Catherine woke slowly to the pale gold of morning sunlight slipping through the tall windows of her chamber.
For a moment she remained still beneath the covers, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling.
The memory of the previous night returned piece by piece—the quiet conversation on the couch, the handkerchief folded carefully in her hands, the steady warmth of the man who had spoken to her with such calm sincerity.
At some point she must have fallen asleep.
"But… when did I move to the bed?" Her brows knit slightly as she sat up.
She did not remember standing. Nor did she remember leaving the couch.
"Did he…?"
Before her thoughts could wander further, a knock sounded at the door.
"Your Grace?" Clara's voice came gently from the other side. "It is morning."
"You may come in."
The door opened and Clara entered, followed by a young maid carrying neatly folded dresses.
The girl's bright eyes sparkled with energy.
"Good morning, Your Grace! I'm Margaret—your personal maid. I will assist you from now on!"
She bowed quickly… then immediately began talking again.
"I was told you like reading! I also like knowing about the world! Too bad I can't read. But I never miss out on the stories the old man on the square tells about!— I am sorry I talk too much sometimes. The butler says I should speak less, but I never manage it—"
Clara sighed quietly.
"Margaret."
"Yes, of course. Sorry." Margret looked down.
Catherine watched the girl for a moment before a faint smile appeared on her lips.
The endless chatter reminded her strongly of Isabella.
"It is alright," Catherine said calmly. "Your enthusiasm is… refreshing."
Margaret beamed.
While Margaret brushed her long silver hair, Catherine studied the reflection in the mirror. The unfamiliar room behind her, the new dresses, the soft morning light over Aurora Vale— Everything felt different.
"Your Grace!" Margaret continued cheerfully while fastening the delicate buttons of her pale blue gown. "His Grace asked that breakfast be prepared early today."
Catherine paused slightly.
"He did?"
"Yes, Your Grace. The Duke is waiting in the dining hall."
Catherine lowered her gaze quietly as a thought crossed her mind. "Waiting… for me?"
-----
The dining hall was bright with morning sunlight. Catherine entered slowly, her posture calm and graceful. Noah sat at the head of the long table, reading a document.
When he noticed her, he immediately set the paper aside and stood.
"Good morning, Your Highness."
His voice was polite—gentle.
Catherine inclined her head slightly.
"Good morning, Your Grace."
Servants moved quietly around them placing dishes on the table, though their eyes clearly lingered longer than necessary.
Catherine felt the weight of their curiosity but still she kept her expression composed.
Noah gestured toward the seat beside him.
"I hope you rested well."
"Yes," she replied calmly. "Though I do not recall when I fell asleep."
A faint trace of amusement crossed his expression.
"You seemed tired."
She wondered briefly if he had carried her to bed. But she did not ask.
Breakfast passed quietly, the clink of silverware the only sound beneath the occasional rustle of servants' skirts. But when Noah leaned slightly toward her, lowering his voice so only she could hear, Catherine felt something she could not ignore.
"I must return to the palace shortly," he murmured, his sapphire eyes steady on hers. "The search for the Crown Prince continues. I need to oversee it personally."
Her lips parted, but she simply nodded. Noah smiled.
Once he was gone, the dining hall felt strangely empty. Catherine finished her tea in silence before returning to the corridor. As she turned a corner, she heard whispers from the maids gathered near the servants' hall.
"I thought the Duke would marry Lady Marilyn Crawford."
"Yes, everyone believed it!"
"She's been close to him and the Crown Prince since childhood."
"And yet the princess appeared and suddenly became Duchess of Brighton…"
"Do you think they did THAT?"
" Hmm. I don't think so. I asked the girl who works in the laundry room. I guess this marriage is going to fall apart soon."
Catherine paused. The words did not hurt exactly, but they lingered. Her thoughts drifted as Noah's face and gestures flashed in her mind.
"Marilyn Crawford? Well, it's normal isn't it? Kings have concubines, nobles have mistresses...and yet...I donot understand just why...am I feeling this way...?"
Clara stepped forward immediately when she noticed her.
"Is everything alright Your Grace?"
Catherine turned around.
"Yes. Everything is alright." She let out a professional smile.
Later, in the quiet of her room, Catherine sat with a book, though her thoughts kept returning to the maids gossip and Noah, the steady warmth of his presence, and the way he had spoken to her as if she were more than just a political bride. She herself wasn't able to comprehend these feelings that were swelled up inside and just why did she have a thought like earlier.
A knock at the door startled her.
"Your Grace! It's Margaret, your personal maid!" Margret blurted, rushing in with a bright, animated grin and sat on her knees. " I am sorry for this morning. You must have been surprised, Your Grace. But.... I'll be with you for everything! Books, dresses, tea—oh, and I talk too much sometimes, but you'll like me, I promise!"
Catherine looked at her in surprise and then laughed softly, the sound lighter than it had been since she came to the Duchy. There was something comforting about Margaret's enthusiasm—reminding her of Isabella's energy and warmth. By the end of the morning, the two were already talking as if they had known each other for years, sharing small jokes and secrets about the household.
-----
The imperial palace stood in pristine silence, but beneath its grandeur, unease pulsed quietly through every corridor. The Crown Prince had not yet returned and that absence alone was enough to unsettle the entire empire.
Inside a private council chamber, officials stood gathered around a long table scattered with reports—each more uncertain than the last.
" Any news about the Crown Prince?" The Emperor asked.
"No confirmed sightings since the cathedral," one minister said carefully.
"Search units have covered the eastern routes," another added. "There is still no trace."
At the head of the chamber, the Emperor remained still, his expression unreadable but the tension in the room tightened with every passing moment. Noah stood among them, his gaze lowered to the documents before him. Each report blurred into the next. Fragments, guesses but nothing solid.
"He vanished… without leaving a single reliable trail. Considering him he is a master in sneaking out...he probably doesnot want to be discovered. but... I cannot tell the Emperor that. Just how much trouble are you going to cause me, you idiot!" Noah screamed in rage from inside.
Noah's fingers tapped once against the table, controlled but firm.
"If His Highness had been delayed by circumstance, we would have found evidence by now," he said evenly.
The room fell silent. No one argued.
The Emperor finally spoke, his voice low but commanding.
"Continue the search."
A pause.
"Quietly."
His gaze shifted toward Noah.
"You will oversee it, Duke Brighton."
Noah inclined his head.
"As you command."
-----
Later— The long corridors of the palace stretched endlessly before him. Servants stepped aside as he passed, their heads lowered, their movements cautious. The air itself felt heavier.
Noah walked in silence, his thoughts anything but still.
"Running from his own wedding…"
The idea alone was enough to draw a faint crease between his brows.
"…Irresponsible." The word slipped out under his breath.
His attendant, walking just behind him, caught it.
"That is a rather bold opinion, Your Grace."
Noah did not slow his steps.
"It is an accurate one."
The attendant let out a quiet huff of amusement.
"I cannot argue with that. It is very rare to see you act like this as well."
For a few moments, only the sound of their footsteps echoed through the corridor.
Noah said nothing. But his thoughts had already drifted. Not to the reports. Not to the investigation. But— To her. Silver hair catching the soft light and a composed expression that revealed nothing, even in the face of chaos. Standing alone at the altar, unshaken and unyielding.
His gaze lowered slightly.
"She should never have been placed in that position." The thought lingered longer than he intended.
"…Your Grace?"
Noah blinked faintly, his attention returning.
"Yes?"
"You seemed… distracted."
"I am fine."
The answer came too quickly. The attendant studied him for a moment but chose not to press. They continued walking, but Noah's thoughts did not settle. Even as he returned to his duties and he reviewed reports and gave orders— His mind returned, again and again— To the girl who had suddenly become his wife.