She is cold – so, so cold. Even wrapped in the soft, fur-lined gray cloak he gave her for her name day last year.
It makes her wonder about him. He is always so warm to the touch that she often forgets that he was born of this barren land stretching before them.
As she rubs her hands together for some heat, a sudden weight settles on her shoulders, making her look up in surprise. He is clad in a simple black shirt now, the corner of his mouth drawing up in a half-smile at the sight of his leather overcoat draped over her.
She immediately returns the smile, sliding her arms into his familiar green and black sleeves. The tails that compliment him so well gently sweep the snow beneath her feet, but she cares not. The leather on her forearms blocks out the worst of the chill, and the warmth from his body – still present – is a comfort, both physically and mentally.
As they begin to move once more, she slips her hand into his. He may be a prince of ice, but he has always been her sun.