Piglette Mariglen stood quietly in the center of her new room, her small hands folded in front of her silken dress. The soft moonlight painted the marble walls in silver, making the chamber feel less foreign than it had earlier that day.
The room was luxurious beyond anything she'd known—curtains woven with gold thread, pillows stuffed with cloud silk, and a bath filled with warm enchanted water. Yet, despite the warmth, Piglette felt an odd chill in her chest.
A gentle knock came.
She turned. "Come in."
The door creaked open to reveal Serenil, still in his formal attire. His presence filled the room like a silent storm.
"You haven't settled," he said, walking in slowly, hands behind his back.
Piglette bowed slightly. "Forgive me… It's overwhelming. I've never stayed in a place like this."
Serenil studied her—soft voice, genuine posture, not a trace of pretense. "You are a guest no longer. You're a bride-to-be."
Piglette's cheeks colored faintly. "That is… still hard to believe."
He stepped closer. "Are you afraid of me?"
She hesitated, then answered honestly. "A little. You're hard to read. Cold. Like a sword hidden in a velvet case."
That made him pause. Then, to her surprise, he gave a faint nod. "Good instinct."
She tilted her head, curious.
"Sleep well tonight," Serenil said, turning to leave. "No one in this palace will harm you under my roof. You are under my protection now."
Piglette felt the words warm her more than any fire.