[Marriage Certificate]
'...I'm really married now, huh?'
Soren muttered inwardly as he stared at the document in his hands.
Two names were visible on the parchment alongside the required thumbprints and signatures.
His eyes traced the words for the tenth time since leaving the courthouse.
Although he still found it hard to believe, considering whom he married, he decided to accept the reality in the end.
He folded the document, slipped it into his coat pocket, and looked up at the two-story house ahead. White walls, blue roof tiles. A perfectly ordinary house in a perfectly ordinary neighborhood.
Well, this was going to be their new home now.
'...Hmm.' Soren turned to his side.
There, his wife, Ethea, sat in her wheelchair, staring straight ahead.
Even though he had seen her face a hundred times throughout the day, he still could not get used to her strikingly pale skin, sharp features, and long black hair that appeared far too perfect to be real. She resembled an exquisite luxury doll meant only for display, stunningly beautiful yet completely vacant inside. Furthermore, she had remained entirely silent, refusing to utter a single word since the moment they left the civil affairs bureau.
'Here we go.' Soren took a deep breath.
"Well, this is it," He said, injecting a layer of cheer into his voice as he grabbed the wheelchair handles. "Our new home."
"..." Ethea provided no response.
Shaking his head inwardly, he grabbed the handles of her wheelchair and pushed her toward the door. Inside, he gave her the grand tour.
"Living room. Small, but still nice, right? We don't need much space anyway."
"..."
"Oh, this is the kitchen. I can cook. Do you like anything specific? Soup? Drink? Coffee?"
"..."
Soren kept talking.
The silence was uncomfortable as hell, but he endured it.
He then showed her the small backyard, the storage room, and other places.
By the time they reached the top of the stairs, his throat was dry, and his optimism was running on fumes.
Thankfully, they finally arrived in the bedroom.
He opened the door to reveal a double bed, a simple wardrobe, and a single nightstand.
"And this is where we sleep," Soren said, watching her face for any flicker of interest. "You tired? It's been a long day after all."
"..."
Ethea stared at the mattress. Five seconds passed, then ten, then fifteen.
'Still not talking, huh.' Soren chuckled before speaking. "Alright, I'll take that as a yes."
He positioned the wheelchair flush against the mattress and locked the wheels. Bracing his feet, he leaned down and slipped one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her back.
The moment his skin brushed her clothing, a shocking, visceral cold hit him.
A bone-deep frost sank through his skin and wrapped around his core. His breath caught. The sensation spread fast, numbing his arms within seconds.
Then Ethea recoiled.
Her body locked up. Every muscle that could still respond pulled away from him with visceral rejection. Her breathing hitched, becoming shallow and sharp. For the first time since he'd met her, her eyes showed something real.
...Revulsion.
Soren froze mid-motion.
He stood there, bent over her, arms committed to the lift.
The physical cold continued to spread rapidly through his limbs, yet that sensation felt entirely trivial compared to the deep sting of her flinch, a movement that suggested his touch was an unbearable contamination or that being held by him was far worse than lying completely helpless in her chair.
'...She can't even stand me touching her.'
The painful realization hit him much harder than the biting cold, yet he knew he could not stop now, so he kept moving by adjusting his grip with excruciating care as he lifted her, consciously striving to avoid holding her too tightly while ensuring he did not worsen her distress. Deliberately ignoring the frigid numbness spreading through his own body, he focused entirely on her comfort and laid her down on the bed as gently and quickly as he possibly could.
"...Done," he muttered, wiping away the sweat on his forehead with his already numb fingers.
He then sensed her gaze and looked at her lying there, still as a corpse, and something twisted in his chest.
'Is she... always this cold? Like, physically?'
He thought about what that must feel like, living in a body that felt completely frozen from the inside out. It was likely a miserable and painful existence, a relentless discomfort that probably made a person lose any desire to speak with anyone at all.
"...You okay?" he asked, softer this time. "Need anything? Water? Extra blanket?"
Ethea's eyelashes flickered, her lips finally moving.
"...I ...I need sleep."
She muttered in a chilling tone.
'!' Soren blinked in surprise. 'Did she... finally speak?'
But he pushed the shock aside and nodded.
"Alright, then get some rest. Goodnight."
He walked around to the opposite side of the bed and lifted the covers, preparing to climb in.
"...Alone."
Soren froze, one knee on the mattress.
"...What do you mean?"
Ethea's ice-blue eyes remained fixed on him.
"You mean..." Soren guessed her meaning from her expression. "You don't want me to sleep with you?"
"...Yes."
Soren blinked again. Then he straightened up, turning to face her fully.
"But why? We're husband and wife now?"
"..."
"You signed the paper yourself today." His voice stayed calm, matter-of-fact. "Or... were you not being honest?"
Ethea looked away.
The silence stretched, making the atmosphere awkward.
Soren opened his mouth, then closed it.
The words sat on his tongue anyway, 'Or what, I'm not qualified to be the Ice Empress's husband? Is that it?', but he swallowed them down.
There was no point.
After all, she was once the revered Ice Empress and the crowning jewel of the prominent Morvain family, a woman whose commanding beauty and regal bearing could instantly silence an entire room full of top executives, and whose cold elegance routinely drove the highest echelons of the social elite to desperately vie for even a passing glance in her direction.
But now?
Now she was a disabled girl in a wheelchair, married off to a nobody like him, discarded by the very family that once polished and displayed her.
If their positions were reversed, if he woke up one day to find everything taken from him, he probably wouldn't want to talk to anyone either.
So yeah, no point in poking at wounds that were still fresh.
"Alright," he said finally. "I'll sleep on the floor then."
She glanced at him, wanting to say something. But Soren beat her to it.
"In case you need help at night. You can't exactly get up on your own, right?"
"..."
Soren took that as a yes as well.
He grabbed a spare futon from the closet, tossed a cushion on top, and spread it out on the floor beside the bed. Not exactly ideal, but better than the couch. Besides, it wasn't like he hadn't slept like this before.
He then lay down, arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling.
...
...
[Ding!]
[Conditions have been met.]
[Awakening initiated.]