"Here, take it."
Dorian gently held out the handkerchief toward her.
Rosalind lifted her head slightly, her fingers unconsciously clutching at her gown's hem when she realized tears still glistened in her eyes.
"Thank you… Your Grace."
"Dorian!"
He cut her off softly, meeting her gaze without a hint of embarrassment. "From now on, you may simply call me Dorian."
She hesitated for a moment, then nodded.
"I heard His Majesty calling you 'Rosi'?"
"Oh—that's the name my family uses for me."
"May I call you Rosi…?"
Rosalind froze, surprised. For a heartbeat, she thought she'd misheard.
"Why not? Am I not part of your family now?"
Family. Yes. Now they were family to one another. After a moment's thought, she nodded.
"Thank you, Rosi."
Her cheeks flushed pink, and she turned away, embarrassed. How had this man thawed from an ice block into someone so warm in just a few days? she wondered.
Seeing her awkwardness, Dorian couldn't help but smile.
The escort halted at the forest's edge just as the last rays of sunset faded. They would make camp here for the night.
Dorian's retainers split into teams—some raising tents, others gathering wood and tending the fire, and still others preparing supper. They moved as if they'd done this a hundred times before.
These Northern warriors, who appeared so fierce on the battlefield, were surprisingly deft and good-natured when off duty. Their friendly banter replaced the cold menace they exuded in armor.
One should never judge a person by appearances alone.
Rosalind sat quietly at the edge of camp, watching them. Born into royalty, she had lived her life amidst gilded palace halls and never witnessed such simple, honest labor.
From the grandeur of nature to the cheerful toil of common men, the world was richer in color than the monotonous gold that symbolized wealth and power.
"You seem to be enjoying yourself."
She looked up to find Dorian standing beside her, offering a waterskin. He motioned for her to drink.
"Thank you… Dorian."
He settled next to her, their shoulders almost touching as they watched the bustling camp.
"They all seem quite practiced at this," she observed.
"Indeed," he replied, propping his chin on his hand as he watched her. "We often patrol the border for weeks at a time. If you like, I can show you how."
Rosalind blinked in surprise, then gathered her courage to ask, "Why… why do you do all this?" Why had he suddenly shown such concern for her? "In just a few days, you've become a different person."
He said nothing, his gaze drifting to the flickering fire. For an instant, she thought she caught a glimpse of untold worries in his deep blue eyes, a hidden burden he refused to voice.
As though he were hiding something.
Night had grown darker; the only sounds were the crackle of flames and the rustle of leaves in the breeze. Rosalind wished she hadn't asked.
Dorian finally turned back to her, his voice low and as if to himself rather than to her.
"Rosi, if I told you… I wanted to build a real life with you, would you believe me?"
Indeed, whether she loved him or not, from the moment he swore his vow before the mighty Luraxis, he had chosen to stand by her, to care for and protect her for as long as she lived.
Her heart trembled. He meant… to live happily with her? Not a sham of happiness, but a genuine one—with this man?
What, then, was the nature of their marriage?
Their union had been born of necessity. After the civil war ignited by her uncle's bid for her sister's throne failed, Amara needed solid support to secure her crown. The alliance of House Valemont and its formidable Northern army was crucial.
And what could bind the royal family and House Valemont more tightly than a dynastic marriage?
Their marriage was a strategic move—a game of power and interest. She knew it. He knew it too.
He needed legitimacy to bring Valemont to the heart of the empire; as for her… she accepted her role as a pawn for her sister's sake.
So could true love find a place among such schemes?
"You don't have to force yourself because of what I said. But at least give me a chance… I'll wait for you, Rosi."
Their eyes met, and she felt the unspeakable loneliness hidden in those cold blue depths—a loneliness that, paradoxically, now pained her.
Just then, a gentle voice broke the moment.
"Your Graces, dinner is ready."
It was Elise. Had she overheard them? Rosalind wondered.
Dorian rose and offered his hand.
"Shall we go, Rosi?"
All complexity vanished from his gaze, replaced by the tenderness he'd shown her so often. Rosalind hesitated only for a moment before placing her hand in his.
------
After dinner, Rosalind and Elisse retired to the tent arranged for them.
"Your Grace is far more considerate than I imagined," Elise said as she brushed her mistress's hair.
"Do you think so?"
"He seems sincere about this marriage. Don't you agree?"
"I… I'm not sure, Elisse. But I appreciate his sincerity." That sincerity had stirred something in her heart.
"At first, I didn't think I'd be coming on this journey with Madam. But when His Grace suggested it, I was grateful."
"Yes, at least I won't be so lonely in this strange land."
Elise's presence comforted her.
"With the Duke here, how could you be lonely?" her lady-in-waiting teased.
Rosalind couldn't tell whether Elisse was joking or simply stating the truth, but she smiled in return. Even in this foreign place, she wasn't alone.
Outside the tent, the men still lingered around the fire. Since most of the escort were Dorian's trusted retainers, he sat among them without ceremony.
Rowan, who had been observing Dorian, finally spoke up.
"You should rest as well, Your Grace. Leave things here to us."
"I think I should catch some sleep. Thank you, Rowan."
Dorian clapped Rowan on the shoulder and rose. As he passed Rosalind's tent, he paused, listening to the soft laughter of the two women within. He smiled, the sound dispelling a little of the darkness in his heart.
The night air was cool, but this breeze was nothing compared to the blizzards of the North. He lingered a moment longer, as if reluctant to leave what he heard.
When the lamp inside finally went out, he turned and walked away, leaving behind a tranquil night under a sky strewn with stars.
------
The first light of dawn filtered through the tent cloth, carrying the fresh scent of morning dew.
Rosalind awoke to that crisp fragrance—It felt unfamiliar, but strangely comforting.
Elise had risen early and laid out new attire for her: a soft silk undergarment, a velvet-lined jacket trimmed with fur, and snug riding trousers—perfect for travel.
"This is…" Rosalind looked at her lady-in-waiting in surprise.
"It's His Grace's request. He said you'd be more comfortable." Elise said.
Despite her doubts, Rosalind changed into the clothes provided. When they emerged, everything was ready for the next of their journey.
Dorian stood with Rowan nearby, exchanging a few words.
"Your Grace." Rowan greeted her with a slight bow.
"Good morning, Sir Rowan."
"You slept well?" Dorian cut in.
"Ah, yes… and you?"
"Of course," Dorian replied, turning his warm smile on her. Rowan froze, sensing something new in his lord's eyes.
Dorian appraised Rosalind for a moment. "Wait here."
He signaled a retainer, who quickly returned bearing a pristine white fur cloak. Before she could react, Dorian draped it around her shoulders.
"We'll soon enter the deeper North. It'll be colder, and you'll need this."
Rosalind felt a warmth spread through her—not just from the cloak, but from him.
"You know how to ride?" he asked, surveying her with satisfaction.
The question took her by surprise.
"Yes… I, perhaps. You'd let me ride?"
When she nodded, Dorian led her to the sleek black steed that had been standing patiently behind them. She stroked its mane with delight, a feeling she hadn't experienced in ages.
Before anyone could stop her, Rosalind swung gracefully into the saddle. Dorian laughed in mock exasperation and mounted his own horse beside her.
"Shall we go?"
With gentle taps, they urged their horses forward.
Behind them, the column of riders and horses set off into the misty morning, heading northward.