The morning sun poured through the tall windows of the Borgia palace, painting everything in a golden hush. The light fell softly over velvet drapes and polished stone, over the delicate curls of steam rising from the tea on the table, and finally, over Vivianne herself, standing at the balcony, wrapped in a thick shawl, her breath misting in the winter air.
Below her, the palace grounds stretched out like a painting, dusted in white. Pines lined the edge of the hill, their branches heavy with snow. The world was still. Quiet. Peaceful.
So different from the cold, sharp shadows of the Rothschild estate in her past life. This place didn't suffocate her. It breathed with her. She smiled to herself, quiet and small.
Then, she felt it—that familiar warmth at her back. Strong arms curled gently around her waist. Roxanne. The alpha's presence is steady and solid. Her chin came to rest lightly on Vivianne's head, and the moment settled around them like a sigh.
"Do you think you can live here?" Roxanne's voice was low and soft, each word a warm hum against Vivianne's skin.
Vivianne leaned back into her without hesitation. She felt the steady rhythm of Roxanne's heart and the way her body moulded perfectly to hers. Her fingers found the hem of Roxanne's sleeve, brushing the embroidered threads.
"Are you kidding me?" Vivianne whispered. "Far from the Rothschild estate. Far from the emperor's reach. No more icy hallways or watching my back. This… this is everything I never thought I could have."
Roxanne said nothing for a long moment. Because, after a long report from one of his informants, she gave him the information about Vivianne's life in Rothschild's estate. She knew every scar beneath Vivianne's calm voice, every silence that lingered too long, and every time her body tensed at sudden footsteps.
She also knew what had been done to her in that cold, cruel estate. How they treated her like she didn't belong. How they punished her simply for being born, the illegitimate child of a man who never once claimed her.
The beatings. The isolation. The way no one looked her in the eye unless they wanted something or meant to hurt her. Roxanne's jaw tightened when she remembered it, but she kept her voice steady. Her anger isn't meant for this moment. Only love belonged here.
She leaned in, her lips brushing softly against Vivianne's temple. Her arms curled around her just a little tighter, holding her not like something fragile, but something precious.
"You're safe now," she whispered, voice low and firm. "With me, you're always safe. No one will touch you again. Not while I breathe."
Vivianne closed her eyes, resting her cheek against Roxanne's collar. The warmth, the scent, the sound of her voice—she could live in this moment forever. She turned slowly in Roxanne's arms, meeting her eyes. There was no need for armour between them anymore. Just love, bare and open.
"Thank you," Vivianne said, her voice full of quiet wonder. "For everything. For choosing me."
Roxanne smiled softly. Honest. Just for her wife, "I didn't choose you," she said gently, tucking a strand of hair behind Vivianne's ear. "You chose me." And when Vivianne laughed, small, bright, and full of the life she'd been afraid to want, Roxanne pulled her closer, letting the morning sun wash over them both.
The quiet between them stretched, soft and golden, until the scent of something warm and buttery drifted in from the open door. Roxanne brushed a kiss to Vivianne's forehead, then gently pulled away, her hand trailing down Vivianne's arm before lacing their fingers together.
"Come," Roxanne said, tugging her inside with a playful smile. "You haven't even touched the breakfast I ordered just for you."
Vivianne allowed herself to be led, her fingers still curled tightly around Roxanne's. The dining table near the hearth had been set with care. A silver teapot sat steaming beside two fine porcelain cups, a basket of warm croissants wrapped in linen, bowls of fresh berries, and little jars of homemade jam.
She sat, tucking her legs under her robe. Roxanne poured the tea—lavender and rose, just how she liked it—and passed her a cup with both hands, as if offering something sacred.
Vivianne took a sip and sighed. "You spoil me."
"You deserve it," Roxanne said, already spreading apricot jam on a croissant before placing it on Vivianne's plate. "Every day. For the rest of your life."
Vivianne bit into it and let out a soft hum of delight. Flaky, warm, sweet. "I still don't believe this is real sometimes."
Roxanne leaned on one elbow, watching her. "It's real. And it's just the start."
They lingered over breakfast, talking in low voices and laughing between bites. Vivianne wiped a smudge of jam from Roxanne's lip, only for Roxanne to steal a berry from her bowl in return. It's slow. Easy. Joyful.
After breakfast, Roxanne helped Vivianne into a thick velvet coat lined with fur, wrapping a soft scarf around her neck and tugging the ends snugly beneath her chin. She knelt to lace up her boots, fingers moving with quiet care, like every thread and buckle mattered. Once she was satisfied, she rose and kissed the tip of Vivianne's nose, already pink from the cold seeping through the glass windows.
But when Vivianne looked up, she blinked in surprise. "You're not wearing a coat," she said, her brow furrowing as she studied Roxanne's simple, loose shirt and gloves. "That doesn't look warm at all."
Roxanne leaned in slowly, her lips brushing against the shell of Vivianne's ear, her breath hot and smoky. "The demon blood in me always keeps my body warm… too warm, sometimes," she whispered, voice rich and teasing.
Vivianne flushed, tugging her scarf a little higher to hide the way her cheeks lit up. "Oh," she said, barely audible.
Roxanne smirked with that slow, knowing smile, the kind that always made Vivianne's heart do funny things. Then, hand in hand, they stepped outside. The wind met them first—sharp but crisp, full of fresh snow and pine. The world was a sea of white, glistening under the soft morning light. Snow coated the hedges and blanketed the flowerbeds, while icicles hung like glass ornaments from tree branches.
But none of that shimmered as brightly as Roxanne's smile. Servants tending to the walkway or sweeping snow from the stone steps paused and watched. Groundskeepers hidden behind trimmed evergreens peeked through the branches. Quiet gasps and hushed whispers travelledd through the air like the drifting snowflakes.
They had never seen her like this before. Their master, Grand Duke Roxanne de Borgia, the fearsome alpha, whose presence usually silenced rooms and froze blood—is laughing. She isn't barking orders or pacing in silence or staring like everyone in the world is offending her. She isn't locked away in war rooms or writing letters with ink-stained hands. She is holding someone's hand, and she looks genuinely happy.
And it changed everything. For the first time in what felt like ages, warmth bloomed through the cold halls of the palace. The snow no longer seemed as heavy. The gardens, once buried and quiet, now felt touched by spring.
Vivianne clung gently to Roxanne's arm as they walked the winding path. Their boots crunched over the untouched snow, leaving behind a pair of footprints that trailed close together.
"Everything's so quiet," she whispered.
"The snow makes it feel like time has stopped," Roxanne replied. "Like the world's been hushed just for us."
They walked slowly, with no destination in mind. A pair of birds fluttered overhead, landing on a bare branch. Vivianne tilted her head up, watching them, her nose pink from the cold. Roxanne chuckled and tugged her closer, wrapping her arm around her shoulders.
"I want to plant roses here in the spring," Vivianne said suddenly. "White ones. The kind that bloom even when it's still cold. Is that possible?"
"We'll make it possible," Roxanne said. "This whole garden can be yours, if you want." Vivianne smiled and leaned her head against Roxanne's shoulder as they walked on.
Just as Vivianne's lips grazed the edge of Roxanne's lips, as if sealing their moment of peace with something tender and lasting, the stillness is broken by the sound of hurried footsteps crunching over the snow-laden path.
Roxanne turned first, instinct sharpening her posture, her arm slipping around Vivianne's waist in a protective reflex without her knowing it. The butler, clad in the palace's winter uniform and visibly winded from his rush across the grounds, bowed low with deference, though the tremble in his hands betrayed the weight of the message he carried.
"Your Grace," he began, his breath curling in the cold air, "a letter has just arrived from the Imperial Palace, delivered directly by a royal courier under seal."
Roxanne's gaze dropped to the envelope the butler presented, her eyes narrowing the moment she saw the unmistakable crimson wax, imprinted with the imperial crest—a hawk with outstretched wings, perched atop the sun. That seal is not a request. It's a command, wrapped in velvet and gold.
She took the letter in silence, her fingers steady, though Vivianne could sense the shift in her energy, the way her breath slowed, and the way her shoulders squared. The wax cracked as she broke it, the sound impossibly loud in the winter air, and then, unfolding the heavy parchment, her eyes scanned the words with a tight, unreadable expression.
Vivianne watched closely, her heart tightening with each second that passed, though Roxanne had yet to say a word. She recognised the tone of the letter without needing to read it herself; she recognised it in the way Roxanne's hand clenched slightly at the corner, in the way her jaw set, and in the tension that returned to her body like armour being drawn back into place.
"It's an invitation," Roxanne said at last, her voice low but not emotionless. "To the Emperor's wedding. Attendance is mandatory. My title as Grand Duke is explicitly cited." Her gaze flicked toward Vivianne, softer now, but clouded with something darker beneath. "That means we have no choice."