تم تنسيق النص مع الحفاظ على كل كلمة كما هي دون أي تغيير، مع تعديل المسافات والفقرات لتسهيل القراءة وإبراز التحولات الدرامية في المشهد:

Mathias let out a long, heavy exhale, a sigh laden with the weight of the frozen mountains awaiting him in the North. With quiet, deliberate steps, he approached her and sank onto one knee before her chair—a rare gesture of humility that the Duke of Locron had never shown another soul. He reached out, enveloping her cold hands within his broad, calloused palms.

"Olivia... it isn’t what it looks like."

She wrenched her hands from his grip with a sharp, violent motion, snapping her gaze toward the window. She refused to even acknowledge the exhaustion etched into his features.

"Is that your excuse? It isn’t what it looks like?" she asked, her voice dripping with bitter irony. "Then enlighten me. Why did I have to learn this from a maid? Do you have any idea how that felt? I felt betrayed... I felt like a fool. The Duchess of this estate doesn’t even know her own husband is marching to war tomorrow! And this isn’t just any campaign."

Then, her eyes flared with a fresh spark of resentment as another realization took hold. "And let’s not forget that bastard Kyle. When I see him, I’ll give him a piece of my mind—even he kept this from me."

Mathias couldn’t bear her cold withdrawal. He reached up, his fingers gently framing her face, forcing her to turn and lock eyes with him. His touch was warm, a stark contrast to the icy fury radiating from her.

"Olivia, look at me... I am truly, deeply sorry."

"Your apology means nothing to me," she snapped, struggling against the velvet-iron grip of his hands. "Leave me be."

For several long moments, they remained frozen: he, kneeling like a sinner seeking absolution, and she, her breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps as her chest heaved with suppressed fury. The dim light of the solar cast elongated shadows across the floor, turning them into two statues in a deserted temple.

"I won’t leave you like this," Mathias whispered, his voice vibrating with a sincerity she had never heard before. "It wasn’t that I thought you a fool; it was fear. I was terrified that seeing the departure in your eyes would make me hesitate, and I don’t have the luxury of hesitation right now. Kyle did what he did on my orders—don’t blame him."

Olivia squeezed her eyes shut, fighting to keep the tears of frustration from spilling over. "Fear is no excuse for lies, Mathias. Now, get out. I need to prepare for this hell you’ve left me to face alone."

Mathias pressed his lips together, the weight of the words she *hadn’t* said pressing down on him. Finally, he yielded. He took a step back, his eyes still anchored to her face, which had become as cold and impenetrable as polished marble.

"Fine... I will go," he murmured. He paused for a heartbeat, then added in a tone that carried a plea she didn’t recognize: "But... may I ask one last thing before I depart for the North? Please, just one request. I know you won’t forgive me easily, and I know your anger will remain..."

"I’m not angry," Olivia cut him off, her voice dry as she tried to reinforce her armor of indifference. "I am simply making it clear that I do not appreciate your behavior." She let out a resigned sigh. "So... what is this request?"

He looked at her with an unwavering gaze, his eyes reflecting a haunting mixture of sorrow and iron-willed resolve.

"A dance."

Olivia froze, blinking as if the word itself were a foreign tongue. "What? A dance?"

"Yes, exactly as you heard," he confirmed with a quiet, unwavering gravity. "I want a dance with you."

Olivia’s brow furrowed, a short, incredulous laugh escaping her lips. "What has possessed you? What kind of bizarre request is this? I truly think you’ve begun to lose your mind lately, you and these... antics."

"It isn’t bizarre," he said, stepping toward her slowly, as if each stride were closing a distance that had separated their souls for years. "We have been married for three years, and we haven’t danced a single time. Even at our wedding, we stood apart like mere guests. So... I want to know what it feels like, just once. Will you permit me?"

Olivia didn’t give a verbal answer, but her silence was the only consent he needed. Mathias moved with a lightness she hadn’t expected from a frame usually weighed down by metaphorical armor. He crossed to a corner of the room and brought forth a small, glowing music box. With a steady hand, he set the mechanism in motion, and a hauntingly beautiful classical melody—low, melancholic, and serene—began to spill into the corners of the room.

He returned to her side and extended his hand. Olivia hesitated, staring at his palm—the hand that had kept secrets from her, the hand that would lead armies tomorrow. Should she refuse, or grant him this one final wish before his departure? Slowly, she lifted her hand and placed it in his.

He drew her toward his chest with exquisite tenderness, resting his other hand upon her waist. Olivia felt the heat of his palm seeping through the fabric of her gown, while her own hand came to rest on his solid, unyielding shoulder. They began to move. At first, their steps were clumsy and tentative—two strangers learning a language for the first time—but as the violin’s notes swelled, their movements fell into a seamless rhythm.

They spun slowly in the center of the room, while Black watched them with unblinking golden eyes from the sofa. Not a single word passed between them; the music spoke for them, filling the hollow spaces of the solar. Mathias watched her face with agonizing intensity, as if he were trying to commit every curve and shadow to memory before the dawn. Olivia kept her gaze fixed on his collar, terrified that if their eyes met, the fear clawing at her heart would be exposed.

She wanted to scream at him not to go. For months, she had been his shield, protecting him from Roland and the viper’s nest of politics—and now, he had thrown himself headlong into a journey toward hell.

"Three years," Mathias whispered suddenly, his voice weaving through the fading melody. "Three years lost to silence, Olivia. To hating one another."

"The silence was your choice, Mathias—and perhaps mine as well," she replied in a matching whisper. This time, her tone wasn’t an attack; it was heavy with a profound, soul-deep exhaustion. "Just... let it go. Forget it."

He tightened his grip on her waist slightly, drawing her so close there was no longer any space left for the shadows. "Perhaps. But tonight, even if it is only for a single dance, let us simply have this time together."

"This doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you for what you did," she murmured against his chest.

Mathias let out a low, soft laugh. "I would expect nothing less. I never imagined the Ice Queen’s heart would melt so easily."

The dance continued until the music began to ebb away, note by lingering note. As the final sound died out, they stopped moving, yet neither pulled away. Mathias kept his arms anchored around her waist, and Olivia remained suspended in a world of conflicting emotions. He leaned down and pressed a tender, almost imperceptible kiss to her forehead.

"I leave at dawn. Please... come to say goodbye," he said with a solemnity that made her heart ache. He slowly released her and retreated toward the door with quiet, steady steps. "I will be waiting for you."

He stepped out and closed the door with a muted thud, leaving Olivia standing alone in the center of the room. The music still echoed in her ears, and the scent of him—masculine, sharp, and smelling of old parchment—still clung to her clothes.

Tomorrow, hell would begin.

Sleep was a stranger to both of them that night. The hours didn’t pass so much as they bled away, vanishing into the inevitable crawl of dawn. When the first vein of grey light finally cracked the Locron sky, the courtyard below was already a cacophony of restless horses and the sharp, rhythmic bite of steel hitting steel.

The knights stood like pillars of iron behind their commander. At the front of the line, Leon and Isabella waited to see them off. Mathias stood by his mount, physically present but mentally adrift; his gaze was anchored to Olivia’s window, searching for any sign of life behind the heavy, motionless curtains. He lingered there, stretching the seconds until the silence became unbearable.

"Are you still waiting?" Leon asked softly, his hand heavy on his brother’s shoulder.

Mathias let out a ragged breath, his head dropping. "She’s furious. I robbed her of the truth until it was too late... I don’t think she’s coming."

He forced himself to turn toward Leon, trying to pull the mask of the commander back over his face. "Then this is it. I’ll see you in two months, brother."

"Keep your head on your shoulders," Leon replied, a forced smile barely masking the dread in his eyes. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝒆𝒘𝙚𝓫𝙣𝙤𝒗𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

"Good luck, brother-in-law," Isabella added, her eyes unreadable, tracking the tension in his jaw.

Mathias’s gaze flickered one last time toward the great oak doors, but they remained stubbornly shut. Resigning himself to the quiet rejection, he gripped the saddle and set his foot in the stirrup to mount. But then, cutting through the din of the courtyard, came a sharp, rhythmic clicking—a footfall his heart recognized before his mind could process it.

He spun around.

There she was, framed by the stone archway of the palace. Her velvet dress looked dark and heavy in the biting morning air as she walked toward him, her stride unbroken. She held Black tucked against her chest, her expression a mask of sharp, cold granite—eyes burning with a resentment that hadn’t even begun to thaw.

"So, you actually came," Mathias murmured, the lines of exhaustion on his face softening for the first time all morning.

"I haven’t stopped being angry," Olivia said, her voice clipped and cold, though her eyes betrayed the lie.

Mathias let out a short, breathy laugh. "I know. I understand. When I return, I promise I’ll make it up to you properly. But for now... just say goodbye."

In a sudden movement that shattered every rule of protocol and left the knights staring in stunned silence, Olivia stepped forward and threw her arms around him. It wasn’t a graceful embrace; it was a desperate, silent protest against the departure—a frantic anchor against the tide of war that was pulling him away.

"Come back whole," she whispered against the heavy wool of his coat.

Mathias returned the embrace with one arm, pulling her tight against his side, while his other hand reached down to distractedly stroke Black, who was still squeezed between them. "You have my word, Olivia." He pulled back just an inch, a trace of his old, teasing shadow flickering in his eyes. "But tell me... did you bring me a favor? A handkerchief, perhaps?"

Olivia pulled away entirely then, her glare sharp enough to draw blood. "You are asking for a parting favor from someone who only found out you were leaving yesterday?"

"Fine, fine," he muttered, holding up a hand in mock surrender. "Let’s not start the fire again."

With a quiet, sharp breath, Olivia reached for the gold necklace resting against her throat. She unlatched it with steady fingers and pressed the warm metal into his palm, closing his fingers over it with a firm, lingering pressure. "Fine. Take this instead of a handkerchief."

Mathias tightened his fist around the pendant, the gold still humming with the heat of her skin. "Then... goodbye."

He turned toward his horse, but hesitated again, as if an invisible thread were yanking him back. He leaned in, his breath brushing against her ear as he whispered a single word—a word that sent a jolt of pure electricity through her, leaving her breathless and shaken:

"I Love."

Olivia froze. Her heart began to beat a frantic war drum against her ribs. "I know," she managed, her voice a fragile, trembling thing that barely clawed its way out of her throat.

Mathias offered one final, fleeting smile before turning toward his men with the squared shoulders and iron-backed pride of a Duke. He swung himself into the saddle and his voice rang out, a thunderous command that shook the very stones of the courtyard: "Move out!"

Olivia stood motionless as she watched them retreat. They grew smaller and smaller until they were swallowed by the horizon, leaving behind nothing but a settling cloud of dust and a hollow, haunting silence. A strange, unfamiliar ache began to knot in her chest—a grief she hadn’t encountered in her past life or this one, a shapeless emotion she didn’t yet have a name for.

She reached down to scoop up Black, who had jumped from her arms to watch the horses go, and turned back toward the palace. Her steps were aimless and heavy as she disappeared into the shadows of the doorway.