A long time ago, when the wintery days of Esmeria were embraced in the gentlest of warmth, Nesrin remembered how softly Izekiel had caressed her.
His fingers lingered on the side of her face for a moment longer than necessary, something shifted in his gaze before they turned as cold and indifferent as ever.
"I…" Nesrin glanced at the ink he had just wiped from her face, "I was trying to understand ink and quill."
Izekiel raised a brow, "You don't know how to write?"
Nesrin pretended to not hear that and awkwardly averted the subject.
"You called for me, Your Majesty. Is there something special today?"
Izekiel gestured for her to follow him.
The sunlight was glistening over the white snow, making the recent dreary nature appear as if new life was breathed in it.
A while later they arrived at the large iron gates which, Nesrin faintly recalled, led to open fields where the knights would often train or the hunts would be often held.
