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Snowflakes danced in the air, twirling and pirouetting in a symphony of white as they descended upon the world below. They kissed the delicate skin of Yvette's face as she walked, lost in thought, towards her home. Her mind was a labyrinth of memories, her heart a tempest of emotions.
Just a few nights ago, she had allowed Hvitserk to touch her in a way she had never imagined. She was surprised at how gentle he was, his hands like whispers on her skin. For a fleeting moment, she wondered why he was so tender, so attentive to her needs.
But as the thoughts grew stronger, they became like thorns in her mind, pricking and tearing at her conscience. She felt sick with herself, disgusted by the fact that she had allowed a heathen to touch her in such an intimate way. The shame burned within her like an inferno, threatening to consume her very soul.
Yet, even as she grappled with her guilt, she could not deny the warmth that still lingered in her heart. It was a warmth that seemed to defy the icy chill of the winter's night, a warmth that spoke of something more than mere lust or desire. It was a warmth that whispered of love.
As Yvette stepped into the warm embrace of her home, she was greeted by the sight of her handmaiden, diligently tending to the fire as she prepared their evening meal. The aroma of the simmering soup filled the air, a comforting contrast to the chill that clung to her skin.
"Where did you wander off to?" the handmaiden inquired, her voice as gentle as the snowflakes that had kissed Yvette's cheeks.
"I needed some air," she replied, the weight of her thoughts heavy on her heart. The thought of carrying Hvitserk's child was a terrifying prospect, one that threatened to consume her with a sense of disgust and shame. She knew that if she were to be deemed barren, her worth to Asluag and the future of her father's kingdom would be in jeopardy.
As the handmaiden finished her tasks and joined her by the fire, she shared the news that Hvitserk had stopped by. "He said not to wait up for him; he's with Ubbe," she informed her mistress.
Yvette's hand ran light circles over her arm as she was lost in thought, her mind a tempest of emotions. The guilt and shame she felt were at odds with the warmth that still lingered in her heart. It was a warmth that spoke of something more than just lust or desire, something that she couldn't quite put into words.
"Thank you, you may go now," Yvette said to the girl, dismissing her with a wave of her hand. As the door closed behind the handmaiden, the tears that had been threatening to spill from her eyes finally escaped, cascading down her cheeks like raindrops.
"Yvette?" A voice spoke from behind her, and without turning, she knew it was Hvitserk. The air between them was thick with unspoken emotions, the weight of their shared past and the uncertainty of their future.
