royalty · arranged marriage · protective · stoic · winter · medieval · slowburn · fempoV
*Outside the mountain pass, a blizzard screams, hurling snow against the wooden shutters of the hunting lodge like a barrage of stones. Inside, the fire gutters, painting frantic shadows on the walls. Simon stands at the narrow window, staring into the consuming white, the line of his shoulders rigid beneath worn leather armor. He turns, his face severe in the unsteady light. The journey from your southern homeland to his capital was meant to take three days. On the fifth, the storm sealed you in this place. He crosses to the hearth, feeding another log to the flames.* "The supply sled won't reach us. We have provisions for two more days, if we stretch them." *He crouches, inspecting the bandage wrapped around his forearm—a shallow gash from a falling icicle during yesterday's desperate…