After we had taken our seats on the high dual thrones positioned prominently for all to see, the formal function officially began according to ancient tradition. While palace servants moved gracefully among us serving delicious sweet milk-based beverages and an array of elaborate sweets—some made with honey, others with sugar, all beautifully decorated—the time-honored tradition of presenting gifts to the newly married couple commenced.
The first person to bring gifts to us was, of course and as expected, Princess Harusha. As Arvid's aunt by blood and the previous Emperor's biological sister—she held the highest and most prestigious position amongst all the Imperial family members. Her status was unquestionable and recognized by everyone present.
She was surprisingly much younger in appearance than I had initially thought she would be, looking to be in her early forties at most. Arvid had mentioned earlier that his father had been ten years older than his sister, making Harusha the baby of that generation. If Arvid's father were still alive today, he would be in his mid-fifties. Despite her age, Harusha carried herself as a very proud woman—that much was immediately and abundantly visible in the precise way she held herself, the confident manner of her speaking, the deliberate grace of her walking. Everything about her posture and bearing displayed her elevated status and self-assurance loudly and clearly to the world.
She was obviously very well cared for, with access to the best cosmetics, clothing, and personal attendants. Not even a single hair on her elaborately styled head was out of place, every strand perfectly positioned. And she was undeniably, strikingly beautiful—a natural beauty that commanded attention. Her advancing years had done absolutely nothing to diminish or steal her beauty from her; if anything, maturity had added character and depth to her attractive features.
Her three daughters were naturally beautiful as well, clearly having inherited favorable features from both parents. But if I was being completely honest in my assessment, neither of them had quite managed to surpass or even fully match their mother's exceptional beauty. Harusha possessed something special, a magnetism beyond mere physical attractiveness.
"She takes after my grandmother in appearance and bearing," Arvid had said quietly beside me while we watched them approaching our thrones with measured, ceremonial steps. They carried tray after tray of carefully wrapped gifts balanced in their hands, the packages clearly prepared with great care and attention.
"I'll take you to meet my grandmother after we get properly settled here in the capital," he added quickly, his voice taking on a note of warm affection. "She lives in Turga, on the seaside. She prefers the quiet there."
Well, that was genuinely surprising and unexpected information to suddenly hear. His grandmother was still alive? I had never thought about or somehow known that particular fact about his family. Or perhaps, I realized with some guilt, I had simply unconsciously assumed that his grandparents were all dead, just like all of mine had been? I had never thought to specifically ask about extended family.
My older brother had been the fortunate one in our family who had actually been able to meet both sets of our grandparents while they were still alive and could share their wisdom. By the time I was born into the world, all four of my grandparents had already crossed over the sacred mountain Serana to the paradise beyond, guided on their final journey by the god Tumlin according to our beliefs and traditions.
Since the dragon blood curse was actively present in their veins, causing the heartbreak sickness, none of them could physically survive waiting much longer after their beloved other half's death. When one died, the other followed within weeks or months at most, their bodies simply giving up without their other half. All I had ever been introduced to regarding my grandparents was their memorial graves, which I visited dutifully on the annual day of the dead that was observed throughout Draga to honor ancestors.
I had often wondered privately what it would actually feel like to have living grandparents present in my life. Would they tell fascinating stories drawn from their long memories and experiences? Would they sing ancient poems and lullabies that only they knew, passed down through generations? Would they offer advice and comfort? I would never know.
Princess Harusha and her family had now reached the base of our raised platform. They formally introduced and presented their gifts to us with appropriate ceremony and explanation. The presents were exquisite—fine, expensive fabrics that had been personally crafted into beautiful sarees for me and elegant tunics for Arvid by their own skilled hands. This wasn't something they had merely commissioned from professional weavers; they had invested their own time and considerable skill.
"I personally weaved images of a river and the sun into the fabric, as our ancient legends suggest we should for newlyweds," Princess Harusha explained, indicating the subtle patterns worked into the cloth. "May your love flow eternal like water and shine constant like the sun."
What touched my heart most deeply about these particular gifts was recognizing that they had spent significant personal time, effort, and skills on creating them rather than simply purchasing something expensive. That personal investment made these gifts feel much more genuinely heartfelt and special than any amount of gold or jewels could have been.
After offering their formal blessings and good wishes for our marriage, Princess Harusha took an additional step forward, moving closer to where I sat. She extended both of her hands toward me in a gesture that was clearly asking for mine in return, requesting permission for more intimate contact.
I slowly placed my hands in hers, and she immediately squeezed them gently but firmly. Then she deliberately looked directly into my eyes, holding my gaze with obvious intention. What she wanted to say required this direct connection.
"I didn't know how long I had been waiting for this day to finally arrive," she began, and I could hear genuine emotion thickening her voice. "Arvid is like my own son to me, not just my nephew. I helped raise him personally, working alongside his mother when he was young and vulnerable. To me, in my heart, he is my first offspring, as dear as if I had given birth to him myself. I love him to death, more than I can properly express."
She paused, gathering herself. "When his father—my beloved brother—told me he wanted Arvid to marry the one he truly loved rather than accepting a political arrangement, I had absolutely no qualms or objections about that decision. After all, I myself married purely for love, going against some family expectations. I know how important that is."
Her grip on my hands tightened slightly. "He is fundamentally a good man—a good child, still, to me. There may be some flaws in his character, some rough edges and mistakes, but no one in this world is perfect. We all carry wounds and make errors. Please give him a fair chance. Love him and take care of him with your whole heart. He will do the same for you, I promise. We raised him right, his mother and I. I genuinely believe that."
Her voice became noticeably choked with emotion, tears beginning to well in her eyes. "If my brother and his wife—Arvid's father and mother—were alive today to see this moment, they would be the happiest people in the entire world. Oh my, listen to me. I'm blabbering like a sentimental old woman."
She drew a shaky breath and squared her shoulders. "What I'm trying to say is: I accept you completely into our family as if you were our own daughter by birth. From now on, from this moment forward, you are one of my daughters too. You can call me mother if you wanted to, if that feels right to you. If not, that's perfectly fine too—I won't be offended. What I want to make absolutely clear is that I bless this union with my whole heart."
"Thank you, Mother," I replied to her without hesitation, the word feeling natural and right on my tongue.
Who on earth says this woman is supposedly prideful and arrogant? She was honestly the sweetest and most genuinely lovely woman I had ever met. Her reputation clearly didn't match her reality.
Her eyes widened dramatically with obvious shock when the word "mother" spoken in the Arthia language reached her ears and she processed what I had called her. Her eyes immediately glistened with fresh tears that threatened to spill over.
Then she turned and reached out to grasp Arvid's hands as well, including him in this moment. "You heard that? Did you hear what she called me?" Her voice was absolutely full of pure bliss and joy. "She called me mother!"
Arvid nodded in acknowledgment, a soft smile on his face at seeing his aunt so happy.
Then, in a display of the playful familiarity that existed between them, she suddenly and somewhat roughly slapped his arm in mock reproach.
"You brat, you absolute brat," she said, but her tone was warm and teasing rather than angry. "You somehow managed to choose the very best of the best for yourself, didn't you? How did you get so lucky?"