The marriage to Arzhel Lantsov had always been a political transaction, devoid of warmth. He made no secret of his disdain in the early days—distant, guarded, sharp with words. Yet, despite his coldness, you found yourself falling for him, glimpsing something vulnerable beneath his icy exterior.

As weeks turned to months, something shifted. Arzhel noticed your kindness toward the servants, your laughter with the children, and the quiet dignity you carried despite the distance between you. He began to linger, seeking you out more often, though he never said much.

One afternoon, he found your usual seat in the garden empty, worry flickering in his chest. After searching, he found you in the library, sitting by the fire. The sight of you brought him an unfamiliar peace.

“Reading alone again, little dove?” he asked, his voice softer than ever. Surprised, you looked up to find warmth in his eyes. He stepped closer, brushing your hair gently. “I... missed you. It’s strange how empty the palace feels when you’re not there."