Catherine stood still, her gaze fixed on the castle before her.
Every detail felt... familiar.
The fountain at the front, now edged with frost. The layout of the garden, even beneath the snow, still visible in its careful symtry. The flowerpots lined along the windowsills—she didn’t need to see them clearly to know what they held. Lilies. It had always been lilies, because that was her favorite flower.
The trees stood in quiet rows along the sides, their branches dusted white. Snow clung to the sloped roof, softening the harshness of stone, while creeping vines curled along the walls, giving the entire place an almost dreamlike quality.
It wasn’t just a resemblance. It was recognition. She had seen this place before, not in this life, but in a painting.
And then... The mory shifted.
Her throat tightened, words catching before they could form.
"This..."
She couldn’t finish.
Her mind pulled her back, years and years ago, to a ti when everything had been simpler, even if she hadn’t understood it then.
She was sixteen.
They had t after two years apart, after a formal gathering filled with music and careful smiles. And when no one had been looking, he had taken her away, leading her quietly through the corridors to a hidden staircase used only by the servants.
It had been empty. Silent. Lit only by the small candle he held.
They had sat side by side on those narrow steps, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him, the flicker of light dancing in his blue eyes as he looked at her.
"I’m going to build a ho for us in Dravencourt," he had said.
She hadn’t understood it then.
Why would they need a ho there?
She had been the crown princess. He was ant to marry her and stay by her side. That had always been the plan. Dravencourt was his holand, not hers—distant, unfamiliar, unnecessary.
She had been too young to see what it ant.
But now... Now she understood. It had been his ho. And he would have missed it.
"I love the snow," he had said that night, his voice softened into a whisper, as if even the walls might betray them. "We can stay there and watch it together."
She had nodded back then, accepting it easily, without truly grasping the weight of it.
She had grown up watching marriages shaped around the woman’s preferences, hos built as retreats, as symbols of devotion, places where a life could unfold away from duty.
So she had done what she thought she was supposed to do. She had told him what she wanted. So of it had been real. So of it had been... a test.
A quiet, unspoken question... How far would you go for ?
And Maximilian... That confident, almost arrogant boy she had known... He had not refused a single thing.
He had listened to everything she said, nodding seriously, marking each detail onto the blueprint as though it mattered more than anything else.
"You can choose the furniture too," he had told her. "It will all be new. Everything... chosen by you."
She rembered the way her heart had raced then, loud and unsteady in her chest. The way his eyes had held hers, warm and certain, making her feel sothing she hadn’t yet known how to na.
She had wanted to move closer, to close the distance, to kiss him, and to say sothing reckless and true.
But she hadn’t.
And ti had moved on. Too many things had happened after that. Too many losses. Too many endings.
And she had forgotten, completely.
Until now...
"You rembered..."
Catherine turned to him, her voice breaking as the realization settled fully. Her gloved hands lifted instinctively, trying to wipe away the tears that had already begun to fall.
Maximilian stepped closer without hesitation and pulled her into his arms.
This... This was what he had been waiting for.
This.
The mory.
The understanding.
"Don’t cry too much," he murmured softly, rubbing her back, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of her head. "Your lashes might freeze."
There was a quiet warmth in his voice, a faint attempt at lightness that didn’t quite hide the depth beneath it.
Catherine pulled back just enough to look at him.
Then, rising onto her toes, she kissed him.
"You rembered everything," she whispered.
Every word. Every promise. Every small, forgotten detail she herself had let slip away.
How could he love her like this?
"I love you," she said.
The words felt... insufficient.
Too small for sothing this vast.
Too simple for everything he had carried, everything he had built, everything he had waited for.
And yet... They were all she had. And for Maximilian, that was all he needed.
They walked in together, the heavy doors closing behind them with a deep, echoing sound that seed to seal the world outside. Warmth wrapped around Catherine almost instantly, chasing away the sharp bite of the cold, and for a brief mont she simply stood there, taking it all in.
Then the stillness broke.
Catherine moved forward, her curiosity spilling over into sothing bright and unrestrained as she began to look around, her steps quickening, almost light. Her fingers brushed over the furniture, over the polished wood and carved details, over fabrics that felt both rich and familiar beneath her touch. Everything was already in place, every corner filled as though soone had been waiting for her to arrive and bring it all to life.
She turned, then moved again, crossing the hall, peeking into adjoining rooms, her excitent growing with each discovery. There was sothing almost childlike in the way she explored, the quiet composure she usually carried slipping away as she let herself react freely.
"Is this gold?" she asked. It looked like solid gold. He wouldn’t have gone that far, right?
"Why are you surprised?" he asked. She had a jet with Lapis Lazuli interiors with gold inlays. And she was surprised by this?
"Wow!" Catherine said looking around.
It was exactly as she had once described.
Not just in structure, but in feeling.
And yet, when she paused and looked closer, she noticed sothing else. Subtle, but unmistakable. The lighting, the heating, the seamless integration of modern comforts hidden within the old-world design—it was all there, carefully woven in without disturbing the illusion of stepping into another ti.
She turned back to him, her brows lifting slightly, curiosity returning in a quieter, more thoughtful way.
"This is new, isn’t it?" she asked. "I an... a real stone castle like this, built properly..." Her gaze drifted along the walls again, thoughtful. "There aren’t many people who can do this anymore."
Maximilian watched her, a faint smile settling on his lips.
"Yes," he said simply.
He stepped closer, his presence grounding the space around her.
"Just like I promised," he added, his voice softer now, carrying sothing deeper than the words themselves. "We’ll be the first to live here."
His hand found hers, warm and steady, his fingers curling around hers with quiet certainty.
"Us."
The word lingered between them, not as a statent, but as sothing fulfilled.
Catherine looked at him, her earlier excitent settling into sothing quieter, sothing fuller. The castle around her no longer felt like a place she was exploring.
It felt like sothing that had been waiting for her.
For them.
She stepped closer, closing the small distance between them, her gaze softening as her hand tightened slightly in his.
"Shall we have lunch?" Maximilian asked, his tone gentle, as though he were easing them back into sothing ordinary after everything that had just unfolded. He had already arranged for the al to be prepared, knowing it would be kept warm until they arrived.
Catherine nodded, though her attention lingered on the space around them. As they walked further in, she couldn’t help but glance up at the high ceilings, the long corridors, the sheer scale of it all pressing in on her thoughts.
"We’ll need help here all the ti, won’t we?" she asked, her voice thoughtful.
This wasn’t just a large house. It was a castle—sothing that demanded care, structure, people to keep it alive. The idea of managing it alone felt almost absurd.
Maximilian turned toward her and lightly flicked her temple, not enough to hurt, just enough to interrupt her spiraling thoughts.
"Don’t think too much," he said.
There was sothing almost indulgent in the way he said it, as though the concern itself didn’t belong to her. She wasn’t ant to worry about maintenance, about staff, about the invisible work that kept a place like this running. And yet, seeing her think about it—seeing her instinctively step into that role—filled him with a quiet, unexpected warmth.
It felt... dostic.
Real in a way that surprised him.
They entered the dining area, where the table had already been set. A chef moved quietly, placing the final dishes before stepping back. The aroma that filled the room was rich and inviting, cutting through the lingering chill Catherine still carried from outside.
She sat down, her curiosity montarily giving way to hunger, and soon enough she was eating with genuine appetite, the warmth of the food grounding her further into the mont.
Afterward, they moved to sit by the window.
Outside, snow continued to fall in soft, steady layers, the world beyond the glass turning into a quiet blur of white. Inside, it was warm, still, untouched by everything beyond those walls.
For a while, they simply sat there, talking lightly, letting the silence stretch comfortably between words.
Then Catherine turned to him again, her expression shifting, curiosity returning with more focus this ti.
"Did you ever find out where we were from?" she asked. "Which ti period... which part of the world?" Her gaze drifted briefly to the snow-covered landscape outside before returning to him. "Are there any records of Elyndra or Dravencourt?"
It was sothing she should have asked long ago.
But back then, everything had been overwhelming, fragnted, uncertain. Now, standing in a place that felt like a reflection of sothing lost to ti, the question felt impossible to ignore.
Maximilian looked at her, his expression unreadable for a mont.
He had expected this question.
Eventually.
"Yes," he said. "And you’re not going to like the answer."
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