"My lady, it's time."
The maid's voice dragged Asella back from wherever her mind had fled.
She rose in silence. The gown Madame Epordieu had so painstakingly crafted rippled with her every movement—snow-white silk embroidered with threads of fine silver, clinging flawlessly to her slender figure. Delicate lace cascaded from her bodice, catching the light alongside clusters of gemstones that glittered with each breath she took. Behind her, the train flowed like a river of moonlight, trailing gracefully across the polished floor.
Outside, the sun blazed with almost offensive brilliance. The sky stretched above her, vast and cloudless—utterly indifferent. Beneath its merciless blue expanse, Asella felt like nothing more than a grain of sand: tiny, lost, her feelings ignored by the entire world.
"Please, my lady. This way."
Asella forced her legs to move. They had long since stopped cooperating, but she compelled them forward anyway, following where the maid insistently guided her. A white carpet unfurled before her, cutting a pristine path across the manicured lawn. At its end stood a raised dais draped in white silk.
And there, already waiting, stood Grand Duke Calix Benvito.
He, too, was dressed entirely in white. Only the brooch fastening his long cloak to his shoulders caught the light differently—pure, gleaming gold against all that snow.
The path stretched endlessly before her. Asella shifted her bouquet to her right hand and lifted the heavy hem of her skirt with her left. She took a step. Staggered. Her legs refused to obey, trembling beneath the weight of what was to come.
Fortunately, no one seemed to notice.
"Come." Calix inclined his head and extended his right hand toward her.
Asella blinked, her blue eyes clouded with confusion. He chuckled softly—a sound without warmth.
"You must give me your hand."
"Ah..." She extended her arm slowly, reluctantly.
Calix watched as her slender fingers trembled with tension. And just as those graceful fingertips nearly grazed his palm—he seized her hand completely, his grip sudden and possessive.
"Ah—!" Asella nearly wrenched away from him.
Years of constant abuse had left their mark. She couldn't bear to be touched. Her body, conditioned to expect terrible pain, recoiled instinctively—muscles contracting, skin breaking out in cold sweat, heart hammering against her ribs.
_Breathe_, she commanded herself. _Just breathe._
But her composure was crumbling. The unbearable pressure on her chest intensified with every passing second. Then, suddenly, the world fell silent.
In that silence, a beautiful melody began to play.
The orchestra performed divinely—strings soaring, woodwinds weeping, the music swelling like a tide. Asella walked along the silk-covered carpet, desperately trying to ignore the hundreds of eyes fixed upon her. Her legs were numb, useless things, but Calix's firm grip on her hand kept her upright, kept her moving forward.
The platform drew closer with every step.
_Like walking to the scaffold_, she thought.
Her knees buckled. She lost her balance completely—
But he caught her. His arm wrapped around her waist, steadying her before she could fall.
"Relax," he murmured against her ear. "No one here is going to eat you."
"Excuse me..." The words emerged as barely a whisper.
An eternity seemed to pass before they finally stepped onto the platform and stood before the priest.
---
Before them waited one of the three High Priests of the Garmanian Empire. His ceremonial robes were magnificent—heavy fabric lavishly embroidered with the golden symbols of the Temple, threads catching the sunlight like captured fire.
"May God's blessing descend upon you both. Today, in this sacred place..."
His speech was surprisingly brief.
No one present knew that the day before, Calix had visited the holy father privately. The Grand Duke had made it abundantly clear that if the priest continued to "shake the air with useless sounds," he would find himself a head shorter by the ceremony's end.
After a perfunctory blessing, the time for vows arrived.
"I swear."
Calix's voice rang out clear and unhesitant.
Then it was Asella's turn.
But her tongue had turned to stone. Her voice had vanished entirely.
"Asella Charts?"
_Charts_. She was still Charts. But the moment her lips parted, the moment she spoke those binding words, the name of her illustrious family would be erased forever. Nothing could ever bring it back.
_"Asella Benvito. That's the name you'll bear for the rest of your life."_
The silence stretched.
At first, the assembled guests smiled knowingly, assuming the bride was simply overwhelmed with emotion. A few whispered to their companions, reminiscing fondly about their own wedding nerves.
But gradually, the atmosphere shifted. Necks craned. People rose from their seats, risking impropriety for a better view. The knowing smiles faded, replaced by confusion, then concern.
A tense hush descended over the gathering.
"Lady Charts," the priest repeated carefully, "do you swear to be the faithful wife of Calix Benvito?"
Asella turned her head with agonizing slowness—like a ball-jointed doll being manipulated by invisible strings. She looked at the man who would become her husband.
He stared straight ahead, a forced smile fixed upon his handsome face. His blood-red eyes were utterly indifferent. Why should this situation trouble him? He already knew exactly what answer she would give.
The girl lowered her gaze in resignation, surrendering to a fate that could not be undone.
"I swear."
---
The icy atmosphere shattered instantly. Sighs of relief rippled through the crowd like wind through wheat. Even the High Priest's shoulders sagged with visible relief.
In arranged marriages, there were always cases where a bride or groom refused the vows at the last moment—declaring their love for another, creating scandal, destroying carefully negotiated alliances. The priest had feared something similar might occur today. But now everything was proceeding smoothly. Whatever tensions existed between this couple, the ceremony would be completed without incident.
"Your Highness, please." The High Priest presented a velvet cushion bearing a ring and recited a short prayer.
Calix lifted Asella's hand with unexpected gentleness. A moment later, the ring slid onto her slender finger—a perfect fit.
Asella's heart plummeted.
_How did he know the exact circumference of my fingers?_
The realization crashed over her: this man knew far more than she had imagined. The thought of him knowing those terrible secrets she so desperately wanted to hide paralyzed her mind completely. The ring on her finger no longer felt like jewelry.
It felt like a collar, slowly constricting around her throat.
_I can't breathe._
"This marriage is hereby concluded," the High Priest proclaimed. "Before God and man."
Rose petals rained down from somewhere above, cascading over the newlyweds in a fragrant shower of pink and white. Guests surged to their feet, greeting the new couple with thunderous applause. Cheers erupted. Joyful whistles pierced the air.
From an etiquette standpoint, such exuberance was entirely inappropriate.
But certain events permitted exceptions. Weddings, for example.
The audience's eyes sparkled with curiosity, eager for the spectacle that would follow. Meanwhile, Asella felt herself sinking—deeper and deeper, as if drowning in an invisible sea. It was over. A crushing sense of hopelessness dragged her mind into the depths. The screams around her became muffled, distant. The petals flickering before her eyes blurred into shapeless spots of color, landing on her white dress, drifting to the floor.
The fresh dew still clinging to the petals looked like tears of despair.
---
"Asella Benvito."
She flinched at the voice above her. Strange—it sounded so muffled, as if reaching her through water. She knew he was looking down at her, waiting. She could feel the weight of his gaze pressing against her skull.
But she kept her eyes fixed on the hem of her dress. She would not raise her head.
She *refused*.
Calix studied her for a long moment. No reaction. She was trembling uncontrollably, her entire body quaking like a leaf in a storm. She avoided his gaze so completely, so desperately, that even the guests had begun to notice.
A flicker of irritation sparked within him. _What is wrong with me?_
He seized her chin again—harder this time—and forced her face upward.
When he saw her eyes, something shifted in his chest.
Those blue depths trembled as if they were about to shatter. He stared at her for a suspended moment, his blood-red pupils unreadable.
"How are we going to do this?" His voice was soft, almost gentle, but edged with steel. "Everyone is waiting. Don't you agree?"
"What?" Asella's gaze darted frantically—left, right, anywhere but at him.
Guests. Ribbons. Rose petals.
The priest's beaming face.
"Seal your vow with a kiss!" the holy man exclaimed joyfully.
Asella's body turned to ice.
Calix watched her carefully. He saw her pale hands clutch desperately at the fabric of her skirt, knuckles white, delicate veins visible through translucent skin. He saw those hands shake.
From the moment he had first laid eyes on Asella Charts, her emotions had been transparent to him. Fear. Terror. And nothing but fear.
_I haven't even done anything yet_, he thought, _and she's already this frightened._
He had been harsh with her earlier—he acknowledged that. But he certainly hadn't meant to hurt her. Not truly.
Calix parted his lips, hiding the unexpected bitter taste in his mouth behind a smile that felt more like a mask.
"Let's just get this over with quickly." He leaned down toward her face, his grip on her fragile chin tightening.
And then he heard something utterly unexpected.
"I don't want to."
"What?" Calix stared down at her, unable to believe his ears.
"No." Her voice was barely above a whisper, but the words were unmistakable. "I don't want to do this."
A subtle flash of irony sparked in his eyes. Suddenly, he felt almost... amused. At himself.
This woman—who had seemed so completely broken, so utterly crushed—had just defied him. Simply. Directly. As if it were the most natural thing in the world.
It was absurd.
And it was *infuriating*.
"Your Highness doesn't want this either," she continued, each word another unexpected blow.
He thought he knew everything about her. Did he?
All the information about Asella Charts's life sat in detailed reports on his desk. But this reaction—this quiet, trembling defiance—was completely unprecedented.
_Am I missing something?_
"I thought I had married an obedient woman." His voice dropped to a frigid whisper, and the entire space seemed to freeze around them.
Asella trembled like a leaf caught in a winter gale. The High Priest's face drained of all color. He had been worried from the beginning about the unusually short engagement period. But he had gradually grown accustomed to Calix's frozen expression—that mask of indifference that never cracked.
Now, witnessing the Grand Duke's anger surface...
"...I'm sorry."
The words slipped from Asella's lips, barely audible.
Calix was so stunned he nearly laughed aloud.
_This woman!_ Did she even understand what she was saying? Or was she simply speaking whatever thoughts crossed her mind?
He had countless enemies—as many as grains of sand on a shore. He had allies, too. But no one—*no one*—had ever dared refuse him to his face.
Not even the Emperor himself.
"I made a mistake." The girl lowered her head again, becoming once more the docile creature she had been before.
---
_What just happened?_
Calix couldn't comprehend it. While his mind raced to solve this puzzle, to decipher the true meaning behind her words, Asella was drowning in a sea of regret.
_I was wrong! I cannot defy the man who holds my life in his hands. I should have been obedient. Compliant. Silent._
But—a *kiss*? With a man who might very well plan to kill her?
The words of refusal had escaped before thought could catch them.
Meanwhile, Calix was still trying to process what had occurred.
Compared to typical young nobles, Asella Charts had rarely appeared in society. So she was unlikely to be harboring some secret love. He knew for a fact that even at banquets, she barely spoke to anyone. And at the Charts estate, she had been kept practically as a prisoner—confined to an outbuilding, rarely permitted to leave.
_Perhaps... it's because this would be her first kiss?_
His sharp gaze traveled slowly over her form—the trembling shoulders, the white-knuckled grip on her skirt, the rigid set of her spine. Then his eyes rose to her face.
She still refused to meet his gaze.
And suddenly... he felt a deep, unexpected regret for the words he had spoken to her earlier.
It struck him, with uncomfortable clarity, that he knew absolutely nothing about this unpredictable woman. Yes, he had memorized every report about her. But compared to files on other people, hers contained almost nothing of substance.
No special abilities. No social connections. No political maneuvering.
Truly *nothing*.
She had spent her entire life locked away in the Marquis's estate—and not even in the main house, but in a remote outbuilding. Nothing of note had ever happened to her.
Nothing except constant beatings. Endless insults. Systematic degradation.
That was all.
She was the rightful heir to the Charts name, yet she had allowed her title to be stolen by a man with no legitimate connection to her illustrious ancestors. And so Calix had simply assumed she was weak. Timid. Broken beyond repair.
_Was I wrong?_
She was terrified—that much was obvious. Cornered. Trembling. But she didn't seem weak at all. Not stupid, either, as he had carelessly assumed.
There was something within her.
A certain core.
An unexpected inner strength.
Now Calix understood why Raizen had reacted the way he had. The Grand Duke's jaw tightened.
It seemed the woman everyone had dismissed as a doll was anything but.
And suddenly, this tedious ceremony had become *very* interesting.
---