The bells of the cathedral rang with an icy solemnity that morning.
Snowflakes drifted lazily down from the gray sky, landing on the stone streets of Cyrillic's capital. The city was quiet, its citizens gathered in hushed awe, for today marked the end of a bloody war—and the beginning of a union no one could have predicted.
At the center of it all, a young woman walked with trembling steps. Her veil fluttered in the cold wind. Her eyes—bright, fragile, like crystal-blue lakes—were fixed on the path ahead, but her heart screamed in protest.
Princess Himeka of Barmouth.
She was only twenty years old, yet already carried the weight of a kingdom's survival on her delicate shoulders.
Her father, the King of Barmouth, had made the offer himself: his daughter's hand in marriage and the long-guarded secret of flying magic, in exchange for peace and the release of war prisoners.
Peace… at the cost of her freedom.
Himeka's lips trembled beneath the veil. So this is my fate. A sacrifice in silk.
The cathedral's great doors loomed ahead. Beyond them waited the Emperor of Cyrillic—the man said to be cold as the northern snows, ruthless in battle, and without a shred of warmth in his heart.
Her future husband.
The thought made her stomach twist. Her fingers clenched the bouquet tighter, though the thorns hidden among the roses pricked her palms.
"Your Highness," one of her attendants whispered from behind, "please… be strong."
Strong. Yes. She had to be. For her kingdom. For the thousands of lives this marriage would save.
The heavy doors creaked open.
Inside, the cathedral glowed with pale light filtering through stained glass. Nobles, generals, and priests filled the pews, their eyes following her every step. The air was thick with unspoken words—judgment, pity, curiosity.
And there, at the altar, he stood.
The Emperor of Cyrillic.
Himeka's heart froze at the sight of him.
He was tall, with an imposing presence that seemed to silence the very air around him. His hair was pure white, falling in straight strands that caught the dim light like frost. His eyes—deep crimson, sharp as blades—watched her without flicker or warmth. His expression was unreadable, a mask of stillness carved from stone.
It was as if winter itself had taken human form.
Her steps faltered for the briefest moment, but she forced herself forward. The sound of her heels against the stone floor echoed painfully in her ears.
Don't look weak. Don't look afraid.
When she reached the altar, she lowered her gaze, unable to meet those piercing red eyes.
The ceremony began. The priest's voice droned on, reciting the vows and blessings, but Himeka heard none of it. Her pulse pounded in her ears, drowning out everything else.
Her mind screamed a single, frantic thought: What kind of man is he? Will he treat me as a slave? Will he…
Her lips tightened. She didn't dare complete the thought.
When it came time for the vows, the priest turned first to the Emperor.
"Do you, His Imperial Majesty, take this woman, Himeka of Barmouth, as your lawfully wedded wife?"
A silence hung in the air. The entire cathedral seemed to hold its breath.
Then, in a voice as calm and frigid as the still night air, the Emperor spoke.
"I do."
No hesitation. No warmth. Just a simple, final answer.
The priest turned to Himeka.
"And do you, Himeka of Barmouth, take His Imperial Majesty as your lawfully wedded husband?"
Her throat felt tight. Every instinct told her to run, to scream, to refuse. But she thought of her people—her kingdom saved from destruction, the soldiers freed from enemy dungeons, the families reunited.
She swallowed hard.
"…I do."
The words left her lips like a drop of blood on snow.
The ceremony continued, ending with the exchange of rings. When the Emperor's cold fingers brushed hers, she nearly flinched. His touch was like ice, yet steady—unshaking, unyielding.
And then, before the gathered crowd, they were declared husband and wife.
The bells rang once more.
The war was over.
But for Himeka, a different kind of battle had only just begun.
The wedding feast was lavish, filled with golden platters of roasted meats, jeweled goblets of wine, and music from the empire's finest musicians. Laughter and cheers echoed through the grand hall.
But at the high table, silence reigned.
Himeka sat stiffly beside her new husband. She dared not look directly at him, though she could feel his presence like a shadow pressing down on her.
He did not eat. He did not drink. He did not smile. He merely sat, his crimson eyes scanning the hall with an expression that betrayed nothing.
Himeka forced herself to take small bites of food, though her stomach churned too much to swallow.
He hasn't spoken a single word to me since the vow…
Her chest tightened with fear. What kind of life awaited her now?
As the night dragged on, she excused herself and left the hall early, her attendants guiding her to the imperial chambers that would now be hers.
When the doors shut behind her, she finally allowed her mask to slip.
Her hands trembled. Her legs felt weak. Tears stung her eyes, though she fought to hold them back.
This was her new reality.
The cold, silent emperor.
Her husband.
And though the war outside had ended, the war within her heart had only just begun.