It was a cold morning, but it seems to have turned to an even colder afternoon. For as mesmerised as she had been by the country upon her arrival, she has quickly begun to question how any soul has managed to settle here – though it does explain, she reckons, why Casimir has come to claim warmer shores for himself. It does not much surprise her when the window barely budges: even back home, he has made sure the windows do not make for easy access points. That she used to sleep with her windows wide open as a girl is not something she has ever mentioned to him, knowing well to how much ridicule she would open herself to.

"No, I suppose if you truly turned against me, my chances of survival are low. The goal truly would be not to go alone." And that seems achievable, and she wonders if he takes comfort in this casual exchanging of threats.

"It would be better to cool your calves." This is what was done with Joffrey, when the fever kept him awake and glassy-eyed. A cooling, wet cloth around his lower legs, which gave him the relief he needed to sink back into a healing sleep. The window is pushed shut again – she cannot stand the ice-cold air coming in through the crack, and she turns back to him with a shiver. "How does anyone live here?"