"If you tell me what you are looking for, we could search for it together?" His hands reached for my hair. I backed away, but a few strands of my long hair were already trapped between his fingers. As he stroked the strands, he touched me with his blue-mixed green eyes as well.

The door we were standing nearly right in front of creaked open, and I met another pair of green eyes. An expression even colder than usual, reminiscent of the North, rested on his face... Ambrose Verena, the husband I had been searching for.

Ambrose's eyes locked onto the strands of my hair lingering between Neven's fingers. He was motionless as a predator in the shadows, yet the storm raging within him could be read in his eyes, gleaming in the moonlight.

"Take your hand away," he said. His voice echoed so deeply, so rich in timbre, it was as if even the stones in the wall heard it. "And pray that I allow you to still be called a prince tonight."

Neven took a step back. His smile had not faded, but a brief flash of panic glinted in his eyes. "I am misunderstood. I was merely trying to help. Lady Deyanira seemed lost."

"My wife does not get lost," Ambrose hissed. He approached my side, wrapping an arm around my waist, pulling me to himself with that cold, controlled might that was possessive but not harmful. "She simply does not ask for directions from those she does not trust."

Neven's face turned to stone; silence fell for a few seconds. Then he smiled again with that mocking tone and bowed his head. "Forgive me, brother." He then walked away with slow steps, even his footsteps sounding ominous. Watching him leave reminded me of all the corners I had relentlessly paced and traced.

The door was still ajar. Ambrose pulled me inside and shut it behind us. Only a few candles burned within; the night seeped in like silver through the room's large windows. He turned to me.

"You are shivering," he said. His eyes flicked from my hair to my nightgown, then back to my face. "How long were you out in that corridor like this?" There was no anger in his voice, only an unguarded worry. Reaching out, he placed his hands on my shoulders and pulled me closer. "Why are you roaming the length of the fortress in the dead of night when you are so fragile?"

I lifted my head and looked at him. "I was looking for you..."

My answer softened his expression for a fleeting moment. He bowed his head and rested his forehead against mine. This incidental closeness touched my heart. He whispered quietly, "While I was thinking of you everywhere, finding you suddenly lost before me like this... I felt like I was going to lose my mind." Was he truly talking about me?.. What did he mean by thinking of me everywhere?

I wanted to avert my eyes, but he wouldn't allow it. He cupped my face in his palms; I shivered as his cold hands touched my skin. Still, I felt no desire to pull away.

"Leave these people and their games. I am the only person you can trust in this palace, Deyanira," he said. "And you are my wife. I will not let them watch you, judge you, or use you. Neven... will never come near you again."

"Are you really... going to protect me like this?" I asked in a low voice, judgment hidden in my tone.

Even his gaze was a commanding decree. "Just asking that question hurts." Then he added something else, his tone rising like a fire from beneath his icy demeanor: "I would die for you. But first, I would kill anyone who hurts you."

In that moment, my heart felt as if it would crack my ribs and burst out of my chest. This was all... just words, wasn't it? Why would someone who doesn't love me do this for me? Perhaps it was just because if harm came to me now, it would bring harm to him too.

"Don't kill anyone... and don't die for anyone either," I said, the words crumbling on my lips.

His large palms cradled my face. His fingertips wandered through my hair, and as they stroked back from my cheeks, I closed my eyes involuntarily. My long bangs fell over my eyes, but they were not enough to hide behind. Either my face was burning, or his hands were still cold as winter.

"Don't," I said, my lips pursed. I didn't even know what I was saying. Maybe I just didn't want him to make me so soft.

"Don't what?" he asked. I didn't open my eyes, but I sensed the presence of a faint smile at the corner of his lips.

I couldn't offer any reaction other than shrinking into myself where I stood. He must have noticed this, for he gently released me. I still didn't open my eyes—not until I felt the weight of heavy fabric settling on my shoulders.

I slowly fluttered my eyelids open. He had draped his cloak over me. The fabric was thick, but the dark hue that seemed so threatening when he wore it had now transformed into a sheltered sanctuary upon me. My shoulders dropped a fraction; but Ambrose gently lifted the collar of the cloak and fastened the single button beneath my neck.

Now, with its hems dragging across the floor, this fabric whispered of just how tall he was.

"Were you not planning on returning to the room tonight? I must have interrupted your work," I said, but my voice didn't rise above a whisper. My eyes could only see his desk. He had been working so quietly and carefully in the dim light... not even the hearth was lit.

"And you... will you not freeze?"

He answered my last question first: "I am accustomed to the cold here. You are wearing but a single piece, and a sheer one at that. That is why you are shivering. The inside is not actually that cold."

He returned to his desk, carefully stacking a few documents. Despite surrendering his cloak to me, he showed not a single sign of shivering.

"I knew you couldn't sleep last night," he said. "I wanted to give you time to rest. I planned to return in the morning before you woke."

"So you didn't sleep all night either... Then why was it only me who needed to rest instead of us suffering together?" I chuckled softly. "Thank you, regardless. You are very thoughtful."

He turned his head and looked at me over his shoulder. My laughter had reached him.

"Did I speak too frivolously, Your Majesty?"

"No..." he said, his eyes sweeping over me from head to toe. "Did you wander the entire fortress in those fabric slippers?"

I furrowed my brows, looking down at my feet. "The servant said your study was in the North wing. Changing didn't cross my mind... It feels like the north of the North in here."

"Tch..." It was an irritated sound drawn from between his teeth. "So she sent her lady off like that, without any warning?"

"It's not her fault," I said quickly. "She even offered me food after dinner."

"You..." he spoke with a heavy sigh, then tucked a few papers from his desk into the drawers and turned back to me. "Did you not attend dinner either?"

I bowed my head. "I was reading... I lost track of time."

"And no one notified you?"

Now the anger in his gaze wasn't directed at me, but at those around us. Yet, just recognizing that anger was chilling.

"I-I lost track of time, you see... I must not have heard them."

Who was I even defending? Just this morning, one of them had made a comment about the child I couldn't conceive, right beside my ear while styling my hair no less...

"You must eat something, then. I will have them bring it to our room." He didn't dwell on it.

"I am not hungry."

"Are you so stressed here that your appetite has vanished, or have you always been like this?"

I lowered my head. Whatever I said would be an excuse in his eyes. I couldn't answer. And he didn't wait for one.

He closed the distance in silence, his presence making itself known before his shadow even touched me. He leaned in... but before he could reach me, I took a step back.

"Ambrose—what are you doing?"

"I am going to carry you to our room. You cannot walk properly in all this fabric."

"I-I walked the entire way here already, I can walk perfectly fine." I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to maintain the distance. But he merely narrowed his eyes. There was an ambiguous expression playing on his lips; perhaps it was patience, or perhaps a test of boundaries.

He fixed his gaze upon me, saying nothing. His dark eyes waited with a patient, yet irresistibly unwavering will.

As he took another step closer, about to make his move, I recoiled on reflex.

"Please..." I said, my voice nearly vanishing with my breath. "I... I can walk. I am serious."

His eyes narrowed, the sudden crease between his brows deepening a fraction. This was not anger, no. It was not... stubbornness. It was something else. As though he were concerned not by my frailty, but by my indifference.

"Your hands and feet might be numb. You were shivering just a moment ago."

He reached out his arms. Not harshly. On the contrary... gently, as if I might shatter to pieces if he touched me too suddenly.

"Allow me."

My face burned. I mean... it practically caught fire. Even my fingertips grew warm from embarrassment. I buried my shoulders a little deeper into the cloak.

"This isn't right," I whispered. "I mean... we... we only met yesterday. You are my—"

"Your husband," he finished my sentence, his voice as calm as ice, carrying neither a whisper nor hesitation. "And you are now my responsibility. If any harm comes to you, this body of mine will have existed for nothing."

I swallowed hard. How could he speak with such absolute gravity?

"If you insist on walking, you will fall," he said. "And then I will have to gather you into my arms anyway. Do not make it easier for me to choose the second option."

I pulled back a little more, but my feet slipped involuntarily; the thin slippers sliding against the cold stone floor.

And at that moment... without a word, suddenly yet slowly, he swept me into his arms.

My eyes went wide. "Ambrose—no! It really wasn't necessary!" I gasped, my hands pressed flat against his chest.

He did not answer. He merely tilted his face down toward me a fraction, and as his breath brushed my hair, I heard the words: "You are so light."

The way he said it felt like a warning. Do not starve yourself any longer.

His arms were strong. Truly strong. Yet there was nothing in that strength that squeezed or jolted me. He just... carried me. As if all my weight rightfully belonged to him. The collar of the cloak at my neck was high enough to hide my flushed cheeks. I timidly crossed my arms and pressed them against my own chest. His chest... was warm. This man, who appeared as cold as ice on the outside... was warm on the inside.

As we descended the stairs, I stopped hearing his footsteps. Even his footfalls were noble.

I was simply carried. Silently, though a storm raged within me.

And with every step, I realized it.

This man... was not cold.

He was dangerous.

But his danger applied to everyone, except me.