The journey to the North was not merely a transition from one place to another; it was a slow crossing from the world of the living to a world of frozen specters. For three consecutive days, Lilian saw nothing but whiteness. The white that blanketed the trees, the white that swallowed the mountains, and the white that began to seep into her very bones despite the thick furs she wore.
Inside the royal carriage, silence was the third passenger. Alistair sat opposite her, reading military documents with intense focus, as if the violent jolting of the carriage and the howling winds outside meant nothing to him. He seemed a part of this harsh weather: cold, solid, and unpredictable.
Suddenly, the carriage jerked to a violent halt, forcing Lilian to grip the leather seat to steady herself. The driver opened a small hatch and spoke in a voice trembling from the cold:
"Your Grace! The storm is worsening, and the horses are sinking knee-deep into the snow. We cannot continue tonight; we risk freezing the horses or sliding the carriage into the ravine."
Alistair slowly raised his eyes from his papers and looked through the window. Darkness had begun to fall, and the snow was falling so thickly that visibility was nearly zero.
"Is there a nearby shelter?" he asked in a calm but commanding voice.
"Yes, sir, there is an old inn for travelers and merchants a mile away. It is the only safe place."
"Move toward it."
Alistair closed the hatch and returned to organizing his papers. Lilian watched him with agitation. "An inn?" she asked in a faint voice. "Do you mean we are staying in a public place?"
He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "Would you prefer to freeze in the open, Princess of Everberg? The nobles in the South die if they do not sleep on ostrich feathers, but here, any roof that blocks the snow is a palace."
When they arrived, the inn was a massive structure of dark wood and stone, looking like a small fortress resisting the storm. Alighting from the carriage was a battle in itself; the wind lashed their faces like icy whips. Alistair wrapped her in his massive cloak to shield her from the gale, his strong hand pressing against her back to push her inside quickly.
The warmth inside was sudden and painful to frozen limbs. The place was bustling with merchants and soldiers, all of whom fell silent the moment the "Duke of the North" entered. The aura of terror surrounding him was stronger than the storm. The innkeeper, an old man with one eye, stepped forward rubbing his hands nervously:
"What an honor... what a great honor! Duke Cloud in my humble inn! Your command, sir, what do you need?"
Lilian spoke quickly before Alistair could utter a word, trying to exert control over the awkward situation: "We need the best you have. And... please, two separate rooms. One for me and another for the Duke."
A strange silence filled the hall. The innkeeper stopped moving, his gaze shifting confusedly between the beautiful girl in luxurious clothes and the beast standing behind her.
Lilian felt Alistair's shadow loom over her before she heard his voice. A faint, mocking, and cold laugh escaped his throat, making those present lower their heads to avoid his gaze.
"Separate rooms?" Alistair repeated the words as if tasting a ridiculous joke. He then turned to face her, his gray eyes gleaming with a dangerous spark.
He took a step toward her, and she retreated a step until she hit a wooden table.
"Tell me, Lilian..." he said in a low voice, yet loud enough to embarrass her, "do husbands in your Southern Duchy sleep in separate rooms? Is your marriage so fragile that walls must stand between you?"
Lilian tried to muster her courage and whispered sharply: "We are not officially married yet; we are engaged! And it is only decent that—"
He interrupted her by reaching out to catch a lock of her snow-dampened hair, twining it slowly and provocatively around his finger. "Decency? We are in the North, and here we waste neither heat nor time. In my Duchy, couples sleep in the same room, and in the same bed. You must get used to it, because you will not see a closed door between you and me from this day forward."
Then he leaned in further, until his lips nearly brushed her ear, and whispered in a tone that sent blood rushing violently to her face: "Besides... what are you afraid of? What is left of your body that I haven't touched? What is there that I didn't see that night? You know I have your details memorized well."
Lilian let out a soft gasp, her pupils dilating. His brazenness was beyond limits, but she could not respond. His words brought flashes of that night back to her mind: the heat of his body, his touch, the sound of his breath. Her face flushed to her ears, and she bit her lower lip to stop herself from cursing or crying.
Alistair straightened up and looked at the trembling innkeeper. "One suite. And we shall remain here for three days until the storm subsides. Ensure the food is plentiful and the fireplace is lit."