"Please, be seated, Lord Fealan. Let's see what you've brought me today."
Rosalind offered him with a gentle smile.
But Elise, who had remained at her side all the while, could discern the veil of storm clouds gathering in her lady's eyes.
She was not in a good mood.
Fealan lowered himself onto the chair and unfurled the documents with deliberate care.
"Your Grace," he began, "these are the papers entrusted to me by His Grace. The first is a marital covenant, the second a charter affirming joint stewardship over Everfrost, and lastly, a writ of personal asset delegation from the Duke himself. I bid you examine them at your leisure."
Rosalind turned each page with composed hands. Beyond the clauses outlining mutual duties and entitlements, her eyes caught upon a peculiar condition.
"If Dorian Valemont, of his own will, breaks the terms of this covenant, all personal holdings shall be granted to Rosalind Castillon." She read aloud, then lifted her gaze toward Fealan, her expression laced with quiet deliberation.
"I confess, I do not fully grasp the Duke's intent with this clause."
"His Grace bade me include it as a safeguard," Fealan replied, "to ensure you should suffer no loss or indignity, were this union… to falter."
Fealan had ever been a man of perceptive mind and tempered judgment. He had long studied him, a figure once as remote and unmoved as Mount Velmora, where the snows are eternal.
But after the meeting the day prior, Fealan perceived a shift. Dorian had begun to yield ground in the fortress of his heart. Or rather, he had begun to hope. Truly, what man could remain untouched in the presence of such grace? Even Fealan, upon their first encounter, had felt the pull of her quiet strength and radiant bearing.
That morning, ere he set out to deliver Dorian's documents, Fealan had asked once more if he wished to amend any provision.
Dorian replied without a flicker of hesitation.
"I will give her everything of mine."
Fealan might not fully understand the true nature of their bond, but he was certain of one thing: if this marriage were to succeed, the relationship between the North and the Imperial family would remain strong.
For no matter how elite the Northern forces be, to oppose the royal family is a grave folly. Moreover, Queen Amara, who defeated her own uncle to quash the rebellion, would not easily forgive those who harm her sister.
The North, and Dorian Valemont, should not make an enemy of that Queen.
After a long moment of silence, Fealan finally spoke.
"I believe the Duke did this to ensure your rightful protection, my lady… I ask that you consider the intent behind his actions."
"Intent?" Rosalind echoed, the faint smile on her lips vanishing like morning mist under sunlight, leaving behind a gaze cold as winter frost. Her eyes darkened slightly, and for a moment, it felt as though the entire room had dropped a degree in temperature.
Was Dorian's intent to grant her full authority over his assets?
Or was he using them to purchase an escape should this marriage collapse?
Perhaps she had placed too much faith in this so-called "intent" and in doing so, forgotten the truth, the very nature of their union.
How foolish of you, Rosi… to forget what this union truly is.
She chided herself. Foolish to think it ever meant more.
Rosalind straightened in her seat, spine held with quiet resolve, her fingers interlacing as if to steady the storm within.
"Take these back, Lord Fealan," she said evenly.
"Your Grace, you mean…" Fealan gave a faintly awkward smile.
Rosalind returned to him with quiet grace.
"Tell the Duke I refuse to sign. If he truly holds the intent you speak of, then tell him come here himself… and show it to me."
The force of the new Lady Valemont's words gave Fealan pause.
And he understood, clearly, that no matter how he tried to persuade her, this resolve would not be easily moved.
She held the reins now—not him. Fealan saw that plainly.
"I will relay your message to His Grace, my lady," he said with a respectful nod.
"Thank you, Lord Fealan." She inclined her head gently.
"Then… I shall take my leave," he said as he stood and bowed. "Thank you for granting me your time, Your Grace."
"I am always willing. Thank you again, Lord Fealan."
Although the weather in Everfrost had been gradually warming up in recent days, Elise felt the temperature in the room colder than ice and snow.
Having been by Rosalind's side for a long time, she knew her mistress was someone who always kept her emotions in check.
Unlike her sister, Queen Amara, who was strong and radiant like fire, Rosalind concealed herself beneath a gentle, steady demeanor, like the still surface of a lake—calm on the outside, yet deep within, it held a power that could sweep away anything that stood in its way.
"Do you think I overreacted?"
Rosalind's voice cut through the heavy stillness that had settled over the room like a veil.
Elise looked quietly at the elegant figure before her.
"No, Your Grace."
"Perhaps… I've placed too much hope in this marriage."
Rosalind murmured, almost to herself, as she lightly traced the intricate carving on the ring around her finger—a bitter smile tugging at her lips.
But before Elise could speak, before she could say the very thing Rosalind feared to hear, Rosalind quickly gathered herself and turned to her maid with a soft smile.
"Would you mind asking the kitchen to prepare some afternoon tea? Perhaps with a few sweet pastries as well. That would be lovely."
"Of course, my lady," Elise responded promptly. "I'll see to it right away."
"Thank you... Elise."
When the door closed once more, silence reclaimed the vast room.
And the faint smile Rosalind had worn disappeared with Elise's departure.
Dorian Valemont.
She still couldn't understand him.
From the very beginning, he had kept his distance—cold and guarded. She had accepted that, resolved to live with him out of duty, not affection.
But then he had changed.
He had spoken of building a real marriage.
He had offered her warmth, tender attention, and a chance at happiness.
He had made her believe.
He had made her hope.
And then… he had taken it all away.
He is the one who made her dare to dream—just a little.
A future not bound by duty alone, a warmth shared by choice, not obligation.
But dreams, as ever, had sharp edges when they shattered.
"There's no one… no one, Rosi… no one can save us…"
The voice in this morning's dream still echoed in her mind.
Maybe it had been a warning.
Or perhaps, a reminder to keep her feet firmly planted in reality.
Foolish, to believe in promises made without words.
But wasn't that what hope was? Trusting in what had not yet been proven?
She should've signed it without pause. That would've been easier. Colder. Safer.
Because in truth, defiance alone would never change a heart… already frozen.
Left alone in the silence, Rosalind sat perfectly still.
Not like she felt nothing, but because she refused to let anyone see just how much it hurt.
----
That evening, just as the last rays of sunlight stretched faintly across the sky, Dorian returned to Everfrost.
"Where is the Duchess?"
No sooner had he dismounted than the question was pressed upon the nearest servant, his voice sharp with urgency.
Fealan had already reported what had transpired earlier that day.
And her reaction… was the last thing Dorian expected.
He had thought that if words could not protect her, then action would.
That was how he knew to show care.
But she, Rosalind, had rejected it all.
"S-She is currently having her supper, Your Grace," the servant stammered, unnerved by the Duke's piercing gaze.
Dorian said nothing.
He clenched his gloves in silence, then turned on his heel and strode toward the dining room.
He wanted to see her.
He needed her to understand.
That everything he did… was for her
The door to the dining hall swung open, unannounced.
Maera and Rosalind both turned toward the sound.
"Welcome back, Your Grace," Maera greeted him promptly, rising from her seat with a bow.
Rosalind said nothing.
She had seen him—his familiar figure, the unchanging look in his eyes—but her face remained unreadable, composed.
As if his presence didn't matter.
Dorian approached without waiting for invitation.
He sat down across from her, lifting a hand to signal Maera not to bother preparing a setting for him.
He hadn't come to eat.
He had come to speak.
Yet as he met her calm, distant gaze, his resolve faltered.
And for the first time, Dorian Valemont—always in control—realized he had barged in far too abruptly.
He had once been confident that he could face anything, but standing before this princess, he found himself at a loss for words.