Inside the guest chamber of the castle.
The man’s face looked utterly grim, as if he might collapse to the floor at any moment.
He clenched his jaw tightly, his hand trembling as he signed the contract on the table.
At last, after pressing his blood mark upon it, he slumped weakly into the chair, as though all strength had been drained from him.
“This… should be enough, shouldn’t it, Your Highness the Imperial Princess.”
He gritted his teeth and forced out the words.
Yet the Imperial Princess before him remained as composed as ever; not the slightest trace of pity could be seen in those deep, fathomless eyes.
Even her words were as cold and merciless as a nail, driven straight into the man’s heart.
“This is all your people can offer, isn’t it?”
With this contract signed, their entire race would now fall completely under the Holy Maiden’s control.
Whether it was their unique magic, heirlooms, or even his own sister, who would from now on serve as the Holy Maiden for the human race, all would belong to her.
From this moment on, the name of the Frostbound Tribe would exist in name only.
But to let his people break free from the thousand-year curse and escape that frozen wasteland, no matter how excessive the contract, he would still sign it…
Yurish lifted her head to check the time; as she’d expected, it was exactly eleven o’clock.
She tapped the floor with her golden scepter, and after a brief moment, Gers—who had been waiting outside—opened the door and entered.
“You called for me, Your Highness?”
“Go, and help him prepare his wedding attire.”
“Yes. This way, Lord Patriarch.”
Gers gave him an elegant bow, then made a gesture of invitation.
The man shakily rose from the chair, his hands nearly giving out as he left his seat.
“Shall I assist you, Lord Patriarch?”
“No, I’ll manage… myself…”
He mustered all his remaining strength, as if defending the last shred of dignity he had as the Frostbound Tribe’s chieftain, but to Yurish, it only looked all the more laughable.
click
The guest chamber’s door closed, leaving Yurish alone in the quiet room.
She locked the door, then turned and walked to the window.
Opening the window, the scent of fresh snow blossoms drifted into the room, intoxicating Yurish’s senses.
But when the sound of the bustling crowd outside reached her, she felt only irritation.
They were celebrating—but not her wedding.
They were rejoicing for the arrival of the Holy Maiden.
They wanted blessings, happiness.
All for themselves…
There was no one left in this world who truly cared about her.
None of those well-wishes were sincere; they were perfunctory, hypocritical, and she knew it well.
If stripped of this identity, who would be willing to offer her their blessings?
Yurish gazed out at the frenzied crowd, uttered not a word, then silently closed the window again.
She tossed the scepter—a symbol of her power—onto the table without care, then sat on the chair, hugging her bare legs.
She simply stared out at the sky, lost in thought, her somber eyes merging with the deep blue heavens until finally, she murmured softly, “And am I not the same…”
But those who truly cared for her were already gone.
Who would respond to this yearning and hope for blessings she still held in her heart…
***
The time was drawing near.
The chapel’s blessing altar was already arranged.
According to tradition, after the blessing ceremony, the couple would link arms and leave the chapel, standing atop the castle under the gaze of all the people to exchange rings, and at last, share a kiss.
By now, Yurish had changed into a pure white wedding gown.
Her originally fair and delicate skin was now shrouded in the untouchable sanctity of this dress.
Her figure was full and graceful; the soft fabric of the gown strained to contain her curves, as if it bore the weight of a ripe, crystal-clear fruit, begging to be unwrapped, to touch the honeyed sweetness within.
Yurish’s face was veiled by the translucent fabric, only her sky-blue hair cascading down her back.
With each step, her hair gently brushed the sculpted lines of her slender, elegant back.
Beneath the sunlight, her wedding dress seemed less dazzling than her own radiant skin.
She held a tight bouquet of red roses, which looked oddly out of place amid the fluttering petals of snow blossoms in the air.
Standing opposite her was the man—the chieftain of the Frostbound Tribe, or rather, the Holy Patriarch, Amotdaya Lehti.
His features were handsome, suiting the impeccable black morning suit he wore.
The face beneath Yurish’s veil was breathtakingly beautiful.
Even Amotdaya, who had just suffered under her hand, couldn’t help but be entranced upon glimpsing her face.
But beneath the veil, Yurish’s eyes were chillingly dark.
When Yurish noticed the look in his eyes, she couldn’t suppress a wave of nausea. Her delicate brows furrowed—her first genuine reaction since meeting this man.
It was her own wedding, yet she felt no anticipation.
She had once dreamed of what her marriage might be like—happy yet busy, and if possible, with a bit of tender intimacy woven into daily life.
But all of that was only imaginable if she married the one she loved.
Any marriage outside of that was beyond consideration.
So, what awaited her after this…?
Would she remain just as busy, just as lonely?
She did not believe he could fill the hollow loneliness in her heart, because it had already once been occupied.
Now, there was no room for anyone else…
She no longer harbored the slightest hope for her future.
When she thought about it, only revulsion and disgust came to mind.
She wondered if stepping into marriage with such thoughts would incur divine punishment, but there was nothing she could do.
All she wanted now was to fulfill her destiny as quickly as possible—bear a child with him, raise that child, let them become the new monarch, and then go in search of her true love—perhaps that person was still waiting for her…
Whenever she thought of this, a sense of urgency would well up inside her.
She clung to that single thread of hope, refusing to let it escape.
The Holy Maiden and the High Priest had already arrived.
They stood below the altar, singing the familiar words—“May your marriage be like the free wind, wrapped in flowers and happiness. May your joy blossom like flowers. May you lean on each other all your lives, never forsaking one another. May the great Goddess of Love, Hephitia, bestow her blessing upon you…”
The world seemed quiet in that moment.
The gentle breeze carried the solemn verse to Yurish’s ears.
People closed their eyes, offering her hollow blessings from the heart.
But beneath the veil, Yurish’s eyes remained open.
She simply bowed her head, lost in thought.
This scene was all too familiar.
She should have heard someone’s voice calling her name.
She waited, but it never came.
“Please exchange the rings.”
With trembling hands, the man took Yurish’s hand and slid the wedding ring onto her finger, then linked arms with her and led her toward the top of the castle…
Lost in thought, Yurish did not utter a word along the way, accepting everything in silence.
The two stood upon the platform, about to complete the final step in front of all the people.
The crowd below waited quietly for this moment, bouquets ready in hand, awaiting the instant when petals would be tossed as the couple kissed.
The man seemed nervous and ill at ease.
He took a subtle breath, closed his eyes, and slowly leaned in…
Yurish’s gaze was still cold.
She did not wish to see his face up close, so she closed her eyes tightly as well.
Bang!
Just as their lips were about to meet, the colorful stained glass window behind them suddenly shattered.
Countless shards drifted through the air, sparkling under the sunlight like stars in the night sky.
With that thunderous crash, Yurish opened her eyes—and met, at last, those long-absent, jet-black pupils…