perception about me, but still chose the indifference—why wouldn't they... I am nothing more than them—just a human with no value, no power—still ended up getting all the luxury. Seemed purely fate, but I misused.
...…..
My room was separate—as I expected.
I wasn't his equal, not his partner, not even worth of placing something beside him...I was just a presence—temporary, replaceable.
The doors closed behind me, and silence settled again.
The coldness inside the palace was worse, the walls didn't hold any warmth.
"I want to bath." The though came after a while of observation. But if I ask, would they give me cold water? I didn't see any wood, even cooking must be so difficult.
A knock—soft, unexpected.
The doors opened before I answered.
"Warm water is prepared, lady," said a servant with a slight bow.
"….huh," I stared at her a bit longer, then my steps followed her as she moved towards another room attached to my bedroom only.
Servants entered then after, carrying buckets. Thin trails of steam rose into the air. ...warm water. They filled the bathtub and then quietly left.
I washed quickly, efficiently before the heat could disappear. How convenient. I felt delighted in myself. It must be Atticus who told them—a wide smile rose at my lips.
By the time I laid sown, it was already night. I didn't eat, didn't wait for anything. Just that sleep came immediately, soothing—under those heavy, sinking rugged blankets—all was fine for me.
Somewhere in the dark—a voice called. It sounded distant, irrelevant—I didn't respond.
But I remember something else. The door opened somewhat too late. The footsteps felt too known, the fragrance was known to me—I know it was him, Atticus.
He placed something on the table beside my bed, a faint scent of roasted meat. Warm, carefully prepared. And then, left without a word.
...…
Morning acme quietly. A maid woke me up.
The plate was still there, I thought that I was dreaming. My cheeks reddened as I blushed with the though and though cold and tasteless, I ate it with delight.
Dressing myself without assistance was more welcoming to me. My fingers braided my hairs into two simple strands—neat, controlled, unremarkable.
When I opened the door, the two guards were still there—still, watching. But they didn't seem repulsive unlike the main city—guess they know even if I run, I would reach nowhere. So, I stepped out cautiously.
The corridor stretched endlessly. Stone walls swallowing sound, footsteps echoing as if I was the only one present. Then—without thinking—I ran.
The sound broke the silence sharply. My shoes resisted—stiff, unfamiliar—but I ignored it. For a moment I forgot the cold, forgot the past, forgot what I was supposed to do. servants stared as I passed. Probably I looked undignified—it's okay, I stand nowhere to acre about that.
A large window stretched along the corridor. Beyond it-- nothing but white. And below—a training ground.
Flattened.
"Where is Atticus?" I asked delighted.
The servant stiffened before answering. "My lady....the Lord is in the training grounds."
"Show me."
A brief hesitation. Then obedience.
...
Stone paths. Narrow turns.
The cold grew sharper the higher I went, cutting through layers as if they didn't exist.
Until—I reached the top.
And saw him.
Snow fell without sound. The world stood still. And in the center of it—he moved. Bare against the cold. Unaffected by the cold that seeped deep into the skin. Unaffected.
His swords cut through the air clean, deliberate arcs. Not rushed, no wasted movements—precise enough to feel inevitable.
His body followed without resistance—muscle, control, discipline woven into something almost human.
"….ice."
The thought came immediately.
"….You're terrifying." The words left my lips as I saw him swing in thin layer of fabric unbothered.
"....And you're mine." the thought settled easily, as if it always had been there.
He moved in his stance a bit to the side, the snow buried tree was covering such a view now....I needed more.
I leaned forward.
A snow-laden branch stretched swayed, obscuring him just as he shifted. Annoying—a voice screamed inside me. I tilted further, rising slightly onto my toes, pressing against the railing—too low, too fragile—
Just a little more—
My footing gave way. The world snapped just in a second.
Air tore past me, a strangle cry ripping from my throat as the ground rushed up.
--------
My hands caught the railing—an instinct that gladly worked right time this once.
Pain flared instantly, fingers locking around the frozen metal as my body dropped over the edge. I hung there—suspended, breath fractured, arms trembling under a weight this body could not bear.
Too weak.
Below, movement surged. Voices, boots crushing snow, a ripple of attention drawn towards something pitiful—toward me.
I forced my gaze down—in a wish to see him again. He had already stopped. I just pray for him to not misunderstand me.
Atticus stood beneath, sword lowered, looking up—not startled, not hurried—just watching. As he expected something like this, as if he had been waiting for another nuisance by his dishonored concubine.
The murmurs reached me next.
"...again..."
"....trying to draw attention..."
"...shameless...…"
I understand their words, those thoughts are not their fault exactly.....it's me only. But I didn't wish to be blamed for something I didn't create.
"I didn't—" my voice broke, useless. "I didn't mean to—" The words scattered into the wind. I continued to mumble not knowing what excuse to make, looking to and from between ground and the hands stuck to the cold metal—I couldn't shift, it was painful.
I looked down once after a sudden dizziness.
He was standing directly below me.
My eyes stuck at his. He didn't seem to resent, wasn't angry even.
"Jump." A pause.
"I'll catch you."
I coughed. Something inside me wavered—just for a breath. Trust him. I tried to shift my tightened grip—stuck to cold.
"I trust you," I whispered faintly, almost bitter. "I just don't trust this body."
Because this body—This fragile, unreliable thing— I couldn't trust at all.
Slowly, I shifted downward, feet searching until they brushed against the narrow ledge of a lower window. My hands refused to give up, but I pulled without mercy from the upper railing as I tried to descend instead.
Safer.
One movement—
Then another—
My hand slipped unexpectedly over the mossed brick on the window ledge.
My body dropped violently, catching on the lower bar with only one hand. A sharp strain tore through my arm, my shoulder screaming as my entire weight dragged downward.
The balance fell apart—
Just one hand—
Failing.
My fingers were already loosening. I was not scared of height. I was never scared of death....but I always fear losing him by my side. I always fear not being able to see My love next ever.
"...ah."
A quiet sound. Not fear. Acceptance—acceptance over trusting him. I know he won't let me go.
"I'm letting go," I said low, there was no energy left.
My grip released. The world fell with me—
Weightlessness, brief and absolute—so is this how it feels? It's surreal….
It didn't last more than a few seconds.
I sensed something firm, unyielding, certain—embracing me tight enough. That warmth—is what I yearn for. I felt secure…..certainly I never feared to be have fallen...
I looked up at him, slowly—
Atticus gaze was already stilled at me, the quiet that never broke, even now. Snow settled against him, against me, against the space between us.
But his hold didn't loosen a bit.
And in that silence—in that unspoken, unmoving certainty—it felt less like I had fallen...more like I had been taken, more like I have at last the destiny I yearned for...I was at last close to love of my life.
I couldn't quiet say what his eyes wanted to declare to me at that certain moment, but sure I knew he didn't despise me like others....there was warmth—a settling one.