Rosalind had barely crossed the threshold of Dorian's chambers once before — and yet, the place felt like it knew her far better than she ever intended.
She was immediately struck by the lingering scent of sandalwood — a gentle, fresh fragrance tinged with a faint chill, the kind that one could easily lose themselves in.
Just like the man himself — cold, yet strangely, irresistibly magnetic.
"If you keep standing there like that… I might assume your offer to share a drink comes with ulterior motives, Rosi."
His voice, a low murmur by her ear, sent a shiver down her spine — like a breath of wind brushing the nape of her neck.
Rosalind turned sharply, only to collide into a firm chest, losing her balance and falling straight into the figure before her.
By the time she gathered her bearings, her gaze had met the hard plane of his chest — muscular and close, far too close.
She instinctively pushed against him, but his arms remained wrapped around her, unyielding.
To any outsider, she might have seemed as though she was clinging to him on purpose.
What a situation this was… utterly mortifying.
Rosalind cautiously lifted her gaze, only to be caught by that deep oceanic stare — one that seemed to devour her whole.
"I... I didn't mean to. Forgive me." she stammered, trying to retreat.
But Dorian had no intention of letting her go so easily. His arms stayed right where they were.
"It's quite alright. If you wish to touch me all day, I wouldn't mind. After all… I belong to you, my lady, don't I?"
Her cheeks flushed crimson. Embarrassment turning quickly into indignation, she shoved him with all the strength she could muster.
"Please… show some propriety, my lord," she said, voice tight. But even as the words left her lips, she realized her mistake.
Though they hadn't yet shared a bed, they were husband and wife.
Technically, what he said wasn't untrue… crude as it might have sounded.
He was hers.
And she… was his.
But seeing that smirk dancing on his lips, as if her reaction was the most amusing thing he'd witnessed all evening, Rosalind could only glare at him before turning away.
She marched to the small table near the window, setting down the bottle and two glasses with an intentionally loud clink.
The sound was enough to wipe the grin from Dorian's face.
"And since when, my lord, has teasing me become your favorite pastime?"
She seated herself with a huff, refusing to meet his gaze. Just as she reached for the bottle, a large hand covered hers.
"Allow me."
Their eyes met, and Rosalind responded with a piercing glare.
Dorian only smiled — a quiet curl at the corner of his lips.
Since when, indeed?
Since when had teasing her become his habit… his delight?
Perhaps even he could not say.
But somehow, along the way, it had become second nature.
Maybe… maybe it was because he longed to see her smile.
To watch her fluster, her cheeks flush, her composure crack just a little.
To see his Rosi — not the noble lady, not the dutiful bride — but his.
"Very well then… I shan't trouble you further. I came because… there are things I wish to say."
With a soft sigh, Rosalind gathered herself.
She had not come to quarrel with Dorian.
She had come to speak with him.
"To talk, not to battle," she reminded herself inwardly.
"I am always at your service, Rosi."
Dorian, now seated in the high-backed chair across from her, extended a goblet toward her — a quiet invitation.
Their glasses met with a gentle chime.
She downed her drink in one breath, as though seeking courage in the burn cascading down her throat like fire, as if trying to cauterize the ache in her chest.
"Would you answer my questions… every one of them?"
"Of course, Rosi."
His reply came without the slightest pause.
If it was her will, he would grant it — no matter the cost.
That was something he had always said… and would always believe.
Perhaps his affection had not always taken the right form.
Perhaps he was flawed — far from the ideal man.
But he was learning… changing, day by day.
He watched her in stillness, as though committing every detail to memory.
The golden waves of her hair glimmered like moonlight dissolving into dusk.
Her amethyst eyes held the quiet brilliance of distant stars.
And the faint flush on her cheeks, tinted with wine, lent her an ethereal fragility — delicate, yet dangerously captivating.
"May I ask… why did you choose to write to Her Majesty, the Queen?"
Her voice was soft, but steady — the question finally rising after her second glass had been emptied.
Dorian tilted his head slightly. His expression eased — then darkened into silence.
The man seated before her…
The same man who had ruled the North in silence, manipulating fates from behind closed doors.
The man who had never once bowed to the High Council.
Now suddenly… sending a letter to the capital?
No. It was not something she could overlook.
The North had always been its own dominion.
Its own army. Its own code.
And it was not the royal family, but House Valemont, that reigned supreme over these lands.
She knew it.
Amara knew it.
The entire court knew it.
Which made his sudden decision to "humble himself" and request assistance… all the more difficult to comprehend.
The man once known for his pride and frosted arrogance…
The one who had always stood above courtly chains…
Now, a loyal servant of the throne?
No.
Rosalind could not — would not — believe it was all for the people's sake.
"You ask me this," he murmured, voice calm, unfazed —
"Then surely, you suspect I harbor some ulterior design. Is that not so?"
His voice was smooth, steady as a lake beneath winter frost — unshaken, unreadable.
That glimmer in his eyes, half-amused, half-knowing, remained unchanged.
Rosalind did not avert her gaze.
The wine laced her voice with boldness she did not usually possess.
"If I said… yes. That is what I believe...Would you be angry with me then, Dorian?"
A hush drifted between them.
Beyond the windows, the breeze whispered softly, while within, the hearth's flame had nearly claimed its final piece of wood.
Beneath the table, her hands were clenched tightly together, as if holding onto something intangible—perhaps… hope.
Rosalind didn't want to ruin the fragile thing they had only just begun to build.
"What is it you truly wish to hear, Rosalind?"
Dorian tilted his head, his voice quiet, his gaze steady.
"I want to know… whether placing my trust in you was a mistake."
Perhaps all they ever needed from each other was trust. But in their world—
that was the one thing hardest to give… and harder still to keep.
She dreaded the thought of a day where she might be forced to choose—between her sister… and Dorian.
Because in the end, they were both her family. Both irreplaceable.
"You've turned me into someone I no longer recognize… someone who waits, aches, and dares to hope."
She smiled faintly, lips barely curving, and dropped her gaze to the dark liquid in her cup—seeking courage from something, anything.
"I don't want to be someone blinded by longing… reaching for what was never meant to be mine.
So please… I beg you—let me know that the faith I placed in you… was not misplaced."
Her fingers dug into her own skin, so tightly it felt as if only pain could anchor her to this moment, stop her from drowning in the tide of her own longing.
"Sometimes… I don't understand your heart.
From the very beginning, you reminded me time and again of the nature of this marriage.
And yet… it was you who looked at me that day—in that grand, solemn hall—
with eyes that made me believe, just for a breathless moment, that I was your entire world."
Rosalind's breath caught, then quickened.
"You once said you only wished for my happiness. Yet… you were the one who placed those cold, final papers before me—like a man preparing to vanish before the first snow."
He always claimed he wanted to learn how to love her.
But would he truly be willing… to spend a lifetime learning, just for her?
"Dorian… I don't ask that you love me.
But at the very least… please, do not lie to me."
A single tear slid down her cheek—then another.
She could no longer stop them. Her feelings had swelled past every wall she'd tried to build.
And in that moment, Rosalind knew—she had fallen for him.
She loved his clumsy kindness, his quiet eyes that held galaxies, the loneliness he never spoke of.
When she looked at him, she only wanted to hold him.
To become the place he could return to, so he wouldn't have to walk this path alone.
She wiped her tears away quickly.
She didn't want pity. She didn't want a comforting lie.
But then, a handkerchief appeared before her—
And Dorian was there, kneeling before her, though she hadn't even heard him move.
He sank down on one knee, gently brushing a few stray strands of hair from her face.
His eyes met hers—soft, heavy with something unspoken.
"You're right… I was not a good man. I still don't know how to explain the change within me.
But this much I know—the feelings I have for you… come from my heart."
His hand moved to cup her cheek.
Perhaps, in every version of their story, he had always been the one to make her cry.
"So many around us would seek to use this marriage for their own gain.
But your sister… she only wanted you to find true happiness."
He looked into her eyes with unwavering clarity.
"And I want Her Majesty to know—If there is one man who will give that happiness to you… Then let it be me, Dorian Valemont."