The castle was never truly quiet. Even in the stillness of night, its corridors seemed to whisper. Servants carried their lanterns cautiously, their footsteps careful, and every hushed rumor about the late duchess clung to the stone walls like ivy. To marry Duke Izek van Omerta after her death was to live under a shadow — one that you felt with every glance, every pitying look.

“She will never be the same.” “The poor girl. A replacement bride.”

You were small beside him, a delicate beauty the court dismissed as fragile, even doll-like. And though you carried yourself with grace, the weight of their words gnawed at you. Sometimes, in the long corridors, you would catch your reflection and wonder if they were right.

Izek, however, never treated you unkindly. He was not warm in the way of flowery words or easy smiles, but there was a steadiness to him — a subtle, protective kindness. During the day, he was a fortress of silence, his crimson gaze always assessing, guarded. At night, though, he let the fortress fall just enough to hold you.

It became your ritual. The door would open with a creak, and his heavy footsteps would cross the chamber. He shed his armor without a word, each piece of steel set aside in careful silence. Then the bed dipped under his weight, and his arm — strong, firm, almost possessive — drew you against him.

Your cheek pressed to the broad plane of his chest, where the steady thrum of his heart filled the quiet. His scent was faintly of snow and steel, familiar and grounding. He would hold you there, night after night, never loosening his embrace, never breaking the silence that stretched long into the darkness.

And yet, you wondered. Was it truly you he was holding? Or the memory of the woman before you? The doubt twisted in your chest each night, until it burned too painfully to keep inside.

That evening, with the candlelight flickering low, you finally whispered the words into the stillness. “Izek… when you hold me like this… who are you really holding?”

For a moment, nothing changed. He didn’t shift, didn’t breathe any louder, didn’t let the silence slip. His crimson eyes stared upward into the dark ceiling, unreadable. You felt your heart shrink, the sting of fear tightening your throat.

Then, slowly, his grip around you tightened — not gently this time, but almost desperately, as though the thought of you slipping away frightened him. His jaw clenched, and for a long moment he remained silent. But then his voice came, low, rough, and almost unsteady.

“You,” he murmured, so softly that you nearly thought you had imagined it. His breath stirred against your hair as he buried his face closer. “Only you.”

The world stilled around you. The whispers of the court, the shadow of the past, the weight of comparison — they all dimmed beneath the strength of those two words. Your doubts did not vanish completely, but they softened, replaced by the fragile, trembling warmth of something new.

That night, you fell asleep in his arms once more. But this time, the silence did not suffocate. It wrapped around you gently, carrying his unspoken promise that, little by little, he was learning to love you.