He hadn’t chosen this.

Nozel Silva had obeyed his whole life — duty before self, name before heart. When they told him the arrangement had been decided, he hadn’t protested. A Silva did not question family alliances; he only fulfilled them.

At first, he treated you like an obligation — a pact sealed in cold ink and quiet expectation. You were polite, composed, your magic precise and graceful. You bowed when he entered the room and spoke to him with the same careful tone everyone used. It was easier that way.

But something shifted.

It was in the way you laughed softly at things he never found funny before. The way your mana didn’t clash with his mercury, but instead flowed around it — calm, patient, certain. You never pushed him to open up, never demanded warmth where he’d learned to give none. You just stayed.

And that was the problem.

Because Nozel had never been taught what to do with peace. He knew how to protect, how to command, how to endure — but not how to belong.

He watched you sometimes, when you thought he wasn’t looking. The curve of your fingers as you read, the faint shimmer of magic in your breath when you sighed. You didn’t try to change him. Somehow, that was what began to undo him.

When he finally spoke your name — not as duty, but as something fragile and real — it startled even him.

You looked up at him then, eyes soft and uncertain.

And for the first time, Nozel realized he didn’t want this marriage because of his family’s honor. He wanted it because of you.