"Lady Winter?"
Winter tore her eyes from the blond soldier across the room and returned her focus to the man dancing across from her. "Please excuse me, Ambassador…"
"Kaito," he supplied with a wry grin.
"I must have drifted off," she said, taking his hand as they circled each other in time to the music. "What were you saying?"
"I was asking you if you enjoyed living in the country."
The dance dictated that they step away from each other to circle the couples next to them, so it was a few moments before Winter could reply.
"It's perfectly enchanting," she said. "Anyone who prefers living in the city just hasn't spent enough time outside it."
Ambassador Kaito laughed, his dark eyes dancing in the light of the ballroom. She appreciated his laugh—he really did seem a kind person—but she still found her gaze straying to the corner of the room, where Mr. Clay watched the proceedings with his hands behind his back. She knew he didn't enjoy balls; he preferred to interact with people individually and privately, because he felt each person deserved his full attention. It was one of the things she loved about him—though he'd never been able to sway her own opinions.
Winter was relieved when the dance was over. Her stepmother had practically forced the Ambassador to dance with her, though she could tell he wanted to ask her cousin for a third time. She curtsied and thanked him for the pleasure of their dance, and he almost bolted to where Selene stood with a group of women from the town.
Winter looked over to where Lady Blackburn was, but her stepmother was currently distracted by a woman wearing an absurdly tall plume in her hair. Taking a deep breath, she put her chin up and headed to where Mr. Clay stood across the room.
Just as she was about to reach him, he stepped forward and greeted an older man and woman who had been about to pass by. The couple looked startled but happy enough to engage him in conversation, and she heard him ask how their youngest son was doing in school.
"I'm so glad you remembered, Mr. Clay!" the woman said, clasping her husband's arm. "He's truly been improving, thank goodness. His teacher has been a saint, coming over in the evenings to help him with his arithmetic."
Mr. Clay studiously avoided Winter's eyes as he replied. "What a relief, Mrs. Lucas. One's arithmetic is very serious business."
Luckily for Winter, the woman happened to glimpse her standing to the side and beckoned for her to join them. "Are you not Lady Winter? Your father and my husband, Sir Lucas, were good friends before he passed. You've certainly grown up into a beautiful young woman!"
"Thank you, madam," Winter said, casting a glance at the soldier next to her.
Sir Lucas, a tall man with thinning hair, gestured to Mr. Clay. "Have you two been introduced?"
"We have not," Mr. Clay cut in before Winter could respond. She gave him a confused look, but he still would not meet her eyes.
"Well, we're happy to do the honors," Sir Lucas said. "Lady Winter, this is Mr. Clay, one of the finest soldiers in the regiment. Our oldest son, George, served with him for several months. Mr. Clay, Lady Winter. She and her stepmother are the hosts of this delightful ball."
"A pleasure to meet you." Winter curtsied, and Mr. Clay finally met her gaze.
"Delighted," he murmured.
They stood for a moment, staring at each other, until Mrs. Lucas cleared her throat.
"It sounds like this dance is just ending. Perhaps you might ask Lady Winter to accompany you for the next, Mr. Clay? If she isn't already engaged?"
Mrs. Lucas looked at Winter expectantly. For a second she quailed. She knew Mr. Clay was trying to avoid her…but it was only a dance, after all. And what would the Lucases say if she refused?
"I would love to—if the gentleman does not already have a partner." There—she would give him a chance to say no without being impolite.
To her surprise, he nodded. "I would be honored to escort you."
Mrs. Lucas tittered as he led her to the middle of the floor. The musicians began to play a slow waltz—one of the newer trends in dances, something that Lady Blackburn had once called 'shameful' because it involved so much contact between a man and a woman. Winter wondered if Selene had managed to sneak the waltz into the program simply to perturb her step-aunt. Selene tended to do things like that, one of the many reasons she loved her cousin.
Winter held her breath as Mr. Clay gently grasped her arm and put his other hand on her back. Even through the layers of frills and starch, his touch thrilled her. She looked up at him, lips slightly parted, and was surprised to see that he seemed just as rattled.
They said nothing as he led her in the graceful steps of the waltz. They'd danced before, but never like this. His closeness made Winter's heart pound. Dozens of dancers surrounded them, and yet nothing had ever felt so intimate.
A cold fire burned in Mr. Clay's eyes, and for once he didn't look away as she searched his face. They danced, gazes locked, until Winter noticed someone watching from the corner of her eye.
It was Lady Blackburn. She was surrounded by people, but she watched Winter and Mr. Clay with a sharp attentiveness. Her arms were folded over her petite form, and Winter knew that she was very, very upset.
She suddenly felt as if a frozen cloud had replaced the air in her lungs. Her throat was an icicle, and if she breathed too deeply it would crack, shatter. Her feet stopped moving, encased in snowdrifts that trapped her where she stood.
"Lady Winter?" Mr. Clay asked, his eyes darkening with concern. He'd seen her like this before. Aside from Selene and Cress, he was the only one she'd told about her episodes.
"I'm so cold," Winter said, body already starting to shiver.
She looked at Lady Blackburn, but her stepmother had returned to her conversation, apparently satisfied once she saw them stop dancing. Mr. Clay stepped away from the dance floor, keeping his hand in hers as he pulled her toward the doors of the ballroom.
Winter's teeth chattered as Mr. Clay led her down the hall to the drawing room. He checked to make sure it was empty, then he closed the doors and led her to a chair.
He rubbed his hands up and down her arms, and she blew out her breath, watching the burst of condensation leave her mouth. She was a snow-lady, formed by children in mittens and hats, left to freeze in the wintry night.
"Lady Winter," Mr. Clay said, still rubbing her arms. "Winter. Look at me."
She finally met his gaze, confused why his teeth didn't chatter as hers did. His lips were still and pink, not blue as hers must be, and his face was as warm and alive as it ever had been. But his eyes—yes, those were ice, and they pierced her heart.
"It's okay, Winter. Remember where you are. Do you remember who I am?"
"Mr. Clay," she breathed out. "You're the soldier with the eyes of ice."
The corner of his mouth turned up. "And you're Lady Winter."
"Yes," she said. "I am the Lady of Winter, still and frozen in a land without warmth."
"No," he said gently. He stopped rubbing her arms and pulled a chair over so he could sit across from her. He gingerly held her face with his fingertips, not allowing her to look away. "Do you remember when we walked in the woods the other day?"
Winter remembered. "Yes, Mr. Clay."
"There was no snow or ice. We walked together, and it was warm and beautiful and sunny. Do you remember?"
"I remember."
He stared at her, willing her to come back to him, and slowly, Winter's body warmed. The ice cracked, the snow melted, the wind no longer bit her with cold.
"And when I kissed your hand. Do you remember that?"
Winter remembered, and the memory thawed her completely. She wiggled her fingers, warm again, and took a deep breath just to make sure she could. There was no ice, there was no snow—there was only her and Mr. Clay across from her. She brought up a hand to meet his fingers where they touched her face.
"I remember," she whispered.
"Good," he said, and was he leaning forward, or was she still lost in imagination? But no, here he was, his face so close she could feel his breath.
Eyes wide, Winter leaned forward.
The door burst open.
"What are you doing?"
Lady Blackburn stood at the entrance to the drawing room, her face twisted in a mixture of shock and disgust. Mr. Clay was already on his feet, and to his credit, he looked completely calm as he bowed.
"Lady Blackburn," he said, nothing in his voice betraying a hint of surprise or embarrassment. "I should return to the ball."
With that he left, leaving Winter with her irate stepmother.
"What were you thinking?" Lady Blackburn spat out, pacing the length of the drawing room. "He is a soldier, not even a captain. Do you know what people would say if they knew that my stepdaughter, the child of a baron, was—was—"
She seemed too disturbed to even finish. Winter put her head in her hands, staring down at the floor, her cheeks burning with a combination of leftover excitement and fresh embarrassment.
"I'm sorry, stepmother. I didn't—it was nothing. I wasn't feeling well. He was helping me."
"Helping you," Lady Blackburn echoed. "Can you imagine what would have happened if anyone else had walked in? Do you even think about these things?
Winter's cheeks quickly cooled as her stepmother continued to rant. She stared at the floor, her throat once more turning to ice, and she wondered if she would ever thaw again.
Note: Hope you liked! Thank you for the favorites and reviews - every single one makes my days! I'm trying to make the scenes a teeny bit longer, since lovelunarchron suggested it and she's my fanfiction idol. It's hard though! I'm torn between updating more often or giving you longer scenes - I'm really busy because I have a 7-month-old kid plus I'm writing my second novel whenever I get a spare moment. This is kind of my way to unwind and write fun, cute stuff without having to worry as much about editing. In any case, I'm having lots of fun writing my first fanfiction, so thanks for reading. :)