[Haldor's POV—Imperial Palace Corridor—Later]
"…I came here to talk about our marriage."
For a heartbeat—no, longer—the world forgot how to move.
I stood there, breath caught somewhere between my ribs and my throat, staring at her like the word itself might vanish if I blinked. Marriage. The syllables rang once, twice, too loud in my head. I told myself I had imagined it. That my mind—already splintered by bloodlines, by truths I wasn't ready to wear—had twisted her voice into something dangerously beautiful.
"Our… marriage?" I asked, my legs betraying me, trembling with disbelief.
She nodded.
Just that.
A simple nod.
And suddenly I wasn't in the corridor anymore.
I was weightless—adrift in something soft and bright and impossible. Heaven, maybe. Or the place you go when hope finally decides to be kind. She had spoken to the Emperor. About us. Which meant she had accepted my proposal.
Which meant—I would marry her.
I would stand beside her.
