As While Rosalind remained in bed, a familiar voice broke the silence.
"Oh… you're already awake, my lady?"
Elise entered with a gentle push of the door, pausing as she caught sight of Rosalind sitting quietly at the edge of the bed. The linens were still rumpled, bearing the imprint of restless sleep. Her hair fell loosely around her shoulders, and her eyes—still heavy with the weight of dreams—lifted to Elise, startled, as if pulled from a place not quite of this world.
For a moment, Elise simply watched her. Rosalind looked like someone caught between dream and waking, adrift in the hush that follows a storm.
A soft tilt of Elise's head—gentle, careful, not daring to disturb the fragile hush clinging to the room.
"Was it… Dorian who brought me here?" Rosalind asked, her voice laced with the heaviness of slumber, tinged with a touch of embarrassment.
"Yes, my lady. The Duke instructed us to let you rest here for the night," Elise replied gently. "Here—Lady Maera prepared this for you. A tisane to ease the effects of the wine."
Rosalind accepted the porcelain cup with both hands. Warmth lingered along its rim, and from it rose a soothing aroma of ginger and mint, mellowed by honeyed sweetness and a faint bitterness at the back of her tongue. The liquid shimmered with a pale amber hue, catching the light as she tilted the cup.
Just then, Elise drew back the heavy velvet curtains that cloaked the window. Sunlight spilled eagerly into the room, as though it had been waiting just beyond the glass. The sun had already risen past the snow-laden rooftops, suspended high against a canvas of soft blue, casting gilded streams of light across the polished wooden floor and the edge of the velvet-draped bed.
"Are you feeling better now, my lady?" Elise asked, her tone low and kind.
"I believe so... much better, thank you, Elise."
Elise hesitated, then gave a soft laugh. "To be honest, I've never seen you quite so… undone."
She remembered the night vividly—how the Duke had arrived with Rosalind in his arms, his usually composed features taut with worry. It was the first time Elise had seen him rattled, and the first time her lady—always so poised—had yielded so completely to the effects of drink.
Rosalind herself could not explain it. She had only drunk three or perhaps four glasses of wine. Back in Lumisera, that would have been nothing. But perhaps... the wine in Everfrost bore a sharper edge than she had realized.
Perhaps next time, she must be more cautious—anything to avoid another scene as disgraceful as last night's.
But how was she to face Dorian now, after allowing herself to unravel so completely before him?
The thought alone made the dull ache at her temples stir again, curling at the edges like smoke.
And yet, as a flicker of memory stirred, Rosalind turned to Elise with sudden urgency.
"Last night… I mean—Dorian… did he stay here with me?"
Elise froze at the question. A slow, knowing smile lit her face, her eyes glinting with mischief.
"I only helped you change, my lady. As for what happened after…" she let the sentence trail, her gaze gently probing.
Rosalind took a deep breath, trying to push the thoughts away.
In the mere seconds it took for Elise to respond, a whirlwind of possible scenarios rushed through her mind.
"There was no 'after,' my lady. The Duke returned to his chambers shortly after, and I took my leave as well."
Rosalind blinked. "… So you mean—Dorian and I… were alone, here, last night?"
Elise paused for a beat, then gave a small nod.
"I believe so, my lady."
Color rushed to Rosalind's cheeks at once, her thoughts spiraling in all directions.
Sensing the turn of her lady's mind, Elise chuckled softly.
"You are husband and wife, after all. There's no need to be so flustered," she said with gentle teasing.
Rosalind lowered her gaze, murmuring, "I know… It's just that… I wasn't quite ready for that."
Her fingers curled around the now-cooled teacup, clinging to the porcelain as though to anchor herself. A rueful smile touched her lips.
She could not tell if the distance between them was born of unspoken fears, or merely the fragility of two strangers learning to share the same silence.
She did not shrink from the idea—on the contrary, she understood it was a necessary step toward building something whole between them.
But somehow… that moment had always remained just out of reach, deferred again and again by circumstances, silences, and unspoken things.
The thoughtful expression on Rosalind's face slowly chased away the smile from Elise's lips.
Every change in Rosalind's eyes, every pause in her breath—Elise had learned to read them like fading ink on parchment. Unspoken things often spoke the loudest. She watched, listened, and quietly pieced together the undercurrents that swirled around the Lady she served.
Her first impression of the Duke of Valemont had not been a kind one. His cold and arrogant demeanor made him difficult to approach—like a man carved from ice, stern and unyielding, with nothing but disdain in his eyes.
And yet… over time, Elise found herself hesitating in her judgment.
Dorian was not a gentle man, nor one easily understood. But neither was he entirely cruel, as she had once believed. Beneath that icy veneer, there was not warmth, perhaps—but purpose. A quiet resolve, deliberate and unwavering. Every gesture was measured, deliberate—born not of affection, but of a certain quiet gravity.
And maybe… that alone was already a beginning.
This marriage had been inevitable—a path set long before either of them could choose otherwise. Elise knew this well. All she could do was pray, in silence, that the journey ahead would be gentler than it appeared.
Then, just days before the wedding, Dorian came in person to request that Elise be allowed to accompany Rosalind to the North. The memory lingered with her. It had stirred something quiet and warm in her chest—gratitude, perhaps. For in that cold and unfamiliar land, Rosalind would not have to face solitude alone.
And as days passed in Everfrost, Elise began to see what words never said aloud: the patient guidance of Lady Maera, the subtle gestures from Dorian—not grand or obvious, but deliberate and steady. Each small act, seemingly insignificant on its own, began to form a quiet pattern.
It was as if he was weaving something around her—not a cage, but a sanctuary. A space only she could occupy. A position of dignity, shielded from all harm.
But doubt clung to her gaze like the last shadow of twilight—reluctant to fade, even in the warmth of morning.
"Hm… it was nothing, just a passing thought," Rosalind murmured, steadying herself with a quiet breath. "Help me dress, will you, Elise?"
"Of course, my lady."
"Oh—I almost forgot. Have you seen Dorian? I… I think there are a few things I'd like to speak with him about."
"The Duke left early this morning, my lady. He stopped by Lady Maera's quarters to give some instructions, then headed to the training grounds, I believe."
"I see." Rosalind fell silent for a moment. Then, with a faint smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, she said softly, "So I'll be having breakfast alone again today. Thank you, Elise."
She turned to the window, where morning light spilled in uninvited—warm against the chill that lingered in her thoughts.
---
Later, once the hush of morning had fully settled, Rosalind sat quietly in her study.
"Your Grace, you have a guest."
The voice from outside made Rosalind pause. She rarely had visitors since her arrival here.
"Could you open the door for me, Elise?"
"Of course, my lady."
As Elise opened the heavy wooden doors, Rosalind's gaze immediately fell on the figure standing in the doorway.
Fealan Morwen — with a few documents in hand.
He offered a brief nod to Elise before stepping into the room.
"Good morning, Your Grace," Fealan greeted with a polite bow.
"Good morning, Lord Fealan. What brings you here so early?"
She sensed there must be a reason behind his visit.
Fealan wasn't just a loyal servant of Dorian. He was also the heir to House Morwen, a wealthy vassal family with long ties to the Valemonts. Their lineage was known for producing some of the sharpest minds in diplomacy, and Fealan was certainly no exception.
"I've brought a few documents from His Grace, the Duke, for you to sign, Your Grace."
"Dorian?"
"Yes, Your Grace. These are documents that require your confirmation."
Rosalind's fingers clenched involuntarily. Her eyes flickered as she gazed at the papers Fealan had set before her.
"Are these… the marriage contract?"
Ah, of course. This is all it really is, isn't it? A union bound by duty, by power, and not by love.
Wake up, Rosalind.
She had been a fool, chasing shadows of hope, believing in dreams when reality was far colder.