The dress was pearly white, heavy like the destiny you carried on your shoulders. The handmaidens surrounded you in silence, fastening buttons, adjusting the crown. Their eyes avoided yours—they knew the truth you tried so hard to ignore. Outside, the bells had been ringing for half an hour… and he still hadn't arrived.

You knew where he was. Everyone did. Kyojuro, the golden prince, hadn’t spent the night at the palace. He had been seen in the east wing gardens, where someone else—a figure of soft steps and eternal promises—waited in the shadows.

Your hands trembled. A maid knelt before you, holding them tightly, whispering: “Breathe, my queen.” But all you could think about was him… about her… and why you were still waiting.

The temple fell silent when the doors opened. Kyojuro entered. He was alone, unhurried. As if he didn’t carry the weight of your waiting, as if he didn’t know you had collapsed minutes earlier, in a corner, sobbing with your forehead resting on your knees.

Your eyes searched for him. He didn’t respond. He didn’t smile. He stood by your side like someone taking their place in a ceremony they never chose. Between you two, there was more than air: there was an absence. The absence of his soul.

Not a word. Not a touch. Only a forced “I do” before a blind crowd. But you saw it: the way he averted his gaze, toward an invisible point… as if he wished someone else stood there.

And in that moment, amid the people’s cheers, you understood you weren’t being given to a man. You were being bound to a heart that was no longer his.