Do you, Aveline Ardan, take Dorian Valderic to be your lawful wedded husband?

A few days later, the wedding preparations were completely finished.

Everyone was happy, because they'd been working on the wedding for months.

Everyone except perhaps one person.

Morning light was streaming in through the thick curtains of a bedroom.

In the room, a wedding gown, a sumptuous piece of ivory silk adorned with gold embroidery, lay on a mannequin.

Not far away, servants bustled around a young blonde damsel, adjusting her corset and combing her hair with care.

Aveline, standing in front of a mirror, watched her reflection with a neutral, almost distant expression.

Her thoughts were very chaotic.

This marriage, a union arranged for political reasons, seemed inevitable.

Yet a small part of her hoped for a miracle, something that would break the cycle of imposed duties.