The days towards the wedding were chaotic, to say the least. Not in that there was a lot of stuff that Aveline had to do, but a lot of stuff she had to fix.
For one thing, the dress.
The dress they sent her was laid out on the bed as if it were an afterthought.
It was made of coarse wool dyed a dull, uneven gray; too heavy for movement, yet offering little warmth. The fabric scratched faintly against the skin, the kind used for servants' winter uniforms rather than a bride's attire. Its cut was outdated by decades, hanging stiffly from the shoulders with no shaping at the waist, as though the body beneath it had never been considered.
The sleeves were long and narrow, restricting the arms, while the bodice fastened with plain wooden buttons instead of clasps or embroidery. There was no lace, no stitch of ornamentation, only crude seams that pulled awkwardly when she moved. The hem fell unevenly, hastily finished, brushing her ankles without grace.
It carried no family colors, no sigil of Eryndale, no acknowledgment of the woman meant to wear it. It was not offensive in its design, only empty. Functional. Forgettable.
A dress meant to remind her of her place.
Aveline pinches her forehead, already developing a headache. Of all the fucking cliches.
Besides her, Lina was aghast. Fashion was no doubt different in the North than in the South. But this. This was not a difference in taste, but rather an insult.
Aveline, almost hearing in on Lina's internal turmoil, responded calmly. "It's fine."
"How can it be fine, my lady. This is.. This is.. What even is this." Lina seethed.
"Yes, this is trash. That's not what I meant. It's obvious a childish trick of making me and the people know our place in the North. But that's fine. Just because they gave this to me, doesn't mean I have to wear it. Lina, can you bring me the blue velvet dress I brought?"
These people obviously did not know who Aveline, or rather Mistress Evora, was. Before leaving for the North, she packed a great amount of dresses for the North, each custom made for her for different occasions.
Lina brought the dress in front her and Aveline stared at it for a while. The dress was really well made, but not for a bride. At least not for a respectable one.
"It seems we'll have a bunch of work on our hands."
"Don't worry, my lady. It's exactly what I've been training for. Besides, we have the miniature version of the sewing machine you brought."
Aveline once again felt what a relief it was that these three had come with her.
"You are a blessing, Lina"
The question was, did Caelum know about this dress or was he the one who sent it? Aveline hadn't met him at all since she got here. Had no idea what he looked like. And after the first week, she stopped asking about him.
Whether he knew about it or not, he will have to deal with Aveline's way of fixing things. And the dress was just the start of it.
*******************
The wedding day arrived without ceremony.
No banners stirred above Eryndale Manor. No bells marked the hour. The North greeted the union in silence, as if unwilling to acknowledge it aloud. The sky hung low and grey, heavy with cold air and unfallen snow.
Aveline stood at the threshold of the chapel, momentarily still.
Her gown was unlike anything she had worn in the South. Crafted for the North, it was made of layered fabric, deep blue velvet beneath a mantle of silver-threaded wool. The sleeves were long and fitted, embroidered with subtle geometric patterns reminiscent of frost and mountain stone. There were no gemstones, no extravagant trains. The dress was elegant in its restraint, meant to endure rather than impress.
Her auburn hair was braided and pinned high, woven with a thin silver chain instead of flowers. Against her pale skin, her eyes—brown touched with gold—were calm, alert, unreadable.
This was not the attire of a beloved bride.
It was the attire of a duchess.
Lina finished fastening the final clasp at Aveline's back, her movements careful, almost reverent. Tomas and Aaron waited beyond the chapel doors, positioned as escorts rather than guests. When the doors opened, they remained behind.
Aveline entered alone.
The chapel was small, built of dark stone smoothed by centuries of prayer. Narrow windows admitted muted daylight, casting pale bands across the floor. There were no decorations, only iron sconces and the carved sigil of Eryndale above the altar.
And there, standing before it, was Caelum Eryndale.
Aveline's steps slowed, only slightly.
This was the first time she saw him.
He was taller than she had expected, broad-shouldered in a way that spoke of cold climates and harsher living. His attire mirrored the North itself: a fitted black coat lined with dark fur at the collar, silver clasps bearing the Eryndale crest fastening it closed. Beneath it, layers of charcoal and steel-grey fabric were tailored with precision, designed for both authority and warmth.
His black hair was tied back neatly, revealing sharp features and a composed, severe expression. His face bore no scars, no markings, yet there was nothing soft about him. His grey eyes, pale and clear, were like winter skies: distant, watchful, unyielding.
When he looked at her, there was no surprise.
Only assessment.
Aveline met his gaze without faltering.
She did not bow.
Aveline had long to prepare and make up her mind regarding Caelum. At first, she was expectant, hopeful even. This was Alden's younger brother. The one who he would praise endlessly. She had hoped that this person would not fall to trust rumors and instead judge her like her brother did, on her own merit.
But that was not the case. It was clear that Caelum had no interest in her, actually worse-he seemed to hate her. His eyes, when meeting Aveline, were full of distrust. He had already made up his mind about Aveline.
She walked forward with measured steps, the hem of her gown brushing softly against stone. She felt every eye in the chapel on her, not with curiosity, but with wariness. The cursed bride. The southern duchess. The king's command made flesh.
The High Priest of the North stood between them, his robes a muted white and grey, his voice low as he began the rites.
"We gather today beneath the sight of the Divine and the watch of our ancestors,"
"to witness the binding of two houses, two lives, and two duties."
His gaze moved first to Caelum.
"Lord Caelum Eryndale, Duke of the North—
you stand as shield and steward of this land.
Your strength guards its borders, your will carries its burdens.
In taking a wife, you do not lessen that duty.
You share it."
Then his eyes turned to Aveline.
"Lady Aveline Faylinn—
you stand as a woman born of noble blood,
sent from the heart of the Empire to this land of frost and endurance.
In becoming Duchess of Eryndale,
you are bound not only to your husband,
but to the people who endure beneath this banner."
There was no mention of love.
No talk of devotion or affection.
This was not that kind of union.
The priest raised his hands.
"Marriage is not forged by warmth alone,"
but by resolve.
By the choice to stand even when standing is difficult.
Especially then."
He paused, letting the words settle.
"To uphold your vows.
To honor the bond you form here.
And to act, in public and in private,
as Duke and Duchess of the North."
He gestured for their hands.
Caelum extended his without hesitation—steady, unyielding.
Aveline placed hers atop his, calm despite the weight of every watching eye.
"Do you, Lord Caelum Eryndale,
accept Lady Aveline Faylinn as your lawful wife,
to stand beside you as Duchess of the North,
to honor this bond before the Divine and the realm?"
"I accept," Caelum said, his voice even.
The priest turned to her.
"Do you, Lady Aveline Faylinn,
accept Lord Caelum Eryndale as your lawful husband,
to stand beside him as Duke of the North,
to honor this bond before the Divine and the realm?"
"I accept," Aveline answered—clear, unwavering.
The priest nodded once.
"Then by the authority granted to me,
and by the laws of Velmoria and the traditions of the North,
I declare this bond sealed."
He drew a thin blade, ceremonial and untouched by blood, and lightly tapped it against their joined hands. A simple silver ring was placed in her palm—cool, unadorned, practical. When Caelum slid it onto her finger, his touch was brief, impersonal. When she returned the gesture, it was the same.
"May this union endure longer than winter,
and stronger than the storms it will face."
There was no cheer.
Only a low murmur of acknowledgment.
The ceremony ended not with a kiss, but with a formal bow—Caelum inclining his head, Aveline mirroring the motion with practiced grace.
Thus, the North gained its Duchess.
And the Empire sent its bride.
The witnesses rose. There was no applause, only the sound of boots against stone and the quiet rustle of fabric as they bowed and departed.
Caelum stepped back first.
"You will be shown to your chambers," he said evenly. "We will speak later."
Aveline inclined her head, her expression composed. She simply nodded.
They turned away from one another without looking back.
The chapel doors closed, sealing the moment behind stone and silence.
Outside, the wind swept across the manor grounds, cold and relentless.
The cursed bride had become the Duchess of the North.
And this was only the beginning.
*********************
Aveline's chambers were prepared, not welcoming.
The room was spacious but austere, its stone walls softened only by heavy drapes and a low-burning hearth. Everything within had been chosen for function rather than comfort. A place to stay. Not to belong.
She wore a simple ivory gown of her own making, elegant in restraint and untouched by the manor's neglect.
She had just removed her mantle when the door opened.
Caelum entered without ceremony.
He had shed the fur-lined coat from the chapel, now dressed in dark, fitted layers suited for command rather than celebration. His presence alone lowered the temperature of the room, as if the North itself followed him indoors.
The door closed behind him with a dull, final sound.
His eyes met Aveline's, before he moved towards the sofa to sit down.
"So, you are the cursed spawn of the Faylinn Lord."
"And you are the monstrous duke of the North."
Caelum chuckled. "Is that what they call me down south? No matter."
Aveline stared at him as he moved across the room to grab the glass, carelessly pouring in the wine. His tone changed to a more serious one. " I will be blunt, Lady Faylinn. You-"
"Laydy Eryndale." She cut him off.
"What?"
"Lady Eryndale. That is what I am now. I have the ring to prove it." She said, putting up her ring finger.
"This marriage changes nothing," he said, not bothering with pleasantries.
Aveline turned to face him fully.
"I would hope it changes some things. My name at least," she replied calmly.
Caelum's grey eyes studied her, sharp and searching. Aveline seemed unlike anyone he has met before.
"As I was saying. I will be blunt. I do not trust you. Nor do I trust your family or your land. I do not know if you are a spy or simply a cursed child. And so, I do not care whether you call yourself Lady Faylinn or Lady Eryndale. I simply wish that you keep me out of it."
"I have no expectations of you as a wife," he continued. "Nor do I intend for there to be an heir born of this union."
The words were delivered flatly, without insult or apology.
Aveline's expression did not shift.
"Then we are aligned," she said. "I did not come North with dreams of motherhood."
That earned her a brief pause.
"I know, my Lord." She spoke calmly, "You do not trust me. Your absence and refusal to meet me till now was quite telling. I do not know if it is because people call me cursed or whether you think I'm someone sent to harm you-"
"That is exactly what I think. But I will let you know now, it is better for you to stay quiet and live your life here as if you were sent here only to play the role of a puppet bride. Do anything to harm the North or my people, and I will make sure you suffer a fate far worse than any curse can bring upon you."
"Your threats are too serious, my Lord. I have no intention of harming the North or you. I do not know why the King sent me here, but I have no ulterior motive." Aveline said, moving calmly to the bed to take a seat, as if to show jim that she was not at all nervous.
That's a lie. I do have ulterior motives. To help the North. To avenge your brother. But Aveline knew that if she said any of it now, he would not believe her. So she chose to remain silent.
Caelum stepped closer, stopping at a measured distance—far enough to remain formal, close enough to assert authority.
"You will not involve yourself in the affairs of Eryndale," he said. "You will not attend council meetings, speak to my officials, or interfere in matters of governance, military, or trade."
His gaze hardened. Aveline simply looked up at him.
"The North is already strained. I will not have a southern duchess—cursed or otherwise—hindering what little stability we possess."
Aveline inhaled slowly before responding.
"I am not a spy," she said evenly. "If that is what you suspect, then you are mistaken."
Caelum did not react.
"The king does not give without taking," he replied. "And he does not send cursed daughters north out of kindness."
Aveline met his gaze head-on. Cursed this cursed that. How are you even remotely related to your brother is beyond me.
"You assume I am his blade," she said. "Or his poison."
"I assume nothing," Caelum answered. "I prepare."
Silence stretched between them, heavy and unyielding.
Then Aveline spoke again, her voice still calm—but sharpened.
"Very well," she said. "I will not involve myself in your governance. I will not sit in your councils or command your people."
She took a step forward, closing the distance he had maintained.
"But I will not be treated as a prisoner."
Caelum's brow furrowed slightly.
"I am your wife by law," Aveline continued. "Your duchess by title. If you intend to keep me silent, then you will at least show me proper respect."
She did not raise her voice.
That made her words carry more weight.
"I demand freedom of movement within this territory," she said. "And the right to conduct my own affairs—so long as they do not hinder you or the North."
Caelum watched her carefully now, reassessing.
"And if I refuse?" he asked.
Aveline's lips curved—not into a smile, but something steadier.
"Then you will have gained nothing from this marriage," she replied. "And lost what little goodwill I might have offered."
The fire crackled in the hearth.
At last, Caelum straightened.
"Very well," he said. "You will be free to do as you wish—within reason."
His eyes narrowed.
"But know this, Aveline Faylinn. If you so much as move against the North, I will not hesitate."
She inclined her head, perfectly composed.
"And know this, Duke Eryndale," she replied. "I have never known hesitation when it comes to people disrespecting me."
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Then Caelum turned toward the door.
"Is that why you did what you did," he said. "When talking to the butler or visiting the knights?"
"That is why I did what I did. I corrected them on how they are to treat me."
"And how is that?"
"With respect. The same thing I expect of you."
"Who are you to expect anything of me?"
Ah, the same words I spoke to your butler. Seems it struck a nerve.
"Must we go over this again? I am your wife. The Duchess of Eryndale. The Lady of the house. I am not a prisoner or a slave, no matter how anyone would love to see it that way."
"You speak quite insolently. What makes you think I will not have you tied down in your room unable to ever see daylight again."
Those words had Aveline halt in her thoughts. The idea of this man, or any man, having the authority over confining her for life. How dare he.
"What makes me think- myself, Duke Eryndale. You are a mighty knight, that is for sure. But I did not grow up playing with dolls and baking cakes." Her mana sparked as she talked, becoming visible to Caelum. Her eyes glowed fiercely.
"I have listened to your mocks and commands quite patiently. And I have agreed to follow your terms. But I will say this again. I am not a prisoner or a slave. I am not some weak woman you can throw into a room and forget about."
Caelum studied her as she calmly as she calmed her mana down. His hand moved steadily to the hilt of his sword tied at his waist. Aveline noticed.
Silence followed—sharp, deliberate.
Then Aveline spoke.
"I have no desire to rule beside you," she said evenly. "Nor to spy on you, if that is what you fear."
Caelum's eyes narrowed. "Fear is not what I feel."
"Doubt, then," she replied without hesitation. "You believe I was sent here to weaken you. A cursed bride, planted like rot."
He did not deny it.
Aveline exhaled slowly. "I did not choose this marriage. I was not consulted, nor informed. I was summoned and delivered, much like a letter." Her gaze hardened. "But I am not your enemy."
Caelum's jaw tightened. "Words are easy."
"Then listen to these," she said, stepping forward just enough that he could not ignore her presence. "I will not hinder you or the North, like you want. But I will not be confined to a decorative existence either. I demand respect—as your wife, if nothing else."
His eyes flicked to her hand, clenched at her side. Strong. Controlled.
"And in return?" he asked.
"Like I said, I ask for freedom," Aveline replied. "To act as I wish, so long as it does not harm your people or your rule. No surveillance. No restrictions disguised as courtesy."
The candle between them flickered.
At last, Caelum turned away. "Do what you want," he said flatly. "Just do not give me reason to regret it."
Aveline watched his back as he left.
"Likewise, my lord husband," she murmured to the empty room.
The door closed.
And for the first time since arriving in the North, Aveline smiled—not with warmth, but resolve.
The terms had been set.
This was not a marriage.
It was a ceasefire.
*****************
However, the encounter did little to settle Caelum's suspicions. In fact, it increased them.
"Gerald." He called out.
"My Lord" the butler responded, as if waiting to be called.
"Call Corvin."
Soon, another man entered the room. "My Lord."
Corvin Ashenrow, the Duke's shadow and anchor.
Tall and sharp-eyed, with ash-dark hair and a gaze that misses nothing, Corvin serves as Caelum Eryndale's right hand—not by title alone, but by years of unshaken loyalty. Calculating where Caelum is direct and reserved, Corvin observes, weighs, and advises, ensuring the North survives both open threats and quiet conspiracies.
"You said you inspected everything related to my bride."
"That is right, my Lord."
"But your report made no mention of the fact that she was a mage."
The man stood silent, eyes wide. "I do not believe her to be a mage, my Lord. There was no information to suggest that."
"Well she is. And a rather ferocious one at that."
Caelum got up from his seat, walking to the window. "Redo the investigation. She was properly taught magic by someone. And then sent to the North. There is no reason for the King to send a mage as a bride to the North. Not a good one, at least."
Whatever secret Aveline Faylinn was hiding, Caelum will soon find out. He refused to let anyone harm the North, be it his own wife.
**************