The grand cathedral was filled to the brim. Nobles from every corner of the empire had gathered—none wished to miss such a historic event.
At the heart of the ceremonial hall, the old priest stood between Dorian and Rosalind, offering final words before the ceremony began.
Behind him stood the statue of Luxaris, the deity of light and fate, holding a spool of thread symbolizing the destiny of all mankind—revered by the people of Astravelle.
The cathedral fell silent as the priest brought his hands together in prayer.
"Under the gaze of Luxaris, god of eternal light, we gather today to witness the binding of these two souls—woven together by the thread of fate."
Dorian's hand had already found Rosalind's, firm and unrelenting—as if it had never left.
Rosalind glanced at him, feeling his gaze before he turned to meet her eyes, a soft smile touching his lips. His grip tightened slightly, reassuring.
She hadn't expected this day to come so soon—standing in a sacred cathedral, dressed as a bride, about to vow herself to a man she once feared.
The priest then gently tied the golden thread of Luxaris around their wrists—a sacred symbol of their joined destinies.
Dorian raised his voice, steady and clear.
"I, Dorian Valemont, Duke of Everfrost, vow:In joy and in sorrow,In wealth and in poverty,In happiness and in pain,I will stand beside Rosalind Castillon, to love and cherish her for all my days."
His solemn vow and unwavering gaze left Rosalind momentarily breathless.
Then came her voice, soft yet resolute.
"I, Rosalind Castillon, princess of the great Astravelle Empire, vow:Through sorrow and joy,Through poverty and riches,Through hardship and happiness,I will love, cherish, and trust Dorian Valemont."
The priest raised his hands, voice echoing through the hall.
"From this moment forth, the thread of fate spun by Luxaris shall bind your souls for all eternity. As his humble servant, I declare you husband and wife."
The bell rang—three long tolls—and the sacred rite was sealed. Applause erupted, blessings murmured through the crowd like a rising tide.
The priest leaned in with a smile. "You may now kiss the bride."
Dorian turned to her and gently lifted the veil. His expression softened—a rare tenderness in his ice-blue eyes. A faint smile curled at his lips.
She was beautiful—he had always known. But somehow, this moment etched it into his very soul.
"Thank you," he murmured. A sentence left unfinished.
One… two… three seconds passed. In that brief moment, Rosalind caught a flicker of regret in those usually impassive eyes.
Something inside her twisted painfully, as if she too was being swept into his sea of sorrow.
Then, he stepped closer and placed a kiss—light as a whisper—on her forehead.
A fleeting touch, yet it left warmth blooming in her chest.
Rosalind froze, stunned. She hadn't expected that—a forehead kiss? So gentle it brought a faint blush to her cheeks.
Her eyes widened in confusion.
Dorian's lips twitched.
"Disappointed?" His voice was low, laced with amusement.
She blinked, flustered, shaking her head quickly. Of course not… Kiss her wherever he liked—what kind of question was that?
Every flicker of emotion on her face was captured in his gaze: surprise, shyness, wonder.
So many expressions… so vivid. He should have noticed them sooner.
"Come," he said, gently guiding her down the aisle.
They walked hand in hand through a path strewn with petals, bathed in sunlight, greeted by cheers and blessings. A beginning full of hope.
------
That afternoon, after the palace banquet had ended, it was time to return north—to Everfrost.
The carriage waited by the palace gates, attendants finishing their final preparations.
Amara and Rosalind arrived together, where Dorian stood waiting.
He bowed to the Queen, who returned the gesture with a quiet nod.
Then Amara took her sister's hands. She smiled, but her eyes betrayed the sorrow she couldn't hide.
"Your Majesty, it's time for us to leave," Rosalind said softly, giving her sister's hand a comforting squeeze.
"Yes… it's time."
Amara looked up at the golden sky, the sun beginning its descent.
So many things she wanted to say—but in the end, words failed her.
"Live well, Rosi. That's all I ask."
No need for overwhelming joy or fairy tale happiness. Just… live well.
Rosalind seemed to understand. She held back her tears and, abandoning royal decorum, embraced her sister tightly.
"I will, so don't worry, okay?" It had been so long since she called Amara "sister." Perhaps this would be the last time.
"You silly girl—no crying now."
After comforting Rosalind, Amara stepped toward Dorian.
"Your Grace," she said, "as her sister… I thank you."
He responded with calm solemnity. "It is my duty, Your Majesty. There is no need for thanks."
Had he not come, her sister would have made the long journey alone—stood alone in that cathedral with no family to bless her union.
She would have been nothing more than a gift, sent from the capital to the frozen north.
"Go on now, hurry." Amara urged.
As Elise helped Rosalind into the carriage, Amara turned to the man beside her.
"I don't know what changed your heart… but whatever it is, I believe it will be good for Rosalind." She paused. "Even if, to you, this marriage is only an arrangement… I beg you, from one sister to another—don't hurt her."
Dorian didn't flinch. "I made my vow before Luxaris. I will not let her suffer. You have my word."
Amara said nothing more, only watched him climb into the carriage.
At the palace courtyard, bathed in soft golden light, she remained standing until the carriages disappeared from view.
"Your Majesty…"
"Just a moment more, Thalia."
Her maid's gentle voice stirred her.
Thalia had been with her since her days as a princess. Yet never had she seen her queen so… alone.
Born into royalty. Destined for the throne. But a woman nonetheless.
Amara had spent her whole life fighting for what was rightfully hers. And now, when she finally held it—her husband was gone, her sister, whom she had raised in their mother's absence, was gone too.
And bitterly… it was she who had sent Rosalind away—to solidify her throne.
A self-deprecating smile crossed her face.
She had no right to speak of duty to Dorian.
"…Mother!" A small voice called, tugging gently at her hand.
"You're awake?" Amara smiled as her three-year-old son, Adrian, looked up at her, still a bit sleepy.
"Prince Adrian wanted to say goodbye to the Duke and Duchess," a maid explained.
"Oh no… Aunt Rosi just left, darling."
The boy's lips quivered.
"Then let's visit her someday, Mother!"
"Yes," she whispered, holding him tightly. "One day… we'll visit her together."