Music began to drift across the grand hall, awash in candlelight. Couples dressed in splendid attire waltzed to the gentle melody, while the crisp clinking of glasses mingled with sweet, honeyed greetings. Somewhere between the chatter, bursts of laughter fluttered by — light as the wind — amidst endless, meandering conversations.
It was a scene unfamiliar to Everfrost Castle — a place long accustomed to silence, where laughter had always been a rare visitor.
Dorian Valemont disliked festivities. And he loathed ostentation even more.
Naturally, tonight's celebration was not for him.
It was held for Rosalind — his newly wedded wife.
This was her chance to acquaint herself with the influential nobles of this frozen northern land.
Rosalind understood better than anyone: her title as Princess of Castillon held little weight here. In the North, it was House Valemont that they truly served.
Since the founding of Astravelle, the North had always been the fiercest frontline — a land where attacks from marauding tribes and fierce clans never ceased. It was House Valemont, therefore, that became the only family among the Five Pillars permitted to command their own army.
Their military strength and irreplaceable standing had long made them a thorn in the side of every monarch.
It was thought that when King Baldric Castillon and Cealan Valemont fought side by side three decades ago — in a battle that safeguarded the North — the seeds of distrust would finally wither.
And yet, now...
With House Valemont in the hands of a new lord,
With the throne of Lumisera now bearing the weight of its first reigning queen,
A new era had begun — and so too had the eternal wheel of power begun to turn once more.
Rosalind knew she could not survive here on the mere title of Duchess of Everfrost. She needed more than that.
Her amethyst eyes swept across the grand hall.
Masks, cleverly veiled by smiles.
Polished greetings that could, at any moment, become sharpened blades.
She held no illusions that this warm welcome was sincere.
They circled her like vultures — waiting for the prey to draw its final breath.
Her lips curved into a wry smile.
Whether in Lumisera or here in the North, perhaps the nature of the ruling nobility would always be the same. No difference at all.
"Oh, how wonderful it is to finally have a moment alone with you, Your Highness."
A middle-aged woman approached Rosalind, her smile warm and polished. Her features were well-kept, carefully preserved — an undeniable air of pride and refinement setting her apart from the others.
And she bore a pair of glacial blue eyes — strikingly similar to Dorian's.
"Have you adjusted to the climate here, Your Highness?" the woman asked with feigned concern.
"I'm still trying to adapt. Thank you for asking, my lady."
"I can imagine. Lumisera is ever warm and gentle, while the North..."
Her eyes swept meaningfully across the room before settling back on Rosalind.
"It's a pity His Grace couldn't join us tonight."
"A true pity," Rosalind agreed easily.
"Newlyweds should be together, yet he hastened away so soon. How cold-hearted."
The woman's gaze was filled with a tender sympathy that somehow felt sharper than steel.
"But then again, he has always been... rather cold by nature," she added sweetly.
Rosalind's fingers lightly brushed the pendant resting at her collarbone — a star-shaped jewel shimmering green under the candlelight. She smiled gracefully.
"You may be right, my lady. But in my eyes, he isn't nearly as cold as he seems."
She tilted her head slightly, letting her gaze linger on those icy blue eyes.
The woman's expression faltered ever so briefly when she noticed the necklace Rosalind wore.
"That is..."
"Oh, it's a gift from Dorian. Do you recognize it, my lady?"
"It once belonged to the late Duchess... A truly meaningful gift."
"I think so too. Thank you."
"There's no need for such formality, Your Highness."
Rosalind paused for a moment, studying the woman before her with a look that was neither dismissive nor friendly.
"I apologize, but... may I ask what your name is, my lady?"
The smile slipped, just for a heartbeat, before the woman quickly regained her composure.
"I am Isolde... Ravenshire, Your Highness."
Rosalind's eyes brightened as she took in the name.
"The Marchioness of Ravenshire... I should have recognized you by your eyes alone."
"Haha... It's only natural. After all, this is our first meeting."
"I've been terribly rude. I should have called you 'aunt' instead — you are Dorian's only remaining family."
Isolde's smile turned bittersweet.
"Please, don't address me so. I have taken another name now."
"I see... I didn't mean to overstep."
"No offense taken, Your Highness. After all, we are like family now."
"You are right," Rosalind said with a small nod.
At that moment, Maera, who had been observing from a distance, began making her way toward them — neither hurried nor slow.
Isolde's smile deepened with a subtle, triumphant gleam as she glanced at the old stewardess.
"Dear Maera, how delightful to see you again," she called brightly.
"Lady Ravenshire. It's been a long time," Maera answered, her voice colder than the snow outside.
"My lady, there are some guests awaiting you," Maera said in a low, even tone — just loud enough for Isolde to hear.
"Oh, is that so? Then I must take my leave." Rosalind curtsied slightly, preparing to go.
But after only a few steps, she paused, glancing back at Isolde with a smile still adorning her lips.
"One more thing — since you have so kindly acknowledged me as part of the Valemont family, I must ask you not to address me as 'Your Highness' anymore."
She let her words hang for a moment, her smile unwavering.
"Still, you are a Marchioness of Ravenshire, and propriety must be maintained. Perhaps it would be more appropriate to address me as the Duchess."
Silence hung in the air.
Rosalind tilted her head slightly.
"My lady, don't you agree?"
"...Of course. It is as you say...Your Grace."
"So... see you later, Lady Ravenshire."
Rosalind departed with Maera,leaving Isolde alone, her fading smile replaced by an icy glint in her eyes.
So, the little princess was not as naive as she seemed.
"How... interesting." Isolde turning away toward another gathering of noble ladies.
-----
"That woman, Isolde Ravenshire. What is her relationship with Dorian?"
Rosalind asked as they left the bustling hall behind.
"What would you like to hear, my lady?"
In the flickering candlelight of the corridor, only the sound of their footsteps and Maera's cane striking the stone floor echoed softly. Rosalind did not stop walking, but her pace slowed.
"Am I right to think that she is not a friend?"
Maera's silence was all the answer she needed.
"Well, that's a relief then,"
"You mean...?"
Rosalind halted by a frosted window, gazing out into the snow-blanketed courtyard.
"I mean... just like you, I do not like the Marchioness."
Maera watched the young lady closely, a rare smile tugging at her lips.
"Then this old woman will pretend she heard nothing, my lady," she said with a gentle bow.
"Thank you, Maera."
Beyond the glass, the clouds were beginning to part, revealing the soft, serene light of the moon.
Its glow fell upon them, tender and warm amidst the cold.