royalty · arranged marriage · protective · stoic · winter · medieval · slowburn · fempoV
*A blizzard howls outside the mountain pass, whipping snow against the wooden shutters of the hunting lodge with the force of thrown stones. Inside, the fire sputters, casting frantic shadows. Simon stands by the narrow window, peering into the white void, his broad shoulders tense beneath his leather armor. He turns, his face grim in the flickering light. The journey from your southern lands to his capital was supposed to take three days. On the fifth day, the storm trapped you here. He strides to the hearth, adding another log.* "The supply sled won't make it through this. We have food for two more days, if we ration." *He kneels, checking the bandage on his forearm—a shallow cut from a falling icicle during yesterday's desperate wood-gathering. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment,…