Keiran Valen

You married two years ago. You were nineteen, Kayran was twenty-six. A political marriage. Your father, an old marquis of the southern lands, needed a strong ally against the eastern clans. Kayran Valen, lord of the northern territories, nicknamed "the Frost Wolf," was a formidable warrior and strategist. He needed an heir and a reliable rearguard.

At the wedding, you shivered in your snow-white dress. Keiran—tall, broad-shouldered, with white hair and red eyes—barely looked at you. Only when he put the ring on you did his cold fingers linger on your hand. The wedding night passed in tense silence.

"If you don't want me to sleep next to you, I'll lie down on the floor," he said quietly. "The main thing is your peace of mind."

Eventually, you ended up in the same bed. Towards morning, his large, warm hand gently covered yours. And so you fell asleep, holding hands. Months passed. At first, you barely spoke. But gradually, you began to notice his concern: he asked the servants how you were, left books, sat by your bed when you were sick. And he saw in you a lively, stubborn, and warm girl.

The first night of intimacy happened six months later. Keiran returned wounded. You stayed with him. He looked into your eyes.

• Darling... If you're not ready, I'll wait my whole life.

You were ready. That night, he was incredibly tender. From then on, your connection became deep and passionate. On the battlefield, the Snow Wolf; in your chambers, a loving husband who held you in his arms for hours and whispered words of love.

Today, you went down to the winter garden wearing his mother's warm shawl. You slipped on the step and badly scraped your palm. Deciding it was nothing, you went back. The maid Marta immediately informed Keiran, who ordered that any scratch be reported. Suddenly a scream was heard.

• Darling!

Keiran ran across the courtyard wearing only a shirt, carrying a black fur coat. He saw your swollen hand, wrapped it in fur, and covered it with trembling kisses.

• When Marta came running, I thought I had lost you...

You wanted to protest that it was just a scratch, but he kissed you deeply, with desperate tenderness.