I had fallen asleep lying on my stomach. When I opened my eyes, a faint, blurry veil slowly lifted from my vision. I had to blink a few times. My untied hair was scattered everywhere, unruly and disheveled. My nightgown had bunched up under the blanket, riding almost up to my thighs. Just how deeply had I slept... The last thing I remembered was Ambrose carrying me in his arms. Ah, I must have been a burden... I tried to recall what happened next; whether it was out of sheer exhaustion or if I had truly fallen asleep, I couldn't be sure. I pulled my knees to my chest.

My ears caught the sound of those footsteps, which somehow still sounded soft. They were coming from the bath. A moment later, the door creaked open, and Ambrose stepped out. His black hair was wet, swept back. When our eyes met, I realized he hadn't expected me to be awake either. He stood before me not in a robe or nightwear like the first night, but as a man with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist.

Though I forced myself not to look, my eyes involuntarily drifted down his body. The scars etched into his skin made me question the palace healers. How had their greatest weapon been allowed to sustain such damage? How could they have failed to heal him? After all those wars, all the shed blood and perilous strategies—it should have been impossible for any trace to remain. Yet these wounds were the raw markers of his battles. He was strong. Mine was merely an innocent curiosity... but realizing my gaze had lingered too long, I immediately bowed my head. My cheeks grew blazing hot.

"Did you sleep well, then?" he asked.

"Yes..." I said softly. I hadn't slept like that in a long time. It must have been from exhaustion...

"The ball my father Leontius mentioned is today. Let me have breakfast brought up before we begin our conversation," he said, turning to call out the door.

I quickly scrambled to the edge of the bed. "There is no need," I said. At the sound of my voice, he stopped and turned back to me.

"I will be squeezed in a corset, after all," I continued. "Women do not eat on days like this. This ball is important to me..." I looked him in the eyes. "Let me skip the meal—"

My words were cut short because his gaze hardened. He had fully turned his body away from the door and toward me. His shoulders tensed above the towel, and his eyes rested on me with a silent but crushing resolve.

"Can you give me a single reason for not eating that would sit well with me?"

His tone was still calm. But within that calm lay such a command that you wouldn't want to defy it. In fact, you couldn't. All at once, I felt like a child. Like a child who had been scolded but knew she was in the wrong. I had never believed in these rules, but I had no worth of my own, and I was justified in wanting to look beautiful beside Ambrose. Who knows how beautiful his second wife would be? And perhaps, when that time came, I would flee this place... Because even if I wasn't in love, I couldn't bear such a thing.

"I just want to look good for the ball," I whispered. "I don't want to feel bloated."

He took a step. As he approached, I turned kneeling on the bed to try and remain at eye level with him. But he was already far above me. Both in stature... and in presence.

"You're already beautiful."

He spoke those words not as a compliment, but as an undeniable fact. Then he leaned in. I instinctively pulled back a little, but he didn't advance. He merely met my eye level, stopping a step away.

"If today is important, you should be even better fed. If you grow weak... I suppose I will have to carry you again?"

A smile slipped onto my lips, but I said nothing. When I tried to avert my eyes, he caught me with his gaze. Soft, yet resolute.

"Place your hand over your heart, Deyanira."

I didn't entirely understand what he meant. But hesitantly, I brought my left hand to my chest. My body was still sluggish with sleep.

"You carry that thing in there for yourself. Not for your appearance. I want that heart to beat a little stronger today. Not because to show you off around today... I want to see you standing tall."

He fell silent for a few seconds, then added: "If you wish, I will have the corset laced a little looser. You will look elegant, and you will be able to breathe. Do we have an agreement now?"

I nodded involuntarily. The words were caught in my throat, after all. I had entered an argument I knew I could not win.

While I was still lingering on his smooth, velvety voice, he turned around and approached the door. He looked back at me one last time. "Put something on. You will catch a cold."

Then he stepped out to order breakfast for the room. The air he left behind was like cotton dipped in warm water... It warmed me from the inside.

***

The preparations took hours. While the servants fussed with my hair, I simply sat there, still in my nightgown. I sat before the mirror, yet I could not look at myself. There was an unease within me, one I couldn't quite put a name to. Perhaps it was the weight of this night, or perhaps the eyes of the people... or maybe just his eyes.

When the fingers touching my hair finally withdrew, I looked at the mirror one last time. My hair, cascading down to my hips, fell down my back in loose curls. The braided crown atop my head, interwoven with golden-feathered diadems, looked as if it had been plucked straight from nature. My bangs gently draped over my forehead. Everyone said it was beautiful, but something inside me still felt missing.

My gown cascaded off my shoulders; the feather-adorned shoulder details made my frame look even more delicate than it was. The sheer fabric swayed gently with every step. It felt less like a dress I wore and more like a poem whispered over my skin. But still... I felt strange. As if the dress belonged to another woman. A beautiful, strong, striking woman.

Yet I still did not want to stare into the mirror any longer. Perhaps I was afraid that if I looked... I would find myself lacking. Beauty? Maybe it existed for others. Not for me. Not enough. It would never be enough, neither for me nor for them.

"Your Highness... this gown complements your complexion magnificently," someone said.

"Truly befitting a queen," another added.

I only smiled faintly; I didn't even feel like thanking them. It felt as though I was the only one who didn't believe in myself.

When the hour arrived, my trembling hands gathered the hems of my dress. Standing at the top of the stairs, I took a deep breath. My heart was too huge for my chest.

Ambrose stood on the lower floor, a few steps away. He was already the only person who stood out among the guests. Clad entirely in black, the royal brooch at his collar gleamed like gold. He had his head tilted as if listening to something, but then, perhaps sensing a movement, he lifted his gaze.

Saw me.

And... he froze.

His eyes traveled down from my face. Then back up.... said nothing, simply stared. As if he had never seen me before. As if he couldn't recognize me.

But that look... made my feelings tremble.

I slowly began to descend the stairs. My shoes were hidden beneath my gown, but the sound of my footsteps echoed. The entire hall fell silent, but I could only hear him. Only his breath. As my steps brought me closer to him, my heart began to race. His gaze didn't slip from me for a single second. When I finally stopped just a few steps in front of him, Ambrose's lips parted, but no words came.

Only a sound akin to a whisper escaped his lips: "My God..."

His brows were slightly furrowed—whether from astonishment or sheer disbelief at what he was seeing, I didn't know. It was as if he was trying to compose himself, but his voice was caught in his throat. The General who rained down commands, struggling to find his words...

"Deyanira..." his voice was nearly hoarse as he spoke my name. In my entire life, I had never heard this cursed name sound so sacred. It spilled from his lips like a prayer, a saving grace waiting to be granted.

As I looked away, he gently reached his fingers toward the curl of my hair, yet he did not touch it. He only made his presence felt.

And in that moment... perhaps for the very first time, I felt beautiful. Not merely from the mirror, but from the reflection in his eyes. I took another step closer; he extended his hand to invite me to dance. I didn't want to look at anyone else; I took his hand and allowed him to lead me away.

"We are like Day and Night," I said, breaking our silence. He was in black; I was like a dream in white.

"Yet Day and Night can never unite," he whispered, never taking his eyes off mine.

"Still, they chase after one another..."

"I..." he said as he spun me into the curve of the dance, his voice echoing in my chest like a dark confession, "...I would chase after you, Deyanira. But I do not think you would do the same for me."

I moistened my lips. The cherry taste of my lipstick lingered on the tip of my tongue. "I... sincerely respect you," I finally said, though we both knew how inadequate an answer it was. His expression grew a fraction more serious.

As the dance continued, the tempo of the music quickened slightly. Though our feet moved in perfect harmony, there was a strange tightness in my heart. When Ambrose placed his hand a little firmer on my waist, he locked his gaze onto my eyes.

"You do not trust anyone," he said suddenly, his voice soft but not accusing.

I didn't look away. "I haven't met anyone worthy of it." This was the effect of the music; my tone rang out stronger than it should have.

"Am I included in that?" he asked, tilting his head slightly. There was something challenging in his tone. Cold, yet carrying a suppressed reproach.

A tremor ran through me, but I stood tall. "You turned me into an atonement. You were forced to marry, remember. That is not trust."

The muscle in Ambrose's jaw twitched slightly. "I am protecting you."

"Who said I needed protecting?" I countered, trying to suppress the fragility in my voice. "So this is why you married me. They said Lady Deyanira will lose her life when she turns eighteen." A hysterical laugh escaped my lips, though I was sure it looked far more polite on the outside. "You saw I hadn't died yet, so when they said she would bring death to her husband, you married me. After all, who would take me to the altar if I was meant to bring them death? I do not need your mercy."

For a moment, he said nothing. His eyes flared, but not with anger—with something else. Perhaps frustration with himself. "'The Bringer of Death to Her Husband'... If you truly believe so deeply that names dictate a person's destiny, how can you forget who I am?"

"Ambrose..." I murmured.

"Immortal," he stated, adding, "This world will show you no mercy, Deyanira." His words were cold but full of sincerity. "Even I must be harsh to you, because others will try to tear you to pieces. And I... I only want to keep you whole."

Something knotted in my throat. Our dance steps had carried us slightly away from the crowd. Only our breaths mingled in the space between us.

"What you call whole... might be my chains," I said, while he pulled me flush against him, as if he had already bound us together with those very chains. My layered skirt spun with our every step in the dance.

His eyes fixed on the spot between my brows this time. "Chains can be broken. But gathering the pieces of someone who has been shattered is far more difficult."

In that moment, I wanted to take a step back. But I did not let go of his hand nor did he. We held each other without inflicting pain. But stubbornly. I took two steps back, and he took one step forward...

"You don't have to know everything, Ambrose," I said quietly. "I am still learning too... who I am, what I am worth. But it doesn't end there... I don't know what I will cause, how cursed I truly am, how much of it will burn you or the others, or what I can even do about it." I sighed. "Even my name is cursed... Everyone says so."

He bowed his head, drawing closer to my face, but his lips hovered near my ear, not my lips. His whisper brushed against my skin:

"Only cowards take shelter in prophecies," he said. Despite the rhythm of the dance, he supported my back so perfectly that he could whisper into my ear at this proximity and speed without me stumbling. "I believe my own eyes. And what I am looking at right now... is not a disaster. It is a miracle."

My lips trembled, my eyes lowered, beginning to well with tears. In this world, to cry meant to break. And I... did not want to break so easily anymore.