The next morning.
The weather in Everfrost had become even worse than last night.
Rosalind sat by the table near the window, cradling a cup of warm honey tea that Elise had just brought her. A delicate stream of steam rose from the cup, filling the air with a sweet fragrance.
Gazing out at the courtyard, now buried beneath a thick layer of snow, she recalled Dorian once mentioning how harsh the northern winters could be.
He had not exaggerated.
Yet now she realized — it wasn't just the weather that was cold; the people here were no less frigid than the northern winter itself.
"Perhaps," Rosalind said to herself, "the coldest thing in Everfrost… isn't the snow."
After last night's banquet, she understood even more clearly. To survive here, she would need far more than a title or a name.
To win their hearts, she needed something deeper.
It was a thought that had lingered in her mind even back when she lived in Lumisera.
What could she accomplish here?
Who would she become after stepping into this marriage?
Would she wear a false mask just to blend in, or would she truly become Dorian Valemont's wife — someone who could stand shoulder to shoulder with him against the storms of the world?
Her train of thought was interrupted by the sound of hooves.
From her seat by the window, she could see a group of riders approaching the castle.
Under the heavy, gray sky, the Valemont banner fluttered amidst the falling snow. Leading the group was a knight cloaked in a long, jet-black cape, dusted lightly with snowflakes. One hand gripped the reins; the other rested loosely at his side.
He rode through the thick snow as if utterly accustomed to it.
Below, the servants were already waiting for someone.
Dorian.
The thought flashed through her mind.
As if sensing her gaze, he looked up.
Those deep blue eyes softened noticeably the moment they found her standing behind the misted glass.
A sharp pang struck her chest, making her wince and instinctively step back.
Dorian seemed to feel it too.
His expression shifted the moment she disappeared behind the heavy curtains.
Something's wrong.
His instincts told him so.
Without a second thought, he turned to say something to Maera, then strode toward the castle entrance — barely waiting for the servants to guide him.
Moments later, a knock sounded behind her.
"Rosi! May I come in?"
It was him — Dorian.
Without a word, she rushed to open the door.
There he stood, the snow still clinging to his cloak. His usual cold composure remained, but she could see the weariness in his eyes.
"Are you alright?" he asked suddenly.
Here he was — racing upstairs, not even bothering to brush off the snow, only to ask if she was alright.
A soft smile curved her lips as she reached out to gently brush the snow from his shoulder.
"I'm fine..." she paused, taking a moment to truly look at him.
"Welcome home, Dorian."
For a brief moment, he said nothing.
Instead, he simply lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles — his lips cold but filled with tenderness.
"I'm home, Rosi," he murmured, his voice low and sincere.
------
Later that afternoon.
Dorian had changed into heavier clothes, a soft fur cloak draped over his shoulders. He sat by the fireplace in the room, a cup of steaming mulled wine — prepared by Maera — resting in his hand.
He sipped the wine slowly while listening to Maera's report.
Rosalind sat nearby, quietly observing without speaking.
"Thank you, Maera," Dorian said when she finished.
"I'll take my leave then."
And just like that, the vast room was left with only the two of them.
It was impossible for Rosalind not to notice how his gaze barely left her for even a second.
It made her slightly self-conscious.
"May we... talk for a moment?"
Dorian broke the silence first.
She nodded. Perhaps she had been waiting for this too.
They sat across from each other, the air turned awkward once more.
It seemed they each had a thousand things to say — yet neither could find the words to begin.
For her, there were too many tangled thoughts.
For him, expressing emotions had never come easily. Speaking his heart was no simple task.
"I have a question," Rosalind finally said, shattering the uneasy quiet.
"You seem... unusually concerned about my health.
May I ask why?"
She hoped he wouldn't give her some hollow answer about it being merely a husband's duty.
"I heard... you fell seriously ill before the wedding," he said slowly, choosing his words with care.
"It didn't seem like an ordinary illness, did it?"
He was right.
She was normally strong and healthy — the sudden, debilitating sickness weeks ago had been deeply unsettling.
Even now, unexpected pains sometimes seized her without warning.
And there were the dreams — dreams of a man whose face she could never clearly see.
"I did go through a difficult time... but I'm much better now. Thank you, Dorian," she said, smiling.
"If there's ever anything I can do... tell me, Rosi," he said quietly.
There was so much she wanted to ask him — when faced with the sincerity in his eyes, the words stuck in her throat.
Dorian Valemont, sitting before her now, felt like an entirely different man from the one she had once known.
It unsettled her more than she cared to admit.
"You've changed so much," Rosalind said at last, her voice soft.
"Since the first time we spoke about this marriage... you've changed so much that..."
She let out a breath.
"I don't mean to offend you, but... this sudden kindness... I don't know how to react to it."
He said nothing immediately — simply listened, carefully taking in every word.
He already knew.
That every act of tenderness he had shown her in these past days had been abrupt, almost unnatural.
Who could blame her for doubting him?
Even he would find it hard to believe if their roles were reversed.
How ironic.
"From the decision to hold the wedding in the capital, to the arrangements made throughout this castle... the banquet, the gifts...Everything was so meticulously prepared, it made me think you did it all... for me." she said softly.
Rosalind was no fool.
She had grown up in a world where trust was a rare commodity, where every act had an underlying motive.
She wasn't someone who would easily believe in something as fragile as affection.
"Perhaps... you won't trust me now, Rosi," Dorian said quietly, after staying in silence.
"But what I wish for... is to give you the happiness you deserve."
In his usually cold gaze, Rosalind glimpsed something — a flicker of regret, a trace of helplessness.
A quiet, aching fear.
As if he was terrified of losing her.
And perhaps, she would never fully believe it — never fully understand — that Dorian Valemont was indeed afraid.
Afraid that if he didn't hold on to her now, one day, she would slip from his grasp.
And running away.... forever.