I Died on My Wedding Day

VIII: Pengakuan Pascale'1

The northern wind blew softly, yet it was enough to make anyone shiver. Alaric walked in silence through the open castle corridor, his footsteps heavy. Beside him, Rosieta struggled slightly with her long gown, yet she refused to slow down.

“I will escort you to your chamber, my lady,” Alaric said flatly. His guard was still as high as the walls of Vaelcryss. He could not forget last night’s events, and trust was never cheap to him.

Rosieta stopped abruptly. She turned to face him, her lips slightly pouting—an expression carefully designed to look cute yet demanding.

“No,” she refused sweetly. “I’m bored in my room. The servants are stiff and dull. I want to spend more time with you, Alaric.”

Before Alaric could object, Rosieta glanced back at her personal attendants following behind. “You may return. Prepare lunch and deliver it to the place I mentioned earlier. I wish to be alone with Lord Alaric.”

The servants bowed obediently and departed without a sound. Rosieta turned back to Alaric, then rose on her toes to whisper, her sweet scent tickling his senses.

“A little privacy that's okay, right? Hehe.”

Alaric sighed in reluctant surrender. Refusing the wishes of an honored guest—especially a fragile-looking woman—was not the etiquette of a proper host. “Very well. What do you wish to do?”

Rosieta’s eyes sparkled. Without warning, she seized Alaric’s large, rough hand. “Come with me! Last night I saw a beautiful blue glow from my window. It’s in the forest over there!”

She pulled him along, running lightly through the snow like a child who had found a new playground. Though reluctant at first, Alaric allowed himself to be dragged along. Behind his cold gaze, a faint curiosity stirred toward this girl who seemed so free.

They arrived at a small clearing in the heart of a dense pine forest. The place was silent, far from the bustle of the castle. In the center of the white snowfield grew shrubs bearing neon-blue roses that glimmered faintly even in daylight.

“Look! Aren’t they beautiful?” Rosieta exclaimed, crouching to touch the petals carefully. “These are Frostie Roses. They are said to grow only on blessed land.”

Moments later, Rosieta’s servant appeared from nowhere, laid out a picnic basket and a thick mat beneath a dry, towering tree, then vanished again as swiftly as he had come.

Alaric and Rosieta sat together, enjoying meat sandwiches and warm wine. The forest’s quiet slowly eased Alaric’s tension.

“You know,” Rosieta said while plucking a leaf, “I brought the seeds of these flowers because I wanted to introduce them to your siblings. I heard you have two beautiful younger sisters.”

“Yes,” Alaric replied briefly, his eyes softening at the thought of Elodie and Eloise. “They are everything to me.”

“You’re fortunate,” Rosieta murmured, her smile slowly fading into a melancholic expression. “I… I envy you.”

Alaric frowned slightly. “Don’t you also have a sibling? Theodore. Isn’t that the same?”

“The same?” Rosieta laughed, but the sound was bitter and broken. “Not at all, Alaric. Theodore… is different.”

She lowered her gaze, fidgeting with the hem of her dress. “My brother is a monster wearing a prince’s mask. He is sweet in front of others, but when the doors close, he will do anything to eliminate me.”

Alaric fell silent, his interest sharpened. This confirmed his suspicions.

“Why does he hate you?” Alaric asked.

“Because I am a threat,” Rosieta whispered. “In Eldenval, our law is different from the North. The heir does not have to be male. The strongest and smartest shall rule. Father and the people dislike Theodore for his vile nature—he chases women, wastes money, and relies only on brute strength. They prefer me.”

She lifted her face, tears glistening in her beautiful eyes.

“Since childhood, Theodore has set traps for me. He once poisoned my tea, once loosened my horse’s saddle… he wants me gone so he will be the only choice.”

Her shoulders trembled as restrained sobs finally broke free. She looked so small, so fragile within the savage forest.

“That is monstrous,” Alaric hissed, clenching his fists. Her story made terrible sense. If Theodore could poison his own sister for the throne, poisoning Eloise to destroy the alliance would be nothing to him.

Seeing Rosieta sob, Alaric’s protective instinct took over. He shifted closer and stiffly drew her head against his broad chest.

“Cry,” Alaric said awkwardly. “You are safe here.”

Rosieta buried her face against him and wept. Yet behind the thick fabric of his tunic, her lips curved into a faint smile. You’re caught, Young Lord.

Meanwhile, inside Castle Vaelcryss, Sir Baldr strode through the halls with a tense expression. He had checked the training yard, the dining hall, even the stables. His lord was nowhere to be found.

The great clock struck two in the afternoon. Alaric had never vanished this long without word.

At a corridor intersection, Sir Baldr halted when he encountered Elodie carrying her bow.

“Sir Baldr!” Elodie called cheerfully. “Will you train with me? Brother Alaric disappeared somewhere, so I’m bored.”

Baldr did not soften. “Forgive me, Lady Elodie. I have urgent business. Have you seen the Young Lord?”

“Yes, this morning,” Elodie answered innocently, twirling an arrow. “He went out with Lady Rosieta. They said they were taking a walk. But it’s strange—they’ve been gone for hours.”

Sir Baldr’s eyes widened. Hours? Outside the castle? With the Caelthrone princess and no Vaelcryss escort?

“Thank you for the information, my lady,” Baldr said quickly, then ran toward the stables, ignoring all decorum.

Back in the forest, Alaric still held Rosieta as she calmed. Her warmth made him forget the cold snow. For a brief moment, he felt… needed.

But the moment shattered with the thunder of approaching hooves.

THUD!

A black warhorse stopped sharply beside them. Sir Baldr leapt down, breath ragged, white vapor rising from his mouth.

Rosieta gasped, pulling away from Alaric, her tear-streaked face filled with confusion.

Baldr immediately knelt on one knee before Alaric, ignoring Rosieta’s displeased stare.

“Forgive me, Young Lord,” Baldr said urgently. “I must interrupt you. There is a matter of great importance that requires your presence in your study. At once.”

Alaric’s softened gaze sharpened again. He knew this code. Baldr would never chase him into the forest unless something重大 had been found.

Alaric stood, brushing the snow from his trousers. He extended a hand to Rosieta, helping her up.

“We must return, Lady Rosieta,” Alaric said firmly, his voice once again that of the Northern ruler, not a man to lean on.

Rosieta nodded gently, wiping away her tears. “Very well. Thank you for listening to me, Alaric.”

The journey back was swift and silent. At the castle gate, Alaric instructed the servants to escort Rosieta to her chamber under the pretense of rest.

Once Rosieta vanished behind the grand doors, Alaric turned to Sir Baldr.

“What did you find?”

“Not here, my lord,” Baldr whispered. “In your study. Pascale has returned.”

They hurried toward Alaric’s study, their footsteps echoing through the halls, carrying the omen that this shadow war had just entered a new stage.