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By the time I reach the figure, my irritation has only grown.

I stop beside him and look down.

An old man.

His body is twisted awkwardly against the base of the tree. One arm is trapped under him while the other lies stretched across the ground. His coat is soaked. One glove is missing. Snow has melted into his clothing and frozen again.

He’s dead.

Good.

At least this will be simple.

Then I hear it.

A sound so faint I almost dismiss it.

A moan.

I stare at him.

Impossible.

I crouch beside him and pull off one glove before pressing two fingers against the side of his neck. I expect nothing.

Instead, a faint pulse beats against my fingertips.

Weak, but there.

I swear under my breath and shift closer. His skin is unnaturally cold. I watch his chest for movement.

His breathing is shallow and uneven. Several long seconds pass between each breath, forcing me to check his pulse more than once just to make sure his heart hasn’t stopped.

He’s frozen, but he’s not dead.

At least not yet.

“Fuck.”

I sit back on my heels and look toward the castle rising above the trees while I consider my options. I hate people. I hate visitors. I hate interruptions. I especially hate finding half-frozen strangers collapsed on my property.

My attention shifts toward the tower.

He can recover there, or he can die there. I don’t particularly care which.

At least he’ll be inside.

More importantly, he won’t be lying against a tree overlooking the gardens that will—for a few weeks—be covered in climbing vines, herbs, and spring flowers.

I don’t want a corpse marring my view.

I slide one arm under his shoulders and prepare myself to lift him, expecting his dead weight to be far more difficult to manage than it actually is. He’s lighter than I anticipated. His head rolls limply against my arm as I drag him upright.

For a second, I wonder whether age, illness, or simple neglect has taken so much weight from him.

Then I decide it doesn’t matter.

The journey back to the castle is exhausting. His boots drag through snow while most of his weight rests against me. More than once, I consider letting him collapse onto the ground and walking away.