It was not a wedding. It was a transaction.
The no-man's-land between the North and the South was a barren stretch of wind-carved ice and forgotten war. Snow fell in fine needles, more biting than beautiful, and the trees, what few dared remain, stood like blackened bones stripped bare by time.
The North's jagged mountains rose like jagged black teeth behind one faction; to the other side, the South's party arrived in velvet-lined carriages, wheels already frozen stiff.
The snow stretched between them, untouched.
A fault line.
Neither side dared to move.
Seraphina stood beside her father, High Lord Cadmon Vaelmont, clutching her fur-lined coat tight over her chest. It wasn't enough. Her skin was already beginning to sting, and her lips were cracked from wind. Behind her, her people fidgeted and murmured. Their fabrics were rich, their boots too soft for this land. They looked like children pretending at royalty.
Across the frozen stretch, he stood.
Her soon-to-be husband. High Lord of the North. The man she was to marry.
He didn't wear a crown, nor did he need to. His presence was its own declaration. A towering, still figure, draped in black furs and steel, surrounded by men who looked carved from the mountain itself. No banners. No music. Just frost and menace.
His golden-amber eyes met hers across the white.
It wasn't longing. It wasn't curiosity.
It was assessment.
As if he were wondering what sort of thing had been sold to him.
Her father's voice broke the silence. Low. Commanding.
"High Lord Aevriel of the North. We come as agreed. The South honors its word."
No bow. No warmth. No mention of family, of welcome, of joining. Because this wasn't a union. It was politics wrapped in flesh.
He didn't speak.
One of his men stepped forward, limped forward, silver-cloaked, face half-hidden. A Northern envoy, perhaps. He didn't introduce himself.
"The North accepts."
Two words. Sharp as ice cracking.
Aevriel's gaze never left Seraphina.
Lukas shifted beside her, just one step, the smallest motion, and suddenly the Northern soldiers moved like wolves scenting blood. She heard the soft, metallic hiss of swords being drawn an inch, just enough to flash silver beneath the snowlight.
Seraphina's heart slammed against her ribs.
The Southerners stiffened, fingers brushing hilts, but her father didn't flinch.
"Stand down," he muttered under his breath. His tone wasn't panic. It was warning.
Seraphina glanced to her right, Lukas, tall, rigid, his jaw clenched hard enough to crack. He didn't reach for a weapon. He didn't have to. His anger was always closer than his sword.
But her father tilted his head, barely, and Lukas stilled.
Her soon-to-be husband had not moved. He didn't even blink. His men responded to nothing but a presence.
Seraphina hated that.
Hated how their side looked like dancers in a theater while his side looked like they'd bury them where they stood.
The wind cut through the stillness.
Cadmon stepped forward, gloved hands behind his back. "Our terms were simple."
"They were," the envoy replied. "And they remain unchanged. The bride will be taken north. The South will receive uninterrupted steel trade and military non-interference in border disputes. A political courtesy."
"She's not a courtesy," Lukas said.
His voice was soft, but it was the only thing in the snow that felt warm.
The swords twitched again, like they were eager to be drawn.
"Lukas," Seraphina said through clenched teeth.
Her lover looked at her just briefly. His eyes weren't pleading. They never were. They burned. He didn't say goodbye. That would make it real.
The envoy didn't so much as glance at him.
Aevriel finally spoke. His voice was deep, quiet, and low as thunder before a storm.
"If he steps forward again," He said, "he loses the leg."
Seraphina's spine snapped straight.
His words weren't barked. They weren't angry. They were... factual.
A declaration. A promise. A statement of physics.
She turned her head to him, fully this time. The wind lifted her deep brown hair, strands catching in her lashes.
"You speak of me like a goat to be handed over," she said. "Do I get a collar with your name on it, or is that extra?"
Caedmon tensed. Lukas exhaled a laugh that sounded like pain.
Aevriel looked at her.
He tilted his head, just slightly, as if the mouth that insulted him might also interest him. His golden eyes narrowed.
"I did not request a collar," he said, "but if the lady insists on barking, I can arrange one."
Gasps from the Southern side.
But Seraphina only smiled. Her fingers trembled inside her coat, but she smiled.
The transaction continued.
Papers were exchanged. A small iron-bound box her dowry, though Seraphina didn't know what her father had packed into it. She doubted it was anything sentimental.
Then the envoy nodded once, and her husband turned without ceremony. His men surrounded him like shadows. Their formation opened, like a mouth waiting to swallow her.
Seraphina didn't move.
She stared at Lukas.
Her father leaned closer, voice low.
"You walk north now," he said. "Or I let your Lukas die trying to protect you."
She looked at him. The man who raised her. The man who never once called her daughter without bitterness behind the word.
She didn't speak. She just walked.
One foot into snow. Then another.
The cold was immediate, clawing under her coat, her dress, her skin.
Behind her, the South faded into silence.
Before her, the North waited.
Her husband stood ahead, not turning as she approached. He didn't offer a hand. He didn't offer a word.
Seraphina reached him and stopped at his side. The silence between them was louder than war drums.
His voice, when it came, was low and smooth.
"You dress like someone expecting to stay in the sun."
Her lips quirked, "I wasn't given much choice. We don't all get to swaddle ourselves in dead animals."
Another flicker, this time, perhaps amusement. Or curiosity. Or the calculation of a man measuring weather a storm was worth weathering.
"You'll find the North doesn't wait for comfort. Or approval."
Seraphina shrugged. "Neither do I."
Behind them, the southern carriage began to turn. She didn't look back. She couldn't, not at Lukas, not at her father, not at the place that had bartered her away like cattle.
Now she was heading North.
To the cold.
With her husband.
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This is my first novel to be uploaded on webnovel. Have some ideas for the story? Don't hesitate to share.