“Elon! Strengthen the security! We’ve got flies buzzing around!”

“Father.”

At my voice, the Count with his curly red hair tied back turned to face me. He examined my appearance—the white dress, red bouquet, and heavy bridal makeup—before drawing a satisfied smile across his lips. He personally lowered my white veil with such gentle care that anyone watching might have thought us a truly affectionate father and daughter.

“Brote, you haven’t forgotten, have you? After the bishop’s blessing from the Temple of Abundance…”

I responded halfheartedly to his words as I stood before the red carpet. Dizzy from the overwhelming scent of roses, I blinked several times and suddenly found myself in the banquet hall.

The bishop’s voice rang out.

“Does His Grace, Derien de Winter, Duke of the North who commands winter, promise to take Brote Veritatis, daughter of the abundant South, as his wife and protect her for life?”

“I do.”

A slow, deep voice without hesitation answered. The rough voice broke off abruptly like throat clearing, with the stiff northern accent pronouncing each syllable distinctly. Though just two simple words, they painted a hazy silhouette of the man he might be.

“Does Brote Veritatis, daughter of Veritatis, swear to leave the land of her birth, take root in the new northern territory, and embrace and love His Grace Derien de Winter for all her days?”

“I do.”

I thought how fortunate it was to have the veil.

Following the ceremony’s order, I turned to my left and knelt before the physically impaired Duke. His thighs appeared first, so thin one might believe they were nothing but bone. Next, I noticed his deeply wrinkled hand struggling to hold the ring that would soon encircle my finger.

I extended my hand to guide him as he slipped the ring onto my finger. Then, taking the ring from him, I placed it on his finger just as he had done for me.

His hand was white, cool, and fragile.

That hand grasped my veil and slowly lifted it. Only then did the reality of my marriage truly sink in—in this moment when I first saw the face of the man who would become my husband.

“Brote Winter, daughter of Southern Veritatis and from this day a member of the Northern Winter family—”

Red eyes were the first thing I noticed. Bright ruby eyes, partially hidden by sagging wrinkles, gleamed like jewels.

On the elderly face marked with deep wrinkles, only those eyes seemed to have evaded the passage of time, shining brilliantly.

“The kiss of covenant…”

I slowly straightened my knees and bent my previously er*ect back. As I drew closer, dark freckles became visible on what had appeared to be just a pale white face. His eyes were darkened as though in pain, his lips dried and shriveled. Small age spots dotted his sunken cheekbones.

His face was that of an ordinary man, simply aged—exactly as I had imagined, nothing more unexpected. Not as repulsive as I had steeled myself for.

I felt relieved.

“That will do.”

“Pardon? But, Your Grace.”

“I said it will do.”

Only when I heard the bishop’s confused voice did I realize the Duke had kissed my loose hair by my temple—at the moment when I should have pressed my lips to his.

Though bewildered, I also felt deeply relieved. The Duke’s red eyes stared directly at me, seemingly piercing through to my soul.

“Brote. Winter.”

“Ah.”

His quiet voice brought me back to my senses. I tried to recall what I was supposed to do next, what the next step in the ceremony was. After the kiss…

“Look ahead.”

Following his instruction, I raised my head and looked forward. I saw the Count’s pale face. Beside him stood Oscar, biting his lips tightly. I blinked and smiled. Now I remembered.

I moved behind the Duke. I knew what to do, having learned the procedure beforehand. Holding the bouquet in my ringed hand, I placed my other hand on the magical device he sat in, then pushed him down the red-carpeted path.

“Are you sad?”

“…No, I am not.”

“Then, are you worried?”

“No, I am not.”

“You’re not skilled at lying.”

I could see the red carpet ahead. The grayish crown of his head. His black ceremonial attire, angular though loose-fitting. Our shadows danced beneath us, cast by the chandelier’s light pouring from above. The banquet hall doors, which had remained firmly closed like a final barrier, now opened.

Finally, the end of the red carpet came into view. That’s when I heard it—the slow, deep, rough voice penetrating my ear. The Duke’s voice.

“There’s a little rat.”

“Brote…”

The door closed behind us with a thud. At the end of the red carpet stood Eric.

A soft, groan-like sigh escaped the Duke’s lips.

“…Brote Winter. I’ll see you in the North. Rondo!”

A man appeared instantly and took the Duke’s magical device from my grasp. Then he crossed the gray corridor where nothing had been laid out and disappeared from sight. Applause poured from behind the firmly closed doors.

“…rote.”

Suddenly, I felt afraid.

At the same time, I hated Eric.

“Brote.”

“…Why did you come?”

“Let’s go. Let’s leave. It was all my fault. Brote, hurry—we don’t have much time—”

I shook off his hand as it lunged for my wrist. I walked past him as he looked back and forth between his hand and my face with disbelief. The applause that had seemed eternal was dying down. I felt anxious.

“Brote?”

My reputation had already been tarnished by one scandal. I couldn’t head north with another scandal piled on top. The people of the North surely knew I had been engaged for seven years.

No, even before that, everyone beyond those doors who knew Veritatis was aware of Eric’s and my relationship. This situation was beneficial to neither me, him, nor my family.

“Wait, Brote! I! I thought you would be fine without me! I never thought the Count would do this to you…”

Finally, he caught my wrist. Though his grip hurt, I bit my lip and endured it. I didn’t want to cause a scene. My insides were boiling with anger. I resented him. If he was going to return to me so easily—even if it was merely out of pity—if he was going to hold onto me so casually…

I felt tears welling up for the Brote in the book. She who considered even his cheap sympathy as love. She who never told him that if he left, she would be married off to the Northern Duke like merchandise. She whose final pride was this silence…

What does it matter now, Eric?

‘Why? Do I look pitiful to you? Do I seem unhappy? More than your lover who’s supposedly dying soon?’

I wanted to hurt him, to drive the point home. But if I did, I feared I would lose control of my emotions and burst into tears right here, standing in front of those doors that could open at any moment.

I couldn’t allow that.

“I love you. I love you, Brote.”

“Stop it, Eric. I’m not leaving with you.”

“…Why not?”

Just then, the doors opened. The Count, who had been laughing with the people surrounding him, flushed as red as his hair upon seeing us. Had Oscar not grabbed the Count’s arm, his fist would certainly have landed squarely on Eric’s face.

I twisted my wrist free from his grasp. Then, raising my voice so the crowd pouring out could hear, I said:

“Young Master. From now on, I would appreciate it if you showed proper respect to me as the Duchess of the North.”

Leaving him frozen like a statue, I fled to the room where I should have returned with the Duke.

There, I met Miriam, changed into a simple traveling dress, and boarded the carriage with the servants who had come down from the North.

“Miriam?”

I didn’t hear the footsteps that should have followed. I inserted my hand into the closing door and poked my head out. I called to her, implying she should hurry and board, but received no response.

“Miss…”

Only then did I notice her attire. Dressed in the Count’s household servant uniform, lips tightly pressed together, she simply stood in place looking up at me.

Ah, it was my fault for assuming I could take her with me without giving it proper thought.

The door closed with a thud.