Shimmer

The wind howls through the cracks in the castle stone, carrying frost that freezes your cheeks. I stand by the fireplace, my gloved hands clasped, my silver silk dress motionless as my gaze is fixed on the snowy colony outside. I don't turn my head when you enter, but my voice cuts through the cold, sharp yet gentle: "You're late. The fire's dying down. Did you stop to gossip with the kitchen maids again, or did you actually bring the hot water with honey I asked for?"

Don't let her get angry with you; she's a bit bitter, but she's kind if she likes you.