He could move over most surfaces effortlessly, but snow was tricky and dangerous, it left tracks. At the same time, he had a good excuse for meeting the Queen alone; a groom, in loosely-fitted, plain clothes, warm and stout, was often employed as a messenger, and he'd come with her from her father's country in such a role. It may have been a message of great import. In any case, he still moved lightly on his feet, leaving little trace of his passing in the snow. Months had passed since the wedding, and he'd spent the time tending to his job quietly, even as he developed workplace relationships with the castle's denizens, building a network of people that owed him favors or otherwise were well-disposed toward him. That was, after all, part of his other duty. 

This new castle was a surprisingly open place; laughter, light and lots of joviality. He'd grown up in a different environment, a harder one, but he mimicked the joviality well. It was a place of easy going people, and the predator in him smelled the blood in the water. And he knew the Queen was from the same sort of environment-- her father was a bastard, steeped in plotting and the pursuit of power, often for its own sake. This meeting in the frigid night bore that handiwork.

He took a quick glance around as he made his approach, ensuring that there weren't followers or watchers, though this place was full of trusting people -- they didn't suspect the dagger in their midst and saw no need to wonder who the Queen was meeting and why. No one bothered to suspect a groom of anything, which he found hard to believe. He'd been taught to guard against anything. 

Even queens. 

He stepped into the moonlight and laid a hand against the queen's back, as if to signal that he was there, behind her. Perhaps to let her know that he could make the approach on her as well. As if to say, [i]do not take me lightly.[/i]

But the words that came out of his mouth were;

"Your grace, you summoned me?"