Before Tenetta could finish speaking, Isabelle placed a hand on his shoulder.

The parasol she had been holding slipped from her elegant fingers and fell carelessly onto the dirt.

When she rose onto her toes and their lips met, Tenetta unconsciously held his breath—like a fourteen-year-old boy discovering, for the first time, the scent at the nape of his first love’s neck.

When Isabelle pulled away, she looked up at him, frozen as he was, with a proud gleam in her eyes.

Wearing the triumphant smile of a general who had crossed a forbidden river, she granted him her answer.

“Alright.”

They decided to hold the wedding in the field they had once passed before arriving in the village.

When the villagers learned that the two of them were already a married couple who had never held a proper ceremony, they gladly helped with the preparations.

They had been starved for celebration.

For all its happiness, it was a quiet village.

People often believe that the unhappy are the ones who wander in search of happiness—

But in truth, those who know how to enjoy life are the ones already living in happiness.

Those who are unhappy are too weighed down by their burdens, enduring each day rather than truly living it.

At that time, Tenetta and Isabelle were, by all appearances, truly happy people.

They didn’t think too much.

Life felt like a summer stream—deeper and swifter than it looked, yet never frightening, always shimmering beautifully except for the occasional passing rain.

Without either of them realizing when it began, they were soon completely immersed in that quiet happiness.

Isabelle chose a pure white summer dress she had packed in her travel bag as her wedding gown. It was daring enough that her arms showed faintly through the fabric.

“I’m definitely wearing these red shoes tomorrow.”

When she insisted on it the night before the wedding, Tenetta noticed the faint stains on them—but said nothing. He had recognized them as the shoes she had worn the day she accepted his proposal.

The next day, the weather was perfect.

The sky was such a clear, vivid blue that it seemed to shine on its own, and soft, cotton-like clouds kept the sunlight gentle.

Even if the sun had been strong enough to roast every ear of corn in the fields, Tenetta would still have thought it perfect.

It was the day they were getting married.

Someone gifted Isabelle a crown woven from red roses and baby’s breath. The summer roses were small, but they suited her dark hair as if made for her.

The field where the ceremony was held was still filled with low, white wildflowers. They were said to bloom at the end of spring and last until autumn.

After the village head finished officiating, they exchanged a kiss beneath the very tree where they had once rested on their first day.

Isabelle clasped his hand tightly like a young girl, then wrapped her arms around the tree and beamed.

“This… is a very meaningful tree for us.”

When the bride—still not fully fluent in the local language—turned to the guests and spoke awkwardly, they found her all the more endearing. The fact that she didn’t even realize she had slipped into informal speech didn’t matter.

Her radiant smile made everything understandable.

Now truly husband and wife, the young couple spent the day mingling with the villagers—singing, laughing until their voices grew hoarse, and above all, dancing endlessly.

As it turned out, in that country, there was a superstition that the more the bride’s shoes wore down on her wedding day, the happier her marriage would be.

When Isabelle, his tireless little dancer, finally grew too exhausted to continue and looked for somewhere to sit, Tenetta led her into the shade of the tree.

He removed his coat so her white dress wouldn’t be stained, then sat beside her as they watched the others enjoying the celebration.

Their faces were flushed red—with sunlight, and with joy.

Isabelle tapped her legs and grumbled softly.

“If I’d known about that superstition, I would’ve worn older shoes.”

Her voice was slightly hoarse from all the laughter. As Tenetta massaged her legs—worked hard under a demanding master—he replied,

“As stubborn as you are? Not a chance. Rather than wear different shoes, you’d have gone out in the middle of the night while everyone was asleep and scraped the heels against a stone.”

She would have started the moment the clock struck midnight.

There was always a way around any superstition, and Tenetta could easily picture his clever, charming wife taking full advantage of it.

Isabelle lightly smacked the back of his hand.

When she shot him a sideways glare, he couldn’t hold back his laughter.

“You’re lucky. You almost ended up so drunk today you couldn’t even walk.”

In their homeland, Legrandem, there was a belief that the groom had to drink every toast offered to him at the wedding for the bride to remain healthy. It was the exact opposite of the customs here, where the groom was kept sober to enjoy the wedding night.

Tenetta let out a scoff.

“Even when I was a knight, I’ve never drunk to the point I couldn’t stand.”

“What a boast.”

“If you don’t believe me, I’ll show you later.”

Isabelle said nothing, only rolling her eyes.

Tenetta brushed the back of his hand against her cheek, still faintly flushed. Unable to resist, he leaned in and kissed her forehead.

At once, Isabelle stood and gave him a firm command.

“Stay here.”

Obediently remaining where he was, Tenetta watched as Isabelle walked toward the table laden with food.

Though her legs had worked harder than any farmer’s for the sake of their happiness that day, she still carried herself steadily. Near the table, she asked one of the villagers for something.

Soon, she returned—slightly unsteady—holding a wooden mug that looked almost too large for her slender wrist.

Taking it from her, Tenetta realized it was filled to the brim with ale brewed from hops.

One of his brows lifted.

Clinging to his arm, Isabelle urged him,

“You have to drink it all in one go. Understood?”

“A bride who wants her groom to collapse drunk on his wedding day.”

He muttered as if he didn’t quite believe it, and a satisfied smile spread across her face.

Deciding to indulge her a little, Tenetta feigned reluctance.

“I can’t drink a celebratory toast that hasn’t been blessed.”

Isabelle took hold of his wrist and pulled him closer.

As she lowered her head, her lashes falling, the setting sun slipped gently into their quiet refuge, bathing everything in a deep amber glow. The soft scent of the floral crown on her head wafted towards him.

For a moment, Tenetta felt light-headed.

Isabelle brushed a soft kiss against the rim of the mug, then lifted her gaze to meet his — her eyes curving into a bright, radiant crescent. It was the kind of smile that could unravel a man completely.

Holding him there, utterly captivated, she whispered,

“This is a blessing… from the happiest bride in the world.”

***

On that day, Tenetta finished her drink with her lips still pressed to the spot where they had been.

When the bitter taste had faded, he realized that he had become intoxicated long before he took a sip.

With quiet confidence, Isabelle asked him,

“You’re drunk, aren’t you?”

It wasn’t surprising.

She knew exactly what she looked like when she smiled.

That wordless smile, the one that could ensnare him effortlessly, belonged to her alone.

Tenetta didn’t even try to deny it.

Instead, he took her hand and made a quiet request.

“Say it again.”

“What?”

“What you just said. About how happy you are…”

It wasn’t just his voice that trembled. His hands trembled, his gaze wavered and his heart beat wildly.

His entire being cried out that love itself existed in that very moment.

Drunk on that certainty, he longed to hear it reciprocated.

A single nod from her would silence all his doubts. At last, he would understand his purpose in life.

All she had to give him was one answer.

No matter how brief, it would never be insignificant.

No matter how simple, it would never be insignificant.

So—

Looking up at him, her cheeks flushed, Isabelle smiled once more.

“You could never imagine it… how happy I am right now.”

Ah!

Tenetta didn’t need to imagine it — he felt exactly the same way.

He did not hesitate.

Grabbing her hand, he pulled her into his arms. The rough wooden mug, blessed by Tenetta’s lips, rolled carelessly across the field.

Tenetta believed without a shadow of a doubt that their love would last forever, and he poured every ounce of his strength into holding her.

At the time, he did not yet know that only death could create something truly unchanging.