Asher buried the shovel in the snow. He sighed lightly, his breath clouding around reddened cheeks. He was glad he had decided to not trim his hair any shorter - the black locks reaching his shoulders did a fine job of protecting his ears and neck from the biting chill. It was dead winter, when snowfall was heavy and days were especially gloomy. 

A fire crackled behind Asher as he stood atop the watchtower, a large black pot over it. Hot steam rose from into the air as snow melted into water within. Even as a senior knight, there were still such mundane tasks to be done. Granted, he had only recently been promoted.

Though, he seemed to be the only one doing any work.

"Oh, that's her, right?" Voices whispered in the air from the tower's edge. Peeking over through crenellated walls were a pair of junior knights. Asher paused his shovelling, gazing at the boys talking amongst themselves. 

He had a sense of what they were looking at. Entering through the castle's gates was a semi-elaborate carriage. Inside sat a young woman whose future was unclear. 

"The King sent another one. Wonder if she'll survive." The junior knights muttered, their shovels resting idly beside them.

"Hey, that's the new princess. Be careful about how you speak of her."

Asher pondered their words for a moment.

The master of this castle was none other than the king's eldest son. Since turning 20 three years ago, the prince had already had two wives.

Neither marriage had lasted long. 

One died from illness, while the other ostensibly went mad and took her own life. The rumours had given the prince a blighted image. He was someone who couldn't take care of others, or drove them insane. It was a relief to some that he was holed up in the north, far from the capital. 

Asher sighed again. 

Well, the matters of nobility are of no concern to me. He thought tiredly. 

He shovelled up the snow, dropping it carefully into the pot. The water left behind would be filtered and boiled again to be used somewhere, somehow in the castle. 

"I hear she's a beauty. Like that of a peony." One of the knights said spiritedly. They had red faces from more than just the cold. Despite his disinterest, Asher couldn't help but listen. Even if it was only the three of them on the tower, their gossip was still loud.

"A pitiful thing. A young bride coming to the cold north without so much as a wedding. During this dreary winter, at that." She wasn't the first, either. 

"It's a royal marriage, but doesn't it feel underwhelming?" 

That much, Asher could agree with. He stared blankly at the snow being gathered in his spade.

Asher continued to push snow around, his hands stinging. 

"Lady Yurielle is probably going to be upset." 

"That crazy woman is going to get crazier."

"Don't let someone hear you say that. She's still a noble."

"A crazy one."

The knight jabbed his friend's side. Suddenly he turned around, catching Asher's attention.

"Say, Asher." 

Asher looked up, catching an intent sparkle in the knight's eye.

"Yeah...?"

"You think you can cover us for a while?" The knights both had red cheeks and anxious faces while smiling. It was clear they weren't simply taking a relief break. Their intention was no doubt to spy the new princess consort.

"Ah..." Asher smiled awkwardly. He personally had no interest in the new lady of the castle. He was sure to run into her eventually; there was no particular need to go and see her right that moment. If there was, his duties would've been more notable than clearing snow. And while he didn't feel like doing such a dull yet tiring task on his own...

"Sure." He nodded hesitantly, causing the knight's expressions to brighten. They walked past Asher back into the castle, leaving him alone on the cold walls.

He looked over the edge, the citadel covered in patches of white. Along the stony ground leading to the castle, carriage tracks marked the snow. A bored expression dulled his red eyes. 

It seemed that the castle would be eventful for a while. 

*

*
*

Unavoidably, the castle was abuzz. Maids ran this way and that, holding laundry baskets or washcloths. Manservants called out instructions holding notebooks and pointing around. The rooms and hallways were being refurbished and swept clean. 

Lucien sat bored in his chambers. Papers regarding the North's situation sat idly on the small round table he leaned on. He hadn't looked at them for a while, instead opting to stare out the window. It was noisy in the castle. 

There was a brief knock on the door. 

Lucien ran a hand through his dishevelled hair, red like flames. 

"What?"

The door clicked open after entry was permitted. Walking in from across the room was a young man in uniform. He had a freckled face, hair the colour of dead grass, and green eyes. Despite his plain look, he was the strongest knight in the castle. That was, besides the man lounging on the other side of the room. 

Javier regarded Lucien with a disappointed gaze.

"Your Highness, do you have any idea what's happening today?"

"I do."

The curt answer ticked off Javier further. Things had been busy enough, with the princess arriving earlier than expected to the point that the castle had yet to be prepared. At the very least, the princess' room was given priority. It was all because Lucien hadn't given any orders.

When asked, his reply was simple.

Javier felt like whacking Lucien. 

"You know and yet you're sitting here idly...?" His brow twitched as he forced a smile.

"Is there a reason for me to do anything?" Lucien spoke. Then he glanced at Javier and smiled, his striking brows furrowing ambitiously. 

"Besides, you'll just report eveything to me anyway." His aide was a meticulous person, updating him on even every small and dull issue without being asked to. At the same time, Javier's fist was itching to beat some sense into his master. Composing himself, he sighed exasperatedly.

This wasn't the time for petty arguments.

"Your Highness. You know that this isn't just any person."

A flicker of attention finally passed through Lucien's golden eyes.

Of course he knew. That person's name bothered him as soon as he recieved the notice of yet another arrangment from His Majesty. 

His new wife was none other than the daughter of Count Mellow of the south. Her father was a man who was close friends with his own brother in the capital.

"That vile weasel sacrificed his own daughter, I suppose." Lucien flicked his gaze back to outside the window. Javier watched his master quietly. 

"If it's Mellow, I doubt this is just to stir unsavoury rumours. She could spell some real trouble." He said dejectedly.

As he continued to stare out of the window, Lucien was silent. Then after a moment, he spoke. 

"Don't worry. I'll deal with it."

***