A ball.

The silence in the room grew heavier as the night deepened.

Maelin had eventually slipped beneath the covers, her breath falling into a gentle rhythm. Her figure lay still on the other side of the grand bed, her back turned toward him, yet her presence filled every corner of the room.

Elric sat on the sofa near the fireplace, his eyes not closing, not even once.

Sleep didn’t come.

He leaned back, arm draped over the edge of the couch, but his eyes stayed locked on the wall — or rather, past it, somewhere far beyond.

He had trained for years to function on little rest. But this time, it wasn’t discipline that kept him awake.

It was disbelief.

This was real.

He was married.

And the woman asleep in that bed was Maelin Elora.

The name itself still echoed in his mind, like a brushstroke left unfinished.

Maelin.

He had never believed in fate — not truly. He believed in duty, in silence, in surviving the sharp edges of power and expectation. He had spent so long denying himself that even beauty had become a distant concept… until the day he saw her. Just once. In that gallery.

And now she was here.

Not a painting. Not a moment stolen.

But his wife.

He watched the soft movement of her breathing beneath the silk sheets. Her face was turned partially toward the lamplight, and her long lashes cast a delicate shadow across her cheek.

He didn’t dare move.

He didn’t trust this feeling.

He didn’t trust himself to believe that something good could stay.

Because how could he?

Men like him — trained, bruised, silenced — didn’t get women like her.

But there she was. Sleeping in the same room, in the same house, under the same name he carried with burdened shoulders: Thorne.

He let out a slow, quiet breath.

Tonight, she did not belong to him. She belonged to no one.

But she was here.

And that was enough to make him afraid to close his eyes — because if he did, he might wake up and find it was all just a dream.

Eventually, in the quiet rhythm of her breathing and the warmth of the fire, his exhaustion won.

He drifted off — not into peace, but into something close.

—

The next morning...

Maelin woke to soft light pouring in through the arched windows. The velvet curtains had been parted slightly, letting in a golden hue that bathed the room in gentle warmth.

She blinked.

The bed beside her was empty.

She sat up, still in her silky nightgown, hair slightly messy but her spine straight and elegant — always.

Her fingers brushed against the sheet where he might’ve slept. Still cool.

She let out a breath and murmured, “So the mysterious Defence Minister wakes up before dawn. What a surprise.”

Rolling her eyes playfully to herself, she swung her legs off the bed and stood, stretching lightly.

Her maid entered with perfect timing, bowing respectfully.

“Lady Thorne, your outfit for this morning is prepared.”

Maelin smiled faintly. “Let’s hope it’s not lacey armor.”

—

Downstairs…

Elric sat at the long oak table in the library room adjoining the dining hall, dressed in dark gray — sharp, structured, noble.

Maelin paused at the doorway.

He looked... unbothered. Calm. Focused.

He was seated between two older men who seemed to be high-ranking military officials. They were talking in low, respectful tones — nothing loud, nothing political, more like status updates. Strategy. Patrols. Movement orders.

Maelin watched him from the hallway for a second longer than she meant to.

How could someone so silent command such attention?

Then she cleared her throat softly and entered the dining room.

The butler, polite and poised, pulled out her chair. “Lady Thorne, welcome. Breakfast is served.”

She sat down gracefully, brushing her hair behind her shoulder. She didn’t look toward Elric’s room again, though she was very aware of his presence just beyond the doors.

As she took a sip of tea, the butler leaned closer and said, “A message from Lady Thorne’s social chamber, madam. Tonight, there will be a formal gathering.”

Maelin raised a brow.

“A ball?” she asked, setting down her cup.

“Yes, my lady. The house soldiers under the Thorne command will be in attendance to meet and greet the new Lady of the House.”

Maelin blinked once, then smiled slowly. “So… a royal welcome from the warriors?”

“Yes, my lady. It is a tradition, once a new consort enters the main estate.”

Maelin leaned back in her chair, fingers gently tapping the porcelain edge of her plate.

Interesting.

She had expected stiff dinners and lifeless introductions. Not a ballroom filled with soldiers. Not a parade of loyalty and silent judgment.

“Well,” she whispered under her breath, “if they’re expecting a shy, blushing bride, they’ve picked the wrong lady.”

She glanced toward the corridor again. She couldn’t see Elric anymore.

But tonight, she would stand beside him.

In public.