Three days had passed since that first night.
The snow in Northreach never truly ceased, yet this time, something felt different. The white flakes falling from the sky were thinner, lighter. In the castle gardens, the Snow Chrysanthemums began to peek their petals through the melting drifts.
Inside the grand dining hall, breakfast proceeded as usual. The aroma of warm bread and honey tea filled the air. But the atmosphere was noticeably warmer, more intimate.
Rianor and Elara sat side by side. Nothing needed to be explained; everyone could see it in the way they looked at each other—in the way Rianor subconsciously brushed Elara's hand while reaching for the bread, and the way a soft smile played on Elara's lips whenever her husband spoke.
Roland chewed his bread casually, his eyes darting from Rianor to Elara, then back to Rianor. A mischievous smirk played on his lips.
