Cold seeped into her bones. Alone. Weightless.
She drifted through a boundless void where no horizon existed, no light, no sound—only the brush of invisible winds that carried the faintest of whispers, like broken memories caught between worlds.
In the midst of the emptiness, a flash of light tore through the dark. Just for a heartbeat.
A man's voice called to her—low, distant, and achingly familiar.
A hand reached out. Strong fingers gently closed around hers.
She couldn't see his face. And yet… she knew that touch.
"Rosalind," he whispered, tender and resolute, "I've found you."
Her breath hitched. Her fingers trembled.
A sudden, sharp pain lanced through her chest—pulling her back.
And then—
The darkness shattered.
Morning light filtered softly through sheer curtains, casting warm gold across the bridal chamber.
The scent of blooming jasmine and fresh lilies filled the air, mingling with the quiet rustle of silk gowns and soft footsteps approaching.
Rosalind's heart raced, still trembling from the lingering shadow of her dream.
She dreamed of him again—faceless, out of reach, yet always so real.
A soft knock interrupted the silence.
"Your Highness, may I come in?" Elise's said with cheerful voice.
She took a steadying breath, smoothing her gown as the day she had long dreaded and anticipated unfolded before her.
Rosalind sat up slowly, pressing a hand to her chest as if to steady the echoes of her dream. She reached for the small bell beside her and rang it with a delicate chime.
The door opened. The warm glow of dawn followed Elise and the others as they entered—maids bustling in graceful motion, their arms full of silk and ribbons.
Today was the day.
The wedding of Princess Rosalind Castillon of Astravelle, and Duke Dorian Valemont, Warden of the North.
"Did you sleep well, Your Highness?" Elise asked, her voice cheerful but laced with quiet concern.
Rosalind gave a small nod. "Well enough. But… the dream came again."
"The same one?"
She hesitated, then looked away. "Yes."
"It must be nerves," a younger maid chirped in, trying to be helpful.
Elise shot her a glance that made the girl blush and fall silent, but Rosalind chuckled softly.
Perhaps it was nerves. Or something deeper—something written in the seams of fate.
"Everything's ready?" she asked.
"Yes," Elise beamed. "The capital has never seen a more splendid morning. The cathedral is filled with flowers from all corners of Eldoria. And the guests have gathered."
All that remained… was the bride.
Her preparations began. Skilled hands curled her hair, powdered her cheeks, and laced her gown with the practiced grace of those who had done this for queens. Yet through it all, Rosalind's thoughts wandered—toward the North, toward a man she barely knew, and yet somehow… could not stop thinking about.
When it was done, she stood before the mirror.
Her golden-rose hair shimmered beneath a veil of lace. Amethyst eyes, so like her sister's, held a quiet determination. She was no longer the girl who once dreamed of love beneath summer skies—she was a daughter of Castillon, bride of the North.
"You look radiant, Your Highness," Elise whispered.
Rosalind offered a faint smile. "Let's hope he thinks so."
Elise adjusted the veil gently, her eyes flicking to the window where sunlight poured over the cobbled streets of Lumisera. "It still surprises me… that the Duke agreed to hold the ceremony here."
Rosalind's fingers stilled against the fabric of her gown. A soft breath left her lips.
"It surprised me, too."
She remembered the first time they met—how cold his voice had been, how distant his eyes.
"I will fulfill my duties as your husband," he had said, nothing more.
No warmth. No promises.
Just a vow made in ice.
Back then, she had braced herself for a marriage built on silence.
She had told herself not to expect anything more.
But this place—his choice—
It wasn't part of their agreement.
It wasn't necessary.
Back then, she hadn't expected tenderness. She hadn't dared to hope for more.
Perhaps this… was his way of keeping that vow.
She blinked, pulled back into the present by Elise's gentle touch.
"Do you think he meant for this to be… a gesture?" Elise asked quietly.
Rosalind didn't answer right away. But in her heart, something small stirred.
Maybe he did.
At that moment, the doors opened.
"Her Majesty has arrived."
Queen Amara swept into the chamber, resplendent in royal purple, her amethyst eyes softening the moment they found Rosalind.
Queen Amara entered, her eyes lighting up the moment she saw the beautiful bride of the day.
"My dear Rosi, how beautiful you look," she said, her voice laced with quiet affection, though her eyes could not hide their smile.
"If Mother and Father were here, they would no doubt be filled with pride to see the grace and beauty you've grown into."
Rosalind smiled—sadly. "They would have told me not to trip."
A quiet laugh escaped Amara's lips. "True."
Then her expression turned solemn. "How do you feel?"
"Better."
"You're sure? You were so ill just days ago—"
"I'm fine now, Your Majesty."
Amara hesitated, squeezing Rosalind's hand gently.
"Rosalind… if there were another path—"
"I know you've done everything for this realm," Rosalind interrupted, her eyes steady. "Now it's my turn."
"I don't want you to live a life without happiness, just to preserve the alliance with Valemont."
"Happiness is a luxury a princess like us was never meant to have, isn't it?"
They fell silent for a moment.
"But I'm not doing this solely out of duty," Rosalind said softly. "I believe… there's something waiting for me in the North. Whatever it is."
A gentle knock echoed at the chamber door.
"Your Majesty, the hour is upon us."
It was time.
Hand in hand, Rosalind and Amara walked through the sunlit palace halls. Golden rays filtered through stained glass, casting shifting colors along the marble floors—each step drawing her closer to the moment she could no longer turn away from.
When they reached the grand cathedral, Amara stepped inside first with regal grace, leaving Rosalind behind for one last quiet moment.
Then, a tall figure appeared—clad in formal northern attire: deep brown fabrics accented by a silver-white fur cloak draped over broad shoulders.
It was Rowan Eisenhart, Duke Dorian's closest confidant.
Amara paused at the threshold, turning back to face her sister. Her eyes softened, the regal mask giving way to something more tender.
"Rosi," she said quietly, "no matter what happens today—or in the days to come—remember this place will always be your home."
Amara stepped closer, wrapping her arms gently around Rosalind in a warm embrace. She held her sister for a moment, her eyes speaking a thousand unspoken words, a promise of unwavering support and love.
With a final, reassuring smile, Amara nodded once, then turned and disappeared into the cathedral's golden light.
Rosalind took a steadying breath, her heart still warmed by her sister's embrace.
"Greetings, Sir Rowan," Rosalind said softly.
"Your Highness," he replied. "I've come to deliver a gift from the Duke."
He held a small ornate box.
A gift? From the cold and distant Duke?
Rowan opened the box, revealing a bouquet of blue roses. She know it.
The legends said, only bloomed once a year, under starlight untainted by war. A sign of devotion—rare, and never given lightly.
"Blue roses… from Everfrost?"
"You know of them?" Rowan looked mildly surprised.
"I read of them in a book once… but I never thought I'd hold one in my hand."
"These blue roses bloom only in Everfrost's sacred grounds. The Duke selected them himself, hoping they would please you."
Something in her chest tightened.
"He's… more thoughtful than I expected. Thank you, Sir Rowan."
The grand doors of the cathedral opened.
Bathed in soft golden light, Rosalind stepped forward, her hand lightly resting on her uncle's arm. The silence in the hall deepened as every eye turned to her—but her gaze searched for only one.
And then she saw him.
Dorian Valemont.
That man… like northern frost and quiet fire.
Hair like moonlight on untouched snow. Eyes like stone drawn from the deepest part of the sea.
He stood still, composed, every line of him sculpted from distance and discipline. But it was his gaze that struck her—no longer sharp with chill, but shadowed with something else. Something that flickered.
Rosalind felt her breath catch in her throat.
There it was again—that shift. Small, fleeting, but real.
The distance between them no longer yawned like a frozen gulf.
The frost around him had begun to thaw, gleaming not with cold, but with quiet light.
And beneath it all, a pull. A current, unspoken but unmistakable, as if something within him reached for something within her.
She didn't understand it. Couldn't name it.
But she felt it.
A presence. A memory.
That same voice from her dream—
"At last… I've found you, Rosalind."
A shiver ran through her.
Not from fear. But from recognition.
She took a breath. Held her head high.
Each step echoed with quiet courage as she walked toward him—toward the unknown.