That morning, the sun rose brilliantly over Iron Hearth. The sky was a clear, cloudless blue—a rare sight for the northern territories usually shrouded in mist. Yet, the chill remained biting. White plus of breath escaped the mouths of everyone venturing outside, and the asphalt streets glistened with a layer of frost that had yet to lt.
Inside the Castle of Iron Hearth, the atmosphere was a stark departure from the usual.
The main courtyard was already adorned with Snow Chrysanthemums—hundreds of stalks ticulously arranged along the corridors, forming arches at the hall entrance and gracing every window. White and blue banners fluttered atop the stone battlents. The crystal lamps, usually dimd, had been replaced with brighter ones, making the entire castle feel warm despite the sub-zero temperatures outside.
Aurelia stood in the center of the courtyard, a folder clutched in her left hand. Her robes were pristine, and her hair was swept into a high bun. Her eyes darted from one corner to another like a general inspecting a battlefield.
"No, no, no!" She pointed toward the floral arch at the main door. "The flowers are too crowded. Give them space! It’ll look like a wall otherwise, not an arch!"
Two servants perched atop wooden ladders exchanged glances before they began repositioning the stalks.
Grimm stood beside Aurelia, holding a similar folder. His aged face remained as stoic as ever, but his sharp eyes followed every movent of the servants. He made a note in his folder before saying softly, "Your Grace, the floral arrangents on the east wing windows also need adjustnt. They are positioned too high."
Aurelia turned. "Fix it. Now."
Grimm nodded and walked toward the east wing with a calm stride that prompted the servants to move twice as fast the mont they saw him coming.
"Mother."
Aurelia turned. Raveena stood beside her with a glass of warm tea. Her black hair flowed freely, and though her face was still slightly pale, her health had recovered significantly.
"Drink this first," Raveena said. "The tea will be cold in a mont."
Aurelia took the tea, sipped it quickly, and handed the glass back. "Thank you. Now leave. I’m busy."
Raveena offered a small smile. She glanced at the servants scurrying about with decorations before walking away, murmuring softly, "Mother is more tense than Brother Rianor."
Aurelia pretended not to hear.
In Elara’s room, the scene was no less chaotic.
The space had been converted into a makeshift dressing room. A large mirror had been installed on one side, illuminated by a bright crystal chandelier above. On a wooden rack hung four gowns of varying styles—all white, yet distinct in their embroidery, cuts, and accents.
Elara sat in her wheelchair, her vibrant red hair left loose. Two servants stood by her side, ready to assist at a mont’s notice.
Rhea stood before the rack of gowns, hands on her hips, eyes narrowed. Her belly had begun to show a slight curve beneath her loose robes. Three months of pregnancy had made her movents more cautious, but it hadn’t dulled her sharpness.
"Number two," she stated firmly.
Rumina, who was sitting on the sofa jotting notes in her ledger, imdiately looked up. "Number two is too simple. It lacks enough embroidery."
"Did you see the silhouette?" Rhea pointed toward gown number three. "Number three is too busy. It’ll be difficult for Elara to move."
"She’s in a wheelchair," Rumina countered. "Not on a battlefield."
"But she still needs to be comfortable. This wedding is long. From the ceremony to the reception, it could take hours."
Elena, sitting in a chair near the window, sipped her tea slowly. She smiled as she watched Rhea and Rumina bicker. After taking leave from the hospital, her face looked much fresher. Kaelven was growing healthy, Riven was always by her side, and now there was a wedding to unite the family.
"In my opinion," Elena joined in, "they are all beautiful. But comfort remains the priority. Elara must be able to breathe freely, not be burdened by heavy fabrics, and her wheelchair must be easily accessible."
Rumina sighed. "You’re a doctor, of course you’d say comfort is number one."
"Because it’s the truth," Elena smiled.
Rhea had already pulled out gown number two. "Try this one first."
The servants moved instantly. They helped Elara stand for a brief mont—only long enough to slip the gown on—before settling her back into her wheelchair. Their movents were swift and well-practiced.
Elara looked at herself in the mirror.
The gown was elegant in its simplicity. An A-line cut that wasn’t too wide, with Snow Chrysanthemum embroidery gracing the bodice and cuffs, and a sheer veil draped over her shoulders. The pure white was a striking contrast to her flaming red hair.
Rhea scrutinized the fit. "Loosen the left sleeve slightly. It’s too tight."
The servant imdiately made the adjustnt.
Rumina stood up, circled Elara, and shook her head. "The embroidery on the cuffs should be two rows, not one. It looks too bare."
"One row is enough," Rhea snapped.
"Two."
"One."
"Two! I’m the designer!"
"You design things to be looked at, not worn. One row is enough."
Elena covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. Elara remained silent in her wheelchair, gazing at her reflection before offering a small smile.
"I think," Elara said softly, "one row is already beautiful."
Rumina looked at her. "You’re the one wearing it, you should be more demanding!"
Elara laughed. "I just want to marry Rianor. Whether it’s this gown or a plain cloth, I would still say yes."
Rhea and Rumina stopped their bickering. They exchanged looks and then both smiled.
Rumina sighed. "Fine. One row. But I will thicken the embroidery on the bodice."
"Agreed," Rhea said.
Elara looked back at the mirror. In her reflection, Rhea and Rumina began discussing accessories, Elena added suggestions about breathable fabrics, and the servants were busy taking notes.
She smiled. She felt a warmth she didn’t have to ask for. A warmth that ca naturally because she was a part of this family.
In the family hall, the atmosphere was different.
Lucian sat in his primary chair, his black robes pristine, his graying hair combed back. His face was stern, devoid of a smile, but his eyes—his eyes were softer than usual.
Rianor sat on the sofa opposite him. Roland and Raphael were on the side sofas. Riven stood near the window, arms crossed over his chest like an ever-vigilant sentry.
"Are you ready?" Lucian spoke.
His voice was deep and heavy, as always. But there was a different tone to it. Not a command. Not a military lecture. Just... a father’s question to his son.
Rianor nodded. "I am, Father."
"Marriage isn’t just about love." Lucian crossed his arms on the table. "You know that."
"I know."
"Elara is no ordinary woman. She has a heavy past, a family that discarded her, and a condition that makes many doubt her." Lucian stared directly at Rianor. "Are you ready to bear all of that?"
Rianor didn’t blink. "I am not marrying her because I am ready to bear her burdens. I am marrying her because I cannot imagine living without her."
Riven, standing by the window, let out a low whistle. "Damn. Where did you learn lines like that?"
Rianor didn’t answer, but the corner of his lip twitched upward.
Lucian shook his head slightly, but a faint smile appeared on his face. "The most important thing," he said, "is not to be a foolish husband. A wife isn’t just there to be protected; she is there to be heard. Rember that."
"I will rember, Father."
Riven stepped forward, clapping Rianor hard on the shoulder until the younger man stumbled slightly. "Marriage isn’t as hard as war, Rianor. Trust . Just listen to your wife and don’t be stubborn."
Roland, who had been silent, finally spoke up. "Marriage is—"
"Don’t start," Rianor cut him off.
"I’m serious," Roland smiled. "Marriage is... long. So don’t rush. Enjoy every mont."
Raphael, sitting beside Roland, leaned forward. His teenage face looked at Rianor with utter seriousness. "Brother, once you’re married, can I ask for advice about girls?"
Rianor stared at his youngest brother. "It’s not ti yet."
"But—"
"Not. Yet."
Raphael pouted. Roland laughed, and Riven joined in. Even Lucian, who had been trying to remain solemn, finally allowed himself a smile.
Rianor looked at his family—his stern but gentle father, his large and warm elder brother, his sly but loyal second brother, and his innocent youngest brother. He offered a small smile.
"Thank you," he said.
Riven frowned. "For what?"
Rianor didn’t answer, but his smile remained.
Night fell, one day before the wedding.
The castle, which had been bustling all day, began to quiet down. The decorations were finished. Flowers were neatly placed in every corner. Crystal lamps glowed softly, creating a warm ambiance that contrasted with the cold Northreach night.
Rianor walked along the east wing corridor.
He didn’t have a specific destination. Perhaps he just wanted to look around, to ensure everything was in order. Or perhaps... he just wanted to walk.
His feet stopped in front of the hallway leading to Elara’s room.
He stared at the end of the hall. Elara’s door was closed. A sliver of light seeped from beneath the door—it was still on. Elara wasn’t asleep yet.
Rianor stepped forward.
"Rianor."
He stopped.
Aurelia stood behind him, hands on her hips, her face stern. Raveena stood beside her mother, her hand covering her mouth to suppress a giggle.
"Mother," Rianor said.
"Where are you going?"
"Just... walking."
"Walking to Elara’s room?"
Rianor didn’t answer.
Aurelia stepped closer. Her stern face—the face that had been commanding servants and arranging decorations all day—had changed. It wasn’t anger, but sothing non-negotiable.
"You are not allowed to see Elara. Until tomorrow. At the altar."
Rianor frowned. "Mother, I just wanted to—"
"You. Cannot." Aurelia emphasized each word. "A day before the wedding, you are not allowed to see the bride. It’s bad luck. You know that, don’t you?"
Rianor stared at his mother. "Mother, we aren’t exactly in—"
"Wherever we are, tradition remains tradition." Aurelia didn’t budge. "You and Elara have waited years. One more night won’t kill you."
Raveena finally lost her battle with laughter. Her voice broke softly behind her mother. "Brother, you’d better obey. Mother is ready if you try to make a run for it."
Aurelia glanced briefly at Raveena before returning her gaze to Rianor. "Listen to your mother. Go to sleep. Tomorrow, you will stand at the altar, see Elara in her white gown, and it will be worth it."
Rianor looked at his mother, then at the end of the corridor where the faint light still shone from Elara’s room.
He let out a long sigh.
"Very well, Mother."
Aurelia nodded with satisfaction. She took Rianor’s arm, turned him around, and pushed him gently in the opposite direction. "Now go to bed. Don’t even think about coming back here."
Rianor walked away. But before turning the corner, he glanced back. Raveena was still standing there, grinning widely. Aurelia remained upright, her eyes watchful.
He smiled faintly and walked into the distance.
In his room, Rianor stood by the window.
In the distance, the castle garden looked tranquil. The Snow Chrysanthemums that were neatly arranged earlier were now only faint silhouettes under the moonlight. The garden lights flickered softly, like stars fallen to earth.
His eyes shifted to the east wing.
The light from Elara’s room was gone now. Perhaps she was asleep. Or perhaps she, too, was standing by her window, looking out at the sa view.
Rianor didn’t know.
But he smiled.
Tomorrow, everything would be different. Tomorrow, he would stand at the altar. Tomorrow, Elara would co in her white gown. Tomorrow, after years of waiting, after the war, after the journey to Eastmarch, after everything that had happened...
He would officially be family.
Rianor closed the window. The lights in his room went out.
In the east wing, behind the tightly closed door, Elara sat in her wheelchair by the window. The white gown she had chosen—with a single row of embroidery—hung beside the wardrobe. In her hand, she held a dried Snow Chrysanthemum. The flower Rianor had given her long ago.
She gazed at the flower, then out the window at the quiet garden.
Tomorrow, everything would change.
She smiled. For the first ti in her life, she wasn’t afraid of that change.
"Tomorrow," she whispered softly, "I will officially beco a mber of the Sudrath family."
Outside, the moon shone brightly. The cold of Northreach was unfelt. And in two different rooms, two people who loved each other fell asleep with the sa smile.
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