🌸 Adeline's POV 🌿

Days after I met the Duke, I was informed that the wedding ceremony would begin in two days. The news came as a shock—so sudden. I couldn't understand why the decision had been made with such urgency. Whoever had orchestrated this union clearly held more power than any of us could challenge.

I sat by the window of my room with a book in hand, staring out at the trimmed hedges of the garden below. The surroundings outside brought a pang of nostalgia I couldn't quite place. Soon, this would no longer be my life. The realization weighed heavily, like a stone in my chest. I was nervous, and I couldn't stop myself from thinking about how much I would miss Veridonia.

In the corner of my room, the gown was carefully draped over the mannequin, a strong reminder of the inevitability. Its intricate lace and shimmering fabric symbolized the new role I was expected to embrace—a Duchess of Wintermere, a wife to a man I barely knew.

My parents had done their best to prepare me, to assure me that this marriage would bring stability and honor to our family. Yet, my uncertainty lingered. 

As for the Duke. He doesn't seem unpleasant to talk to—serious, yes, but not unkind. Nor did he treat me like a mere chess piece in a game of politics, judging by his tone. Would he ever see me as more than just another pawn on his chessboard of alliances? His expression is not giving me any hint at all.

I also can't bring myself to hate him. I'm not that kind of person. I'm completely aware that he was forced into this as well. As a duke, having a wife might be less about choice and more about necessity—an expectation tied to his position and responsibilities. It must be another burden he has to bear, just as I have mine. But truthfully, I have no idea what lies ahead for me. All I can guess is that it won't be easy. 

Shaking my head, I tried to push away the rising tide of anxious thoughts. Perhaps reading a book would help me calm down, even just a little. I opened the book I had recently started, flipping through its pages. Slowly, the words began to pull me into their world, and for a while, I lost myself in the story, letting it quiet my restless mind.

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The two days pass in a blur. I spend most of the time in my room, surrounded by a whirlwind of preparations—maids fitting my gown, stylists working on my hair. Once they finally finish, I barely have an hour to myself before attendants arrive to escort me. There's no time to breathe, no moment to collect my thoughts as I'm swept into the inevitable.

The grand cathedral is a masterpiece of gold and white, adorned with shimmering tapestries and lush arrangements of fresh roses. The scent is overwhelming, cloying even, as it fills the air, mingling with the faint murmur of noble guests seated in the pews. My mother sits in the front row, her back straight and her expression serene, her hands are resting in her lap. My father walks beside me, his arm steady under mine, yet his grip feels heavier than usual.

I glance at him briefly. His stern face is softer today. "You look beautiful," he whispers, his voice low but firm. I nod, unable to reply, my throat tightening as we near the altar.

The duke stands there, resplendent in his ceremonial attire, his blue cape draped regally over one shoulder. He is every bit the Duke of Wintermere—composed and stoic. His eyes lock onto mine, intense and unwavering as I step closer. I can't tell what he's thinking. His gesture before doesn't match with his expression at all.

The priest begins the ceremony, his deep, resonant voice echoing through the vast cathedral. "We gather here today, in the sight of the Divine, to witness the union of Lucien Valenhart, Duke of Wintermere, and Adeline Wycliffe from House Wycliffe..."

The words are solemn and heavy, my heart pounds beneath the lace and satin of my gown, my hands trembling within the confines of my gloves. As the priest speaks, my gaze flickers to the sea of faces—some watching with curiosity, others with quiet approval, but none of them seem to see me, not really. The room feels too large and too small all at once, the weight of every eye pressing down on me. During those two days, I've come to realize something unsettling: I'm not ready to get married at all.

The priest stands between us, his solemn voice carrying through the cathedral as he begins. "Lucien Valenhart, do you take Adeline Wycliffe to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"

Lucien's voice cuts through the stillness, low and steady, each word resonating with certainty as he vows his commitment. "I do." His tone is clear, deliberate, and unyielding, more akin to a warrior reciting an oath before battle than a man pledging his life to mine.

The priest then turns to me, his gaze gentle but expectant. "Adeline Wycliffe, do you take Lucien Valenhart to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do you part?"

My lips part to answer, but the words feel foreign, strange—like reciting an incantation in a language I barely understand. My voice trembles, struggling to rise above the hushed murmurs of the cathedral. But somehow, I manage to utter the two words that will change my life forever. "I do."

After our vows, the priest gestures towards the young acolyte, dressed in ceremonial robes, who approaches with a small velvet cushion. Upon it rest the rings, gleaming under the soft light filtering through the stained glass.

Lucien takes my ring first, his movements precise and deliberate, sliding the cool metal onto my finger with an ease that feels almost practiced. When it is my turn, I reach for his ring, my fingers unsteady as I slide it onto his hand.

The priest then gestures for Lucien to lift my veil, marking the final moment of the ceremony. My heart lurches painfully in my chest. I hesitate, my fingers clutching the bouquet so tightly that the stems dig into my palms. If running were an option right now, I might have already taken it.

Lucien notices my hesitation—I can see it in the slight narrowing of his eyes—but he doesn't comment. With the same calm precision he's shown throughout the ceremony, he reaches forward and gently lifts the veil from my face. Our gazes meet, and I search his eyes for something, anything, that might make this feel real. There is no emotion there, only an inscrutable calm.

He leans in slowly, his lips brushing mine in a kiss so soft it's barely there, my mind went blank, and my eyes instinctively shut. It's not forceful, just... a formality. Yet, when he pulls away, the touch lingers, and I find myself staring at him longer than I should. 

Cheers erupt from the guests, their applause ringing in my ears like distant thunder. My father stared at me and at the people behind, and my mother rose to join the crowd in celebration. I stand there, hands trembling as they lower the bouquet to my side.

And just like that, my marriage started.

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The day after our wedding, I left the capital with my now-husband. I can still remember the smile on my parents faces and a hint of sadness in it. I missed them so much—the maids who adore me and the adorable laughter I heard from them. 

I've been in Wintermere for eight days now, and the unfamiliar cold bites into my bones whenever I go outside. The manor, though undeniably beautiful, feels like a gilded cage. The walls, draped in rich tapestries and adorned with ancestral portraits, seem to close in on me, stifling my dreams of adventure and freedom.

Through that day, I rarely even saw Lucien, and I cannot even bring myself to tell him I miss the capital and I want to visit my parents, but the thought that he doesn't want me to held me back.

I miss the warmth of the capital and the vibrant energy of Veridonia. I long for the bustling streets, the laughter of the townsfolk, and the comforting presence of my parents. Here, the silence is oppressive, broken only by the howling wind and the occasional distant cry of a wild creature.

During the day, I try to keep myself occupied, wandering through the manor's many rooms and gardens. But no matter where I go, the cold follows, seeping through the walls and the windows, a constant reminder that I am far from home.

At night, the loneliness is unbearable. I lie in bed, staring at the beautiful ceiling, feeling like a prisoner in this grand estate. My dreams of adventure seem so distant now, replaced by the stark reality I anticipated. I yearn to explore the world, to discover new places and new possibilities. But here, in Wintermere, my spirit feels confined, my potential stifled by the icy grip of duty and expectation.

One night, unable to bear it any longer, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I slip out of bed, careful not to make a sound, wrapping myself in a heavy cloak. I make my way through the darkened corridors of the manor; thankfully, none of the maids or butlers are present. My heart races with a mix of fear and excitement. I don't have a clear plan; I only have a desperate need to escape and feel the freedom I've been denied.

The manor's main doors creak softly as I push them open. The cold night air hits me like a wall, but I press on, determined. I make my way through the gardens, now blanketed in snow. The once-beautiful greenery has transformed into a frozen landscape.

I venture further into the forest that borders the estate, my footsteps crunching in the snow. The moon casts a pale light, guiding my way, but the cold is relentless. It seeps through my cloak and hood, numbing my fingers and toes and sapping my strength.

As I press on, the trees around me seem to close in, their bare branches like skeletal hands reaching out to ensnare me. My breath comes in ragged gasps, each exhaling a visible puff of vapor in the frigid air. I begin to doubt my decision, but I know it's too late to turn back now.

Suddenly, a low growl echoes through the forest, sending a chill down my spine. I freeze, my heart pounding in my chest. Out of the shadows, a pair of golden, glowing eyes appear, followed by the hulking form of a wolf. Its black fur is matted, and its teeth are bared in a snarl.

I raise my hand, summoning the element of lumina, but the cold has impaired my abilities. The light flickers weakly in my palm, barely enough to fend off the advancing predator. It is too late for me to realize that my power can only be harnessed when my body is in good shape. I now feel myself weakened in the cold; my fingers are numb, and even my toes. It also drains my mana, and without it, I cannot bring myself to cast my power.

How in the world did I forget to wear my winter gloves and boots? I am so stupid to not think of that.

The wolf lunges, and I stumble back, my foot catching on a root. I fall to the ground, the icy snow seeping through my clothes.

Just as the wolf prepares to strike again, a sudden flash of steel cuts through the night. The creature lets out a pitiful whine as a blade pierces its side, and it collapses in a lifeless heap. I look up to see a figure standing over me, moonlight glinting off the polished steel of their sword.

"What are you doing here?" The Duke's voice is cold, his tone sharp enough to cut through the silence. His expression, as always, is unreadable.

I say nothing, bracing myself for the possible scolding. My mind races as he puts his sword back to its sheath and steps closer, extending his hand toward me.

Is he going to strike me? His sapphire eyes seem unyielding, and the tension in the air feels suffocating. He's deadly serious. Surely, he's furious enough to beat me.

No! I don't want that. Stop!

But my body betrays me, too drained and weak to resist. My mana is spent, and casting a spell now would be futile. Closing my eyes, I wait for the blow, my heart pounding in my ears.

Instead, I feel an unexpected warmth. When I dare to open my eyes, I find myself cradled in his arms—his strong, unyielding arms holding me as though I weigh nothing.

A rush of heat floods my cheeks. Bridal style? Really? What is he thinking?

His sharp gaze locks onto mine; his voice softens, enough for me to notice. "Wintermere can be harsh, but you'll learn to endure it." The words hang in the air, his tone heavy with unspoken meaning, as the cold wind swirls around us.

He leads me back to the manor, and I'm caught between a strange blend of relief and frustration. My attempt to escape has failed, yet in that fleeting moment of vulnerability, I caught a glimpse of his softer side. Perhaps, in time, Wintermere may hold more than I first imagined. For now, though, I must find a way to withstand the chill, both outside and within.