Clarisse's eyes had widened, and for the briefest moment, she had considered declining. It had been late, it had been cold outside, and she hadn't planned on venturing beyond the warmth of the palace. But something inside her had stirred, a small spark of curiosity, of adventure. She hadn't expected this—hadn't expected the connection between them to feel so palpable, so real. But maybe that had been exactly what she had needed that night.
"Well…" She had exhaled, a soft laugh escaping her lips. "Alright. You've convinced me. But don't expect me to enjoy it."
Joseph had grinned at her, and for a moment, the weight of the evening—of the loss, of the understanding that had passed between them—had seemed to dissipate. It had been just the two of them now, standing in front of the tree, with the snow falling gently outside.
They had both put on their winter coats—Clarisse's had been a rich, deep red, and Joseph's dark coat had contrasted with the snowy white scene beyond the window. The air had been sharp and crisp as they had stepped outside, the world cocooned in a shimmering silence. The snow had softened into a light, lazy drift, the flakes spiraling gently through the cold night air. The golden glow of the palace windows had stretched across the courtyard, giving the snowy expanse an almost ethereal quality.
Joseph had breathed in deeply, the icy air biting at his lungs but clearing his mind. The quiet between them had felt different now—easy, almost companionable, as if the cold had stripped away pretense, leaving only the simplicity of their presence.
"Look up," he had said softly, his voice quieter than the crunch of their boots on snow. "The snowflakes are perfect tonight. Like little diamonds falling from the sky."
Clarisse had tilted her face toward the heavens, her breath catching as she had watched the snowflakes spiral down, illuminated by the glow of the palace lights. Her gaze had lingered on one flake as it had fluttered closer, dissolving before it had touched her skin. For a moment, the world had felt lighter—less burdened. The past had faded into the background, and even the weight of the palace behind her had seemed to dissolve in the presence of this fleeting, fragile beauty.
"It feels… peaceful," she had murmured, a rare, genuine smile tugging at her lips.
Joseph had lingered half a step behind her, close enough to catch her should she slip. The snow beneath their boots had been soft but uneven, the kind of terrain that required attention. He had noticed the faint hesitation in her step just a second before it had happened—a slight stumble as she had wavered unsteadily.
She had let out a soft laugh, her breath curling into the frosty air like smoke. "I'm not falling," she had insisted, raising a hand as if to dismiss her wobble. "It's just my balance."
Joseph had already been there, his hand at her elbow, steady and sure. His touch had been warm even through the thickness of their coats. "You sure?" he had teased, though his voice had carried a quiet undercurrent of concern.
Clarisse had chuckled, brushing a gloved hand over her skirt as if to steady herself further. "Yes, I'm fine. Just a little dizzy."
Joseph had arched a brow, his grin playful but not without warmth. "It's that damned tea," he had said with mock severity. "Good thing we'll never be cold again—my stomach's on fire."
Clarisse had laughed, the sound soft and melodic. "I did warn you."
He had shaken his head, his grin widening as he had watched her. "You know, for a queen, you really do enjoy causing trouble."
Her lips had quirked in amusement, her eyes sparkling in the muted light. "I'm just keeping you on your toes, Joseph."
They had walked on together, their steps crunching softly against the fresh snow. The cold air had nipped at their cheeks, and the occasional snowflake had brushed against their skin before vanishing. Joseph had stayed just a fraction behind her, his presence a steadying anchor. He couldn't help but notice how the snow had caught in her hair, the blonde strands glowing faintly in the moonlight.
The snow had deepened slightly as they had rounded a corner. Clarisse had paused, her gaze wandering to the soft, untouched expanse ahead of them. There had been a mischievous glint in her eyes then, one that Joseph hadn't missed but he had taken a few wavering steps forward, his back turned towards her.
Before he had realized she had lingered behind, she had bent slightly, scooping up a handful of snow. Her fingers had worked quickly, shaping it into a neat ball.
Joseph had been mid-step when it had hit him square in the back.
He had frozen, slowly turning to face her. His expression had been a mixture of disbelief and amusement. "Did you just—" he had begun, his voice catching on a laugh.
Clarisse had stood a few paces away, trying—and failing—to look innocent. Her smile had betrayed her as she had raised an eyebrow, daring him to respond. "Perhaps," she had said lightly. "You looked like you could use a little fun."
For a moment, Joseph had just stared, his mouth twitching in suppressed laughter. "This really happened," he had finally said, his voice brimming with incredulity. "You just threw a snowball at me."
"Maybe I did," she had replied, the gleam in her eyes growing brighter. "What are you going to do about it?"
Joseph had exhaled sharply, his breath a plume of frost. "Alright, then," he had muttered, crouching down to scoop his own handful of snow. His movements had been deliberate, almost exaggerated, as he had molded it into a compact sphere. "Careful, Your Majesty. You've made a dangerous enemy."
Clarisse had let out a laugh, her eyes widening as she had started to back away. But before she had been able to take more than a step, the snowball had hit her square in the chest. She had gasped, more out of surprise than discomfort, before bursting into laughter.
"Joseph!" she had protested, brushing the snow off her coat with quick, sweeping motions. "I can't believe you actually did that."
"You started it," he had countered, his grin unrepentant. "And I always return fire."
Clarisse had shaken her head, still laughing. "I didn't expect you to retaliate."
"That's your first mistake," he had said with a wink, stepping forward to close the distance between them.
As they had continued walking, their breathless laughter had faded into a quieter kind of warmth. Snowflakes had gathered on Joseph's coat and shoulders as he had walked next to her now, his pace slower, as if unwilling to rush the moment. The snow had thickened on his shoulders, catching her eye.
Without thinking, Clarisse had reached out, brushing the snow away with her gloved hand. The movement had been instinctive, gentle, but it had lingered for a fraction longer than it should. Her fingers had grazed the fabric of his coat, and she had felt the warmth beneath.
Joseph had frozen briefly, the simple touch sending a warmth through him that had had nothing to do with the tea or their earlier exertions. He had glanced down at her hand, then met her gaze.
There had been something unspoken in the way they had looked at each other—an acknowledgment of the closeness that had crept up on them. Clarisse's cheeks had been pink from the cold, but Joseph had wondered if it had been more than that.
"Snow," she said simply, her voice quiet but steady, as she gestured at his shoulders.
He smiled softly, his eyes lingering on hers for a moment longer before he nodded. "Thanks."
They turned back toward the palace, their footsteps crunching lightly in tandem. The snow continued to fall, each flake a fleeting moment that mirrored the connection between them—fragile, quiet, yet beautiful in its simplicity.
The warmth of the palace wrapped around them as they stepped inside, a welcome contrast to the crisp chill they'd just left behind. The faint crackle of a fire somewhere in the distance underscored the quiet hum of the space. Joseph shrugged off his coat, his fingers absently brushing away melting flakes from his head. He glanced over at Clarisse and paused.
She was perched on the edge of a velvet-upholstered chair, wrestling with her boots. Her hair, slightly damp from the snow, started to curl a little, and there was a faint flush to her skin from the cold. She moved gracefully, even in this moment of awkwardness, and Joseph couldn't help but watch, his expression softening.
"You know," he said, his voice low and carrying just the faintest hint of teasing, "you don't have to do that yourself."
Clarisse looked up at him, one eyebrow arched, but there was amusement in her eyes. "I appreciate the chivalry, Joseph, but I'm perfectly capable of removing my own boots."
Still, he stepped closer, bending down to gently take hold of the laces. His fingers brushed hers for a brief moment, and the touch lingered in the air between them. She didn't protest this time, allowing him to ease the boot off her foot. It was such a simple gesture, but it carried a quiet intimacy that neither of them acknowledged aloud.
"There," he murmured, setting the boot aside with care. "One down."
Clarisse exhaled softly, leaning back as she reached for her heels. The glossy satin gleamed faintly in the firelight as she slipped them on with practiced ease, the click of the delicate buckles punctuating the stillness.
Joseph watched, his head tilting slightly. "You've really committed to those shoes tonight," he said, the corners of his mouth twitching into a grin. "Don't you have... I don't know, something comfortable? Slippers, maybe?"
Clarisse straightened, her expression shifting into mock indignation. "Slippers?" She gestured at the heels with a touch of theatrical flair. "These are perfectly comfortable. For me."
Joseph chuckled, leaning against the edge of the chair. "If you say so. But for the record, slippers would be a lot warmer. And safer."
Her lips parted, and there was a brief flicker of hesitation before she responded, her tone light but her words weighted. "I'm not wearing slippers in front of a... man."
The sentence hung there, unfinished but complete, the pause between "a" and "man" thick with unspoken meaning. The soft light of the room caught on the flush blooming in her cheeks, but she didn't look away.
Joseph didn't move, his expression unreadable at first, but then his lips curved into a smile—gentle, knowing. "Fair enough," he said, his voice lower now. "But if you change your mind, I won't tell anyone."
Clarisse laughed, the sound a little softer, a little more uncertain. She glanced toward the window, the moonlight spilling in like a silver veil over the snow-laden trees beyond. "It's late," she said finally, though there was no urgency in her voice.
Joseph straightened slightly, his gaze following hers. "It is." He paused, the words forming in his mind before he spoke. "Nightcap?"