In the castle's main hall, the crystal candles still burned brightly.
Their reflections danced across the marble floor, along the towering walls carved with the family crest, and over faces that still carried the smiles of celebration. The wedding procession had ended prayers had been spoken, vows had been bound, and the bells of triumph had rung.
Demian now stood as a husband.
Ivanka held his arm with unmistakable pride. Her wedding gown remained flawless, white and radiant, silver embroidery tracing every movement she made. Her face glowed, her eyes alight with a happiness that nearly overflowed. Each time someone offered congratulations, her smile widened, as though the world had finally placed her exactly where she belonged.
She was Demian's wife. Official. Legitimate. Undeniable.
"Look," Ivanka whispered softly as she gazed around the hall, "everyone is happy for us."
