Lilian could barely focus.
Her thoughts drifted in and out. She was exhausted, her body ached, and she was super hungry. Her stomach twisted painfully with every slow breath, but she forced herself to endure.
The servants had managed to sneak her a single glass of water to drink, but unfortunately, that was all she could get. Gloria had made it painfully clear that she would not be allowed to eat anything until her wedding with the duke was deemed a complete and flawless success.
She had been bathed, scrubbed, and scoured by the servants until her skin felt raw and overly sensitive, as if even the slightest touch might bruise. When they were finally finished, they dressed her in a simple white gown. The plain fabric hung loosely from her narrow shoulders, offering no shape, no grace, swallowing her form as if she might disappear inside it. It held no lace, no embroidery or elegance.. just lifeless fabric clinging to her form in ways that didn't make her feel like a bride at all. It was not made to flatter, only to clothe her pitied body.
Quite suitable for someone like her.
Now seated before the tall glass mirror, two servants hovered around her, carefully working to conceal the burn scar that marred her cheek, a cruel mark that had stolen her beauty. Layer after layer of both powder and pigment were pressed into her skin, but no matter how carefully the maids worked, the scar refused to vanish completely, its faint outline still visible beneath their hours of effort.
Gloria, who always came in from time to time to check, now stood at the side of the room, her lips curling in thinly veiled disgust.
"This won't do," she muttered coldly, shaking her head. "This useless girl… it's not like you're the first to be burned in the face with hot water. Why couldn't your face heal properly, like a normal human being, hmm?"
Lilian said nothing. She dared not.
"If the Duke sees that ugly scar on your wretched face, he might refuse to go through with this alliance. We'll have no choice but to resort to the only solution we have left."
As if on cue, the door to the dressing room opened, and another servant walked in, presenting a half mask to Gloria.
"You're going to have put this on," she said flatly.
Lilian made the mistake of lifting her gaze.
"Don't you dare look at me with those demonic eyes of yours," Gloria snapped at her. "Are you suddenly deaf? You aren't using your eyes to hear people now, are you? Lower that gaze of yours when I'm addressing you. Or have you truly lost your senses rotting away in that miserable room of yours? You insolent child!"
Lilian simply lowered her gaze, her eyes dropping to her pale hands.
The only reason Gloria probably hadn't struck her already was because today was her wedding day. Any further bruise might raise questions, and any marks might lower her value.
If Lilian were honest… if she could even afford to be honest… she no longer had the strength to feel humiliation the way she once did.
She was simply tired.
Her stomach cramped so sharply she had to clench her jaw to keep herself from making a sound.
Gloria turned to one of the servants attending to Lilian and pressed the mask into her hand. She ordered, "Cover the scar. Make sure it sits perfectly. If Duke Caelan notices her scar after the ceremony, then it ceases to be our concern."
The servants hesitated briefly before stepping closer, lifting the mask closer to Lilian's face. The cold metal brushed her skin before it was fixed into place. Lilian remained still, as though her own body no longer truly belonged to her.
Her eyes were hollow and emotionless.
**************
The heavy doors of the ceremonial hall parted, and a hush swept through the gathered guests. Naturally, one would have expected the Duke's wedding to draw a grand crowd, with nobles packed shoulder to shoulder beneath glittering chandeliers. But to Lilian's quiet relief, the hall was only… sparsely filled. Both families occupied opposite sides, accompanied by a handful of noble acquaintances who were only present out of obligation rather than joy.
There were no extravagant decorations. No lavish floral arches, no silken drapes cascading from high pillars.
The hall looked almost ordinary – painfully so – and that normalcy felt wrong for a moment that was meant to define a lifetime… her lifetime. Yet perhaps this was fitting. The emptiness of the space mirrored the hollowness settling deep in her chest. A marriage without desire, without choice. In its bleakness, the atmosphere was almost cruelly perfect.
As she entered, all heads turned.
Lilian stepped forward slowly, the polished floor cold beneath her thin slippers. Every moment felt unreal, as if she were walking through someone else's dream… or perhaps this was her own nightmare, one she had no power to wake up from. She blinked rapidly, constantly fighting dizziness. If she were to ruin this moment for them, her uncle and his wife would surely not spare her.
At the far end of the hall stood her soon-to-be husband.
Duke Caelan Morvane.
His presence was not loud, not overtly cruel – yet it dominated the chamber all the same, an invisible force that pressed upon the air and suffocated warmth. He did not smile. He did not move. He simply waited like someone who was forced to be here.
Lilian peered at him through the sheer fall of her transparent veil, and a faint shiver traced its way down her spine.
He was clad in dark, richly embroidered garments, the fabric kissed with muted silver threads and trimmed with shadowed fur. To her, he looked less like a groom and more like a winter given form – cold, merciless and distant.
He emanated no warmth.
The Morvanes – a name she had come to despise long before today. A family synonymous with cruelty, pride, and power taken without mercy.
She did not bother to glance toward the seated guests on either side of the altar. What use was seeking comfort from silent witnesses who had forced this fate upon her?
When she finally stood before Caelan, he was taller, and his sheer presence seemed to swallow her brittle form whole.
She was scared. But even showing that required strength she no longer had.
The officiant cleared his throat, his voice trembling under the weight of the silence. "Let us begin the union between House Morvane and House Vale."
As the procession began, Lilian kept her gaze lowered beneath her veil, her fingers clenched so tightly around her bouquet that the stems creaked. She was standing before the duke, yet it felt as though a vast distance separated them… not in steps, but in spirit.
He did not spare her a single glance.
Her vision drifted past his shoulder, catching sight of the Morvane sigil embroidered proudly on the banner, and she lowered her gaze, her heart racing like it was on a run for survival. The last time she saw that sigil, it was twelve years ago. There was fire, screams splitting the night, and steel flashing beneath that very emblem.
Her knees threatened to give way, and only the sheer force of will kept her upright.
Caelan spoke when required, and he delivered each vow as though he were reciting a contract, not binding his life to another soul. Lilian, who was already too weak, murmured her response with the same hollow obedience.
It was painfully clear none of them wanted to be here. When the final words were spoken and the union sealed, the alliance was accepted with cold formality.
"Are we done?"
Caelan turned away, not waiting for an answer.
"The alliance has been secured, right? I still have matters to attend to, so I'll excuse myself first."
"But… My Lord–" the officiant dared to speak, clearly startled. "You've only just been wed."
"And?"
He waved the officiant dismissively, silencing the priest as he continued toward the towering doors. "If she is ready to leave, my men can take her back to the North. I really don't have time for this."
And he was gone.
Lilian, left alone with the priest, stared at the empty space where her husband had stood only moments ago.
He hadn't even bothered to lift her veil.