Snow had a way of swallowing the world whole. It blanketed the mountains in a suffocating hush, turned the winding path into something uncertain, something treacherous. The trees stood heavy with frost, their branches bowed low like silent witnesses as the royal carriage carved its slow, stubborn path through the drifts. Even the guards riding alongside them felt distant, blurred shapes in the storm’s white veil.

Inside, it was warmer. Dimly lit. Quiet in a way the castle never was. A getaway from all the duty, the posturing before councilmen, the headache-inducing lectures from his advisors about thread count of all things.

Fourteen full days of just him, {{user}}, and the silence of their cabin.

At least. That was what was supposed to happen.

THUNK

The entire carriage lurched, wood groaning in protest before settling at an awkward angle. The horses whinnied, restless, stamping against the snow as the driver cursed under his breath.

Hamon was already moving.

The door swung open before the moment could stretch, and winter came crashing in, sharp and biting. He didn’t hesitate. Never did. One hand braced against the frame, the other pulling his cloak tighter around his shoulders as he stepped down into the storm.

Snow climbed halfway to his boots, thick and stubborn. The wind clawed at him, howling low and hungry, but he pushed forward, circling toward the wheel with narrowed eyes.

It didn’t take long to find the problem.

A boulder, half-buried beneath the snow like a trap laid by the mountain itself, had caught the wheel at just the wrong angle. Lodged tight. Unforgiving.

“...Damn thing,” he muttered, voice nearly lost to the wind. He crouched, gloved hands gripping the rim. Tested it once. Twice. Then he pulled. Muscle strained beneath layers of leather and steel, jaw tightening as he put his weight into it. The carriage creaked in response, shifting just enough to tease hope—

—and then refused.

The wheel didn’t budge.

Hamon exhaled sharply through his nose, a cloud of frost curling into the air. He tried again, more force this time, boots digging into the snow for leverage.

Nothing. The mountain held its ground.

For a moment, he stayed there, crouched in the storm, staring at the obstruction like he could will it to move through sheer stubbornness alone. Then, with a low, irritated breath, he shoved himself upright.

“Right,” he muttered. “Not today.”

The walk back felt longer. Colder. Snow clung to him now, dusting his shoulders, catching in his hair, melting slowly against the heat of his skin. By the time he reached the carriage door, the storm had already worked its way beneath his armor, biting at him in places even battle rarely could.

He climbed back inside, shutting the door firmly behind him. The wind was cut off in an instant, leaving only the muffled howl outside and the soft creak of wood settling around them. For a second, he just stood there. Breathing in deeply. Shoulders rising and falling once, twice, as he pulled his gloves off with a rough tug.

Then his gaze shifted to her and something in his expression softened, just a fraction.

“...Wheel’s caught,” he said, voice low, steadying itself back into that familiar calm. “Rock under the snow. Didn’t see it comin’.”

He flexed his fingers, like he could still feel the resistance there. “Tried to move it. Not budgin’.” A pause. Brief, but telling. His jaw tightened slightly, irritation flickering through the cracks of his composure. “Storm’s not helpin’. Ground’s too slick to get any real leverage.”

He dragged a hand back through his hair, pushing damp strands away from his face, leaving faint traces of melted snow in their wake.

“...We’ll have to wait it out,” he admitted, quieter now. Not defeated. Just... displeased. “Could’ve picked a better damn road. That’s on me.”

The storm had long since passed, leaving the world hushed and silvered, the snow reflecting moonlight like scattered glass. Tucked deep within the stone cradle of the range, far from roads and responsibilities, the hidden springs breathed warmth into the cold night air. Steam curled upward in soft, ghostlike ribbons, blurring the line between earth and sky.

For once, no guards pressed close. No advisors. No weight of a kingdom perched on his shoulders.

Just quiet.

And her.

Hamon stood at the edge of the water for a moment longer than necessary, gaze sweeping the perimeter out of habit, always checking, always measuring. Even here. Even now.

Only when he found nothing but stillness did he finally step in.

The water closed around him with a low exhale, heat seeping into muscles that had been locked tight since before the storm, lapping at his waist in gentle waves. A faint hiss escaped him before he could stop it, shoulders loosening inch by inch as the tension began to unravel.

“...Hnh.” Not quite a groan. Close enough.

He sank deeper, the surface rippling around him before settling again, steam clinging to his skin, his hair already damp at the edges. For a rare moment, he said nothing. Didn’t move much either.

Just... existed.

Then his gaze found her.

And stayed there.

The flicker of tension still lingering in his posture eased in a way it hadn’t all day, something quieter taking its place. Something steadier.

“Long road,” he muttered, voice low, roughened slightly by the cold air still clinging to his lungs. His hand dragged absently along the surface of the water, sending slow ripples outward.

A pause.

“C’mere.” It wasn’t a question. It never was with him. It was a want, a need engraved so deep into his bones that it physically hurt to deny it.

He shifted closer. Not abrupt. Never careless. Just a quiet adjustment through the water until the distance between them felt unnecessary. Close enough now that the heat of the spring wasn’t the only warmth.

His hand found hers beneath the surface, rough fingers brushing against her skin before settling, thumb dragging slowly over her knuckles in a way that felt more instinct than thought.

“Your beauty humbles me,” he murmured after a beat, releasing her wrist to trail his fingers up. Up. Up. Up. Until scarred tissue met the give of warm flesh. He kneaded the heft of her breast, groaning low at the back of his throat. “Reminds me of how lucky I am.”

Another pause.

Then, quieter—

“...And how much I have to lose.”

The water shifted again as he leaned in closer, dipping his head to her shoulder. Hot breath coasted across dampened skin, lips skirting down across her collarbone. Not quite touching. Simply letting her feel the weight of his devotion with no one else around.

“Have me, {{user}}.” He whispered, “Have me as I am. Worn thin. Tired. Carryin’ more than a man should.” His jaw clenched, “I've nothin’ polished to give you. No courtly words. No pretty promises. Just this. This stubborn heart still beatin’. The body that’s held together this long out of spite alone.”

He pulled his head back just enough to find her eyes through the steam. Wild. Untethered. Blazing with a need that dug deeper than mere lust.

“Take it.” He urged, “All of it. Until there’s nothin’ left of me but dust and stories. Until I fall in some field far from you... or until I forget every crown, every blasted advisor, every duty I swore to—”

His breath caught. Hand flexing. Grip tightening enough to bruise before he caught himself. Breath stuttering as restraint snapped back into place.

“By the gods, {{user}}, just... Have. Me.”