Work Text:
Farrin Graydim swept his gaze over the crush of people again.
It would be so easy, he thought, to conceal a dagger in those endless lengths of silk or velvet or satin. It would be so easy for a potential threat to get close to the royal dais, blending in, biding his time. It would be so easy to slip past the noses of the overstimulated, distracted royal guards.
Farrin moved his right hand a fraction, allowing his pinky to slide along the chilly hilt of the sword that rested in a sheath cleverly integrated into the seat he occupied. He moved his left hand and allowed his fingertips to slide along the chilly skin of the beautiful woman seated next to him.
For a self-indulgent moment, he allowed himself to simply look at her: the princess of Verglas, the Snow Queen, his wife—the woman who meant more to him than any other being on the Continent. He watched her as she watched the dancers and the orchestra and the conversationalists. She smiled. His heart ballooned.
He swept his gaze over the crush of people yet again. No one will get to you, Rakel, not without going through me.