Wheeling Gull Isle but sleep won't set me free

the island of yuelong was beautiful in a way that pharaoh, grudgingly, realized he had never considered. they were still not free of the cold white that fell and blanketed the earth in stark paleness, but the atmosphere had stopped its whirling. the lull of it drew him out from his makeshift shelter, and ramesses paraded proudly through the island places he had not yet explored.
to be beneath the rule of a woman rankled pharaoh. a man stood at her side, but his participation reminded the hotlands wolf too vividly of hatshepsuun and osarsiph, and that he could scarcely abide.
the empress had given him a place to lie his head and the protection of her alliances; he supposed he should be grateful but was not. no backwater foreign locale could compare to what he had lost, no matter how lovely its lands — or its leader.
in his meanderings ramesses came across a figure lying upon the frozen ground beneath a canopy of trees he did not recognize. something, many things, seemed wrong with this one, most of all laying a fool in this muck, but he was not close enough to draw a proper judgement. and so pharaoh strode forward, fighting the curl of his lip when he saw the marring of her jawline. 
"do you wish to have your blood turned cold?" he asked dryly. "stay there long enough and this will happen."