The procession moved without stopping through the night.
When Asella woke and opened her eyes, soft morning light was streaming through the carriage windows, painting everything in shades of gold and rose. She blinked away the remnants of sleep, her mind slowly surfacing from dreams she couldn't quite remember.
*We'll probably arrive soon,* she thought—and then realized how dramatically the landscape beyond the glass had changed.
*How long has it been there?*
In the distance, a massive gray castle dominated the horizon. Its walls rose like cliffs of hewn stone, and its gates—even from this far away—appeared impossibly heavy, the kind of gates that could withstand armies. The entire structure radiated an aura of absolute impregnability, as though it had grown from the earth itself rather than been built by human hands.
The procession approached the fortress walls. When the massive iron portcullis rose with a grinding of ancient chains, they passed through the outer gates and onto a wide, perfectly paved road. Dense groves of trees flanked the path on either side, their branches forming a canopy overhead that dappled the morning light.
After some time, the groves gave way to open space, and the carriage entered a garden so meticulously maintained that it seemed almost unreal.
*My God.*
Asella exhaled involuntarily, her breath fogging the window as she pressed closer to the glass.
Fruit trees stood in orderly rows, their branches heavy with early blossoms. Flowering shrubs lined the paths in careful arrangements, their colors a riot of pink and white and deep crimson. But what struck her most—what made her heart catch in her throat—was the castle itself.
At the garden's center lay a wide, perfectly still pond. Its banks had been landscaped with such precision that the water's edge appeared to be a single, unbroken line. And reflected in that mirror-like surface, shimmering in the morning light, was the castle.
From this angle, it created the illusion that the ancient structure was *floating* on water.
The castle was striking in its grandeur—far exceeding anything Asella had imagined. Towers rose toward the sky, their spires catching the first rays of true dawn. Stone walls that had stood for centuries bore the weathered dignity of age without any hint of decay.
"Mariel, wake up!"
"Mm..."
"It's time to prepare. We'll be there soon."
Asella gently shook her sister, who was still rubbing her eyes with small fists, struggling against the pull of sleep.
The journey must have been exhausting for the child. They had spent nearly every waking hour confined to the carriage, day after day. And yet Mariel had endured it all without complaint—no whining, no tantrums, nothing but quiet patience.
*Such a brave girl.*
"Just a little longer," Asella said softly, smoothing the silver hair back from her sister's face. "And then you can rest in your own room."
"Yes, Sister."
---
Soon the carriage rolled to a stop, and the door finally opened.
Mariel descended first, accepting Raizen's offered hand with the careful dignity of a child trying very hard to appear grown-up. Asella prepared to follow—
And froze.
Prince Calix Benvito stood before her.
He had appeared so suddenly, so *silently*, that she hadn't sensed his approach at all. Startled, she hesitated in the doorway, her composure shattering into fragments she couldn't quite gather. The embarrassment must have been written plainly across her face, because she could feel heat rising to her cheeks.
"Asella."
The first thing he said was her name. And again, his voice struck her as oddly muffled—deep and quiet, as though the sound came from somewhere far away.
"Take my hand."
She looked at his impassive face. Then at his extended hand—large, steady, waiting.
After a moment's hesitation, she placed her fingers in his.
Calix's grip closed around her hand with surprising gentleness as he helped her navigate the steep carriage steps. His palm was warm, his fingers firm without being crushing. When Asella finally felt solid ground beneath her feet, she raised her head—
And her eyes went wide.
An army of servants and guards lined the castle's entrance, arranged in precise rows that stretched back toward the main doors. There were *dozens* of them. Perhaps hundreds. All standing at attention, all watching her with expressions of careful respect.
A handsome elderly butler stepped forward from the assembly and offered a polished bow.
"We are honored to welcome you, Your Highness."
Calix's voice carried clearly across the courtyard. "I present to you my wife—Grand Duchess Asella Benvito."
At his words, every servant in attendance lowered themselves into a deep bow. The guards dropped simultaneously to one knee, their armor chiming softly in the morning air.
The silence that followed was absolute.
"I expect that, through your efforts, my wife will find happiness in her new home."
"We shall do our utmost," the butler replied with another graceful bow. "All your orders have been carried out, Your Highness."
Calix nodded with evident satisfaction. Then his gaze shifted to Asella.
She was still staring at the assembled household, her eyes enormous, her lips slightly parted in speechless astonishment. She didn't immediately notice him watching her.
But when she did—when her blue eyes finally met his crimson ones—something flickered in their depths. Surprise, perhaps. Or embarrassment. Yet despite her obvious discomfort, she didn't look away.
She didn't try to hide.
And Calix felt a strange sense of satisfaction settle in his chest. An unexpected warmth he couldn't quite name.
*Interesting.*
Without quite meaning to, he found himself wanting to tease her.
He bent his head toward her ear and spoke in a quiet laugh: "So. What will you choose?"
Asella shuddered.
He was *too close*. Close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from his body, close enough that his lips seemed mere inches from her skin. His breath ghosted across her ear, hot and surprisingly intimate. That rich, sweet scent—the one she remembered from their wedding night—surrounded her, making her head swim.
"Well?" he whispered, so softly that only she could hear. "Where would you prefer to go? To your private chambers... or to the bridal suite?"
Asella's mind went completely blank.
Everything before her eyes seemed to blur and spin with an unfamiliar sensation—a dizzying rush of something she had never experienced before. She blinked stupidly, like a newborn calf trying to focus on an incomprehensible world.
Calix had to repeat his question.
Only now did the meaning of his words penetrate her fog-addled brain.
*Bridal suite.*
Her ears began to burn. She could feel the heat spreading across her face, staining her pale skin crimson.
And at the sight of that flustered, utterly embarrassed expression, Calix felt something unexpected bloom in his chest.
*Happiness.*
He was... happy.
The realization startled him. When had he last felt anything like this? He couldn't remember.
Suddenly, he found himself curious. What other expressions might this face be capable of? What would she look like when she was *truly* happy? When she laughed without restraint?
He wanted to know.
"Sister, what is a bridal bedroom?"
A small voice cut through the moment like a splash of cold water.
Asella turned sharply to find Mariel watching them, her head tilted slightly to one side, her eyes clear and innocent and utterly without guile.
*Oh no.*
How could she possibly explain this to a child?
Asella's mind raced frantically through possibilities, finding none that seemed remotely appropriate.
"Ah! I think I understand!"
Mariel's face brightened with sudden comprehension—and then flushed to precisely the same shade as her sister's ears.
"His Highness has created a special room for you to live in *together*," the girl announced, looking as proud as a clever puppy awaiting its master's praise.
"...!"
Mariel, pleased with her own quick thinking, continued eagerly:
"His Highness and Sister are married now, so you must always be close to each other. If you want to be good friends, you have to talk and play together!"
"Of course," an amused voice interjected from somewhere to the side, "playing *adult* games can be quite exciting."
"Adult games?" Mariel's eyes went round as a startled rabbit's.
"*Zeke!*" Raizen's voice cracked like a whip.
But Zeke showed no intention of closing his mouth.
"You're still too young to understand, little lady. But when newlyweds stay together and look into each other's eyes, a certain *fire* can start to—OW! Why did you hit me like that?!"
The red-haired man clutched the back of his bruised head, his expression shifting to wounded indignation.
"If you want His Highness to remember his plans for the capital again," Raizen said through gritted teeth, "then by all means, *continue*."
"Oh, *gods*—"
Only now did Zeke seem to realize the magnitude of his mistake. A visible chill ran through his body, as though someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over his head. His neck rotated with the stiff, mechanical motion of a wooden puppet, turning slowly—*reluctantly*—toward Calix.
The Grand Duke's lips had curled into something that might have been a smile.
It was not a pleasant expression.
"Hm." Calix's voice was silk over steel. "Is this some new method of suicide I'm unfamiliar with?"
"No! I beg your pardon, Your Highness—that's not what I meant at all—"
"*Brainless idiot!*"
It was, admittedly, a rather rude thing to say. But Raizen, who was currently engaged in a desperate struggle to keep Zeke's head attached to his shoulders, had earned the right.
Another moment and the back of that red-haired skull would have made intimate acquaintance with the edge of Calix's sword.
Fortunately, the experienced butler assessed the situation with a single glance and smoothly intervened:
"Your Highness." He addressed Mariel directly, his tone warm and grandfatherly. "Your chambers are also prepared."
"My room?" The girl's eyes widened with delighted surprise.
"Indeed. Perhaps you and your sister would like to see it first?"
Calix glanced at Asella once more. Her cheeks were still flushed with embarrassment, her composure not yet fully recovered.
*Perhaps I should stop now.*
He genuinely enjoyed seeing her like this—flustered and pink and so wonderfully *alive*. But he had no intention of pressuring her too much. Not when she was still so uncertain of him.
*What if she starts crying again?*
The thought made something tighten uncomfortably in his chest.
For reasons he couldn't quite explain, the prospect of seeing Asella's tears filled him with a strange kind of dread. It wasn't as though her weeping posed any actual *threat* to him.
And yet.
"I think you really should see it," he said, his voice softening almost imperceptibly. "Everyone in the castle worked very hard to please your wonderful sister."
Asella blinked several times, visibly gathering herself. Then she nodded with obvious relief.
A smile flickered across the Grand Duke's face—there and gone in an instant.
"Fabian. She's your responsibility."
"Yes, Your Highness." The butler bowed with practiced elegance.
"Excellent." Calix turned crisply toward the stables—
"Ah!"
He stopped abruptly.
The soft cry had been involuntary, startled from Asella's lips before she could suppress it. For a moment, Calix didn't understand.
Then he looked down.
He was still holding her hand.
"Oh..."
He released her fingers quickly, experiencing a strange, unfamiliar sensation of awkwardness.
But beneath the embarrassment, there was something else. Something that surprised him.
*Regret.*
Calix had always detested physical contact. He avoided it so fastidiously that he attended even private imperial banquets without a partner, despite the impropriety. The touch of other people's hands—their grabbing, their clinging, their desperate neediness—repulsed him.
Yet now, as her warmth slipped away from his palm, he felt a twinge of something almost like *loss*.
*So small,* he thought. *So warm.*
*I don't want to let her go.*
*I want to hold her for as long as possible.*
But the cruel woman had already withdrawn her hand and given it to someone else.
"Sister, your palms are so warm!" Mariel laughed, swinging their clasped hands back and forth with childish enthusiasm.
And Calix experienced the strange, unexpected defeat of a small boy whose coveted toy had been taken away.
Fortunately, this peculiar mood didn't last long.
"Your Highness."
The captain of the palace guard approached with a serious expression, his posture rigid with formality.
"A messenger from the Emperor has arrived."
"*Quickly*," Calix murmured, a sardonic smile curving his lips.
He turned back to Asella one last time.
"Forgive me, my lady. I had hoped to share a meal with you upon our arrival. But it seems that won't be possible."
"It's fine." Asella's answer was entirely sincere. In truth, she was thinking—with considerable relief—that she wouldn't have been able to swallow a single bite under this man's penetrating gaze. "Please don't trouble yourself on my account."
"I hope you'll find your new chambers to your liking."
Asella hesitated, uncertain how to respond. Did that mean... had he been thinking about her circumstances—about how she had lived before—when he ordered the rooms prepared?
The thought was unexpectedly touching.
"Until later, then," she finally managed.
Calix nodded slightly, then signaled to the waiting butler.
Fabian approached with a graceful bow. "Your Highness, it is my great honor to serve you."
And so Asella, accompanied by a procession of servants, followed the butler into the castle.
As she walked, she felt a strange prickling sensation at the back of her neck—as though someone were watching her with intense, unwavering focus.
*Is he still looking?*
She shook her head, dismissing the thought as foolishness.
But she didn't look back.