The first week of married life passed in a blur of rehearsed smiles and aching silence.
Otto remained cordial in public, the very image of a noble husband. He praised her poise before the court, presented her with gifts before gatherings, and never once raised his voice in front of the staff. To the nobility of Valcheim, their union was a portrait of perfection: the rural girl refined into royalty, the archduke dignified and attentive.
But within the fortress walls, stripped of the watching eyes and whispers, another truth unfolded.
He became colder.
He forbade her from walking the grounds unaccompanied. The gardens, once promised to her as sanctuary, were locked unless he gave permission. Books from the outer kingdoms — histories, philosophies, anything not sanctioned by the Church, were removed from her chambers.
"You must only read what is proper for your station," he told her.
And when she asked, quietly, why she couldn't have her own tutor for herbalism, something that had once brought her peace, he responded with a soft laugh.
"You're not a hedge witch anymore, Isolde. You're a duchess. Behave like one."
Obedience brought rewards: fine gowns, hairpins from Kurohana, a new embroidery set.
Silence brought coldness or worse.
On one occasion, she defied him.
She left her chambers without asking. Just a brief walk into the west corridor to look at the frescoes Elsa had once described to her.
Otto found her before she could reach them.
He said nothing as he escorted her back. But that night, the fireplace remained unlit. Her maid, sensing the coldness, had not returned. Her dinner was never delivered. No one came.
She curled up in the heavy wedding robes she had been forced to wear earlier, their weight pressing her down like penance. Her stomach growled in the dark.
The next morning, he brought her a tray himself.
"We all make mistakes," he said. "But some learn quicker than others."
He stroked her hair like one might pet a dog.
It was during this time that Greta came back after a long absence.
She was older, her hands weathered, her eyes sharper than most maids dared to carry. She had worked in noble houses before, quieter ones, colder ones. She did not speak much, but when she did, her words weighed heavily.
Greta noticed the change first. How Isolde no longer asked questions during her lessons. How her voice, once curious and quick, became soft and measured.
How she smiled with her mouth, but not with her eyes.
"Are you well, my lady?" she asked once, while brushing her hair before bed.
"Yes," Isolde had said. Too quickly.
Greta only nodded. But that night, she began leaving honeyed tea at the bedside — for nerves, she claimed.
The worst moments came when Otto believed he was teaching her.
He would summon her at odd hours to sit beside him while he reviewed fortress documents. If she fidgeted, he would scold. If she asked to sleep, he would remind her of duty.
"A true duchess does not slouch. Does not sigh. Does not speak unless invited."
One night, when she failed to recall the name of an Ecléron bishop, he snapped a quill in his hand.
"You're embarrassing yourself. You'll make a fool of me before the court."
He made her kneel on cold stone until she recited the entire list of ecclesiastical seats by heart. Greta found her still there hours later, eyes bloodshot, whispering the last syllables.
She never forgot them again.
Over time, she perfected her smile.
It was delicate. Just enough to look pleasant, but not so much as to draw attention. She bowed at the right angle, complimented without warmth, and danced with the posture of a woman twice her age.
When visiting nobles praised her refinement, Otto smiled proudly.
But Greta, standing quietly by the door, noticed how her hands trembled beneath the silk.
One afternoon, Greta entered to find her weeping quietly into a bolt of fabric. She said nothing. Only sat beside her and began to fold the silk.
"Some cages," she said after a long while, "don't have bars. Doesn't mean they're not cages."
Isolde nodded. Just once.
She still dreamed, of snow, of wolves, of a garden that no longer existed. In her dreams, her name came back to her.
Liesel.
But in the morning, she was always Isolde.
And Otto was always watching.