Winter Field Chapter 1

Rensley had never once in his life been struck by a cold wind. In the songs of poets and the books left behind by literary men, expressions like “a knife-like wind that cuts to the bone” appeared from time to time, but those were nothing more than printed letters.

The wind had always been Rensley’s closest friend. It was a refreshing touch that cooled his sweat and swept through his hair when he was panting after finishing a bout of swordsmanship practice. It was a mischievous rascal that flipped the pages of his book and ran away when he was reading in a corner of the library with the window open. It was a drinking companion that cooled his flushed face as he strolled through the night market, slightly tipsy from sweet fruit wine.

When he was young, they had been even more intimate. It was a brother who would quietly come and caress his cheek when he was wiping away tears he could no longer hold back, unable to endure the ridicule or beatings any longer. It was a companion that kept him from being alone even in the dark attic where he was confined as punishment. It was a playmate that would suddenly appear beside him and race with him when he ran through the riverside or the forest.

It was always kind, gentle, and warm. Before the terrifying, never-before-seen face of that old friend, Rensley was crying for the first time in a very long while. It was not because he was sad. Purely because he was cold.

Even those tears froze, leaving his cheeks stiff. If not for the veil covering his face, his entire face would have become a block of ice by now.

The icy north wind, mixed with snowflakes, clawed at his skin, piercing through the cotton clothes and thick leather cloak wrapped around his entire body. It cut the flesh and then went further, making even his bones ache. The Rensley of this moment felt he could sing of the wind with more varied embellishments than any poet. The cold he had only learned about through writing and words. It was a torment that drove a man mad more than any blade, arrow, or whip.

“Who goes there?”

If he had known it would be like this, he would have stopped the people who suggested they depart. He would never have agreed to that flimsy notion that they could arrive while the sun was still up if they hurried because there was only a little way left.

While Rensley was screaming internally before the castle gate they had barely managed to reach, the gatekeeper wearing a thick fur hat shouted. One of Rensley’s attendants also raised his voice so it wouldn’t be swept away by the sound of the wind.

“A guest of His Grace, Archduke Gisel Siebendad!”

“At this time of night? What business do you have with His Grace?”

The attendant silently brought a lantern close to the flag. The gatekeeper narrowed his eyes and seemed to compare the emblem on the flag with the official document he held.

“Oh my!”

He let out a single exclamation and made a gesture ordering something.

A moment later, the outer wall gate of the fortress opened. People had gathered in a crowd to greet Rensley’s party.

“My word, we naturally thought you would arrive tomorrow. To think you would arrive in the middle of the night. Crossing the plain at this hour!”

“We are regretting it as well.”

“Surely you didn’t come riding in that? Without even an escort carriage?”

“That” was a baggage cart borrowed from the last inn where they had stayed. It was a carriage if one could call it that, but no one would ever consider it transportation fit to accompany a princess’s journey. What was pulling the cart wasn’t even a sleek horse, but a native northern donkey bred to withstand the cold.

“The carriage slipped on an icy road on the way here and a wheel broke, and the horse fell ill, so we left it at the inn.”

“If you had sent word even from the inn, we would have come to escort you. We are accustomed to this land, so it matters not for us, but the nighttime plain is dangerous for outside guests. Please, come this way quickly. Warm yourselves by the fire and thaw out.”

‘We didn’t know it would be this bad.’

Rensley swallowed his words internally. In the first place, there had never been any luxurious escort carriage, after all. The castle gatekeepers hurriedly threw more firewood into the stove and handed each of the attendants a bowl of hot soup. Only then did the attendants stretch as if they had come back from the dead, but Rensley, a veil draped over his entire face, could not drink even a glass of water. Still, just by basking in the warmth of the fire, he could fully savor the feeling of having escaped a brush with death.

He had no energy left to offer any explanations. Fortunately, the gatekeepers delayed no further, brought out an escort carriage, and guided the party deeper inside the citadel. Once aboard a carriage with a proper roof and walls, he felt he might live, no longer exposed to the wind, but the cold that had once seeped into his body did not easily dissipate from the brief warmth of the stove he had huddled beside.

The white moon was achingly bright. The ice and snow piled everywhere reflected that light, making the northern night seem blue rather than black. The black shadows of the endless coniferous forest stretching beyond the blue snowfields looked like sleeping giants that might stir to life at any moment.

It seemed news had reached the inner citadel and the Archduke’s castle while they were moving. Though it was late, a few people were peeking out their lanterns and faces, watching the arrival of the new guest.

The outer curtain wall, towering high like a cliff, drew gradually closer. The enormous gray wall was blunt, solid, and cold, as if the very landscape of the northern country had been made into a structure.

Chasing away his fear, he closed his eyes, and in that time, the carriage crossed a bridge and entered the gate of the Archduke’s outer curtain wall. It advanced for quite a while even after that before finally coming to a stop. The people of the castle had come out to greet them.

“You have endured much on your long journey.”

“The weather must not have been easy for those coming from the south.”

At the consolation offered by the people, Rensley silently bowed his head slightly, hiding his face deeper inside the veil. The attendants who had brought him answered in his stead.

“First, we would like to escort the Princess inside. She must be frozen solid.”

“Please, come this way.”

The women of the castle hurriedly guided Rensley. The place he was immediately led to was the bathroom. A deep bathtub carved from stone was filled with steaming hot water.

The bathroom was full of moisture, and even aside from the hot water, a brazier was lit, making it warm. His body, which had barely survived the threat of freezing to death several times just moments ago, quickly grew accustomed to the warmth and was now on the verge of sweating. Rensley let out a trembling sigh of deep relief.

But that was only for a moment. At the words of the lady’s maid, Rensley flinched in surprise again, his shoulders jerking.

“I will attend to your bath.”

Rensley quickly shook his head and wrote letters on the maid’s palm.

<In Cornia, a bride before the wedding ceremony neither speaks nor shows her body to another. I have yet to hold the ceremony, so I am still a person of Cornia. Please, leave me alone.>

While Rensley held onto his anxious heart and waited for their answer, the maids exchanged glances and spoke among themselves. Fortunately, the one who appeared to be their overseer nodded as if having easily reached a conclusion.

“Very well understood. Rest comfortably, and when your bath is finished, please pull this cord. We will come to escort you.”

Rensley looked at the cord. The long cord ran along the wall to the outside of the bathroom, seemingly meant to ring a bell when pulled.

The maids withdrew from the bathroom, and even after that, Rensley stood in place, peering around in case they might return or someone might enter. Then, once the surroundings grew quiet and all signs of people completely vanished, he slowly began to undress. First, he removed the fur hat covering his head and the veil hiding his face.

“Whew….”

Sweat seeped from his body, as if the tears shed from the whipping cold had been a lie. Rensley hurriedly stripped off his clothes. Gloves, leather cloak, a thickly padded coat, a heavy velvet dress with puffed sleeves to conceal his shoulder line, and the several layers of undergarments worn beneath.

Finally, Rensley was left in nothing but a pair of thin trousers, and when he shed even those, the body of a complete young man was revealed. Straight, angular shoulders, a flat and firm chest and abdomen, a back faintly shaded along the lines of lean muscle, long, straight legs. At the groin of the white body, better described as toned and slender rather than soft and plush, a male organ was situated in plain view.

Rensley approached the bathtub and dipped his hand in first. The water temperature was more than just warm; it was hot. Bundles of dried herbs he could not individually name hung in the tub, their sharp scent stinging his nose. In Cornia, one does not bathe in such hot water. They wash their bodies with lukewarm water infused with aromatic oil, or with outright cold water.