Chapter 7

Isabella looked up at the man who held her tightly in his arms. As he glanced down at her, she thought he looked vaguely familiar.

Have I met him before? The thought made her giggle. Where would she have met this man? He’d lived in the North his whole life. Maybe she was already developing an affinity for him, even though he would only be her husband for a year.

“Isabella.”

As Cleor looked down at the woman in his arms and said her name, he recalled a memory that shook him to his core. A little girl with big, beautiful eyes in a yellow dress, who taught him about the existence of dragons... That girl was Isabella. But it seemed like she had no memory of that.

In fact, she seemed to have changed a lot. Her once vibrant eyes were lifeless, and her plump, bright skin had lost its glow. He wondered what had happened during the long years he’d worked so hard to bring her here. Trying to suppress the hot emotions surging up inside of him, Cleor forced himself to speak.

“I heard that your body was weak, but I didn’t know you’d be as light as a feather. You need to start eating if you want to survive in the North.”

***

The other members of House Helsington, except for Joanne, turned back without ever stepping foot in the dukedom. It was common courtesy to take in the servants of the bride, but if they made one wrong move, they would be trapped in the northern forests all winter.

“You didn’t bring as much as I thought.”

Isabella’s dowry and gifts were being transferred to another carriage, along with Isabella herself, still in Cleor’s arms. He climbed into the carriage with her, making Isabella’s body sway as well. Cleor stuck out his arm to steady her.

“Have you always had a poor sense of balance?”

“No.”

Isabella remembered the days when she was able to walk on a balance beam during her etiquette lessons. As her health began to fail, it became harder and harder to maintain her balance—something she didn’t feel like explaining.

Cleor positioned Isabella upright before taking a seat across from her. Soon, the carriage descended into silence. He kept glancing at her, but she didn’t feel like starting a conversation just to break the awkwardness. It was just too much work to find something they could both talk about.

So she simply stroked the thick, fluffy fur that covered the entire carriage instead. She liked it. The carriage was so cozy and snug that she almost forgot she was in the desolate North. Although the carriage didn’t have a furnace, it was so warm that it might as well have. Was there a heat source hidden somewhere?

When Cleor went to help move the luggage, Isabella took a peek around the carriage. Other than its large size, it didn’t seem to have any contraptions that made it different from the carriages of the central lands.

But it’s so warm. Could it be the fur? She continued to wonder as stroked the ivory fur.

“Grand Raterbit.”

Cleor’s sudden words made her look up.

“The fur that you’re brushing so carefully belongs to a Grand Raterbit.”

“Oh, is that so? It’s very high-quality. We don’t have anything like this in the central region. I’m sure you could make a lot of money if you were to sell—”

“A lot of money?”

Why did he seem so offended?

Cleor raised a single eyebrow, making Isabella tilt her head. “If I wanted to profit from it, I’d have to camp out in the Forest of Anguish for a year. I can’t believe my bride is already suggesting we be apart when we only just met.”

Emotions surged as he recalled the trouble he went through to get the Grand Raterbit fur. He’d been proud when he saw a bit of color returning to Isabella’s pale cheeks. He didn’t mean to sound so blunt, but instead of expressing her gratitude, she made a comment about profit. If she had said that she loved it or that she wished she had more of it, he would have gone hunting that very night.

“I’m sorry if I offended you. This must be very precious.”

“Very.”

“You didn’t have to send such a precious carriage to pick me up.”

Cleor rubbed his brows, leaning back to stare at Isabella. He looked like he wanted to say something. She met his gaze for a split second before she looked away.

Isabella Helsington. She didn’t remember him. That much was certain. There wasn’t a hint of recognition in her eyes. It was a little unfair because he remembered her. Cleor was so used to hearing her name that it was imprinted in his memories, even though they had met only once when they were young.

***

When Cleor was thirteen years old, House Noverdic was summoned by the emperor and traveled to the capital. Clara had fallen ill on the journey, forcing them to temporarily stay on Count Helsington’s land. Bored with waiting around, Cleor spent his time roaming outside. That was when he met Isabella. No, that was when Isabella fell into his life. She had, quite literally, fallen in front of him.

He helped the girl up, who stood barely above his waist. She didn’t cry, even though her beautiful dress was soiled and her fall looked rather painful. Cleor felt bad for her and said out of sympathy, “It’s okay to cry if it hurts, little girl.”

“It doesn’t hurt. Also, I’m not a little girl. I’m a lady.”

“Ha, that’s funny, coming from a five-year-old.”

“I’m seven!”

Cleor’s jaw dropped. Isabella was a child with a small frame and big, beautiful eyes. She didn’t look like she was seven years old. He thought he was being generous by saying she was five.

“I’ll have you know, it’s rude to react like that when a lady tells you her age!” she squeaked, her voice sounding childishly cute.

Cleor wondered if he had smirked at her remark.

“Anyway, thank you for helping me. It’s only fair that I give you something in return.” She had excellent manners for a girl her age. She gestured to him, and he leaned down, bringing his ear close to her.

“In the Forest of Anguish, there’s a secret door that’s buried under snow. A dragon lives in there. And that dragon will save the North.”

At the time, Cleor was thirteen—a little too old to believe in legends. But he was captivated by the sparkle in her eyes and believed her. He hated how poor and cold the North was. He would grasp at any straw if it would save his desolate land.

***

Isabella’s the one who saved the North. So how did she forget me? He never forgot that name.

Victor and Angela sang Isabella’s praises almost every day. Whenever something good happened, it was Isabella this and Isabella that. The grand duke and duchess’s love for her was excessive. Whenever they fought, their eyes burning with rage, the mere mention of Isabella’s name was enough to bring peace and fill their eyes with love again.

Isabella. That was House Noverdic’s magic word. Her name had the power to dissipate hostility and mistrust. Technically, Isabella was Cleor’s first love. He had never said it out loud, but it was an obvious truth. By the grand duke and duchess’s account, Cleor had fallen in love with that girl at first sight. If he couldn’t marry Isabella, he’d remain single for the rest of his life.

I don’t remember saying that I’d remain single. Even so, he wasn’t mad at his parents. Even if they disapproved, he had no intention of marrying anyone but Isabella. It was ridiculous to think that a thirteen-year-old boy fell in love with a seven-year-old girl, but it was true.

It’s like she’s carved in my memory. At the time, he didn’t understand what these intense feelings were. Cleor rubbed his brow again. Besides, Isabella was the savior of the North. The whole region was able to rebuild thanks to her words. How on earth did she know that a dragon was sleeping in the forest? Not even the emperor was aware of that. Did she have some special abilities?

She looked like an ordinary girl in his eyes... except for the fact that she was the prettiest girl in the empire. Her shapely forehead was framed by golden locks, the bridge of her nose was as high as a mountain, her eyes as blue as the autumn sky, her skin as pale and clear as the ice caps of the North, and her red lips were so plump they looked like they might burst. On top of that, she had this captivating aura.

She was so beautiful that people would stop in their tracks to get a second glance. However, a clear mind and a strong body were the North’s idea of beauty. The way she seemed to have given up on life, not to mention her weak body, made her unsuitable to be his wife.

“There’s something I have to tell you once we arrive at the castle. Can we talk in private once we get there?”

Cleor, who had been gazing at her face, broke out of his trance. Her voice brought him back to reality.

“We won’t have time once we arrive.”

“Oh, I see. You must be very busy, Lord Cleor.”

He loved hearing her say his name. He couldn’t get enough of her voice. “Just tell me right now.”

She hesitated a little before she spoke. “It’s about the wedding.”

His ears perked up. Her voice held no emotion, but this was a very important topic. According to Clara, a poorly planned wedding would be something the bride would regret for the rest of her life.

I can’t let that happen!

“Is there anything you want?”

“Yes. I’d like to postpone it,” she replied, blurting out the words she’d be waiting to say.

“Ah. I heard that you weren’t in good health. Don’t worry. We’ll make sure that the wedding won’t cause you any undue stress.”

“I’d like it if we could push the wedding back by a year.”

“What are you talking about?” he demanded, his voice beginning to rise.

He didn’t bother hiding his disapproval. In Isabella’s eyes, pushing back the wedding was the most considerate thing she could do for House Noverdic. It was easier for a man to get remarried if his engagement was called off rather than being left a widower.

She’d thought Cleor would like the idea, so his anger was unexpected. Maybe he didn’t like talking about weddings. But she’d decided to leave behind her habit of tiptoeing around people. Even if it didn’t go well, she was determined to try.

“It’s exactly as I said.” She felt much more at ease now that it was off her chest. Her nausea seemed to subside as her stiff muscles began to relax.

“Let’s talk about this later.”

Despite her determination, Cleor quickly ended their conversation. His frosty tone made her tense again. He turned his head, revealing his manly profile.

Isabella recalled the rumors Joanne had told her. The rumors said that the young prince of the North was a fiend and a monster. She understood now—he was like a hundred-year-old tree in a dense forest, its roots firmly planted in the earth.

Even by northern standards, he was tall with a broad frame and sturdy physique. He had equally black hair and eyes, thick eyebrows, a nose as high and strong as the mountains of the empire, and a cold, hard line for a mouth. On top of that, he had healthy, tanned skin. His body radiated vigor. If she’d had the luxury to dream, perhaps she would have felt a spark for this man.

“Did you sleep well, Isabella? It’s time to get up, my love.”

Just then, Cleor’s soft voice rang in her ears. He was looking out the window. He couldn’t have said those words, but she had heard them clearly—his voice was so sweet that it could have melted her ears.

What is this? Isabella’s eyes widened.