Mikael's thoughts drifted back to the cherished memories of him and Mikayla having a blast with their father.
They used to have the best times together. Picnicking under a tree, their laughter dancing on the breeze as they devoured sandwiches and shared stories.
Boat rides on the serene lake were another highlight, the water reflecting their smiles as they paddled and joked around.
Running around the sprawling front yard of their estate was a routine adventure, their father chasing them, his laughter mingling with theirs.
They played games, rolled on the grass, and sometimes just lay there, watching the clouds drift by as they dreamed aloud.
As he reminisced, a bittersweet smile tugged at Mikael's lips, a reminder of the treasure trove of memories that would forever remain a part of him.
Their mother had tragically passed away while giving birth to them. But their father never held any resentment toward them for taking away his beloved wife.
Nonetheless, in the wake of their mother's death, the cost of her life to birth twins had swirled through the noble circles for years.
Whispered accusations and pointed fingers occasionally circulate, hinting at them as culprits behind their mother's passing.
Mikael and Mikayla found themselves like two innocent lambs in the midst of a pack of fierce wolves within the tough world of high society. They had to endure teasing and mean comments whenever they attended social gatherings.
Mikayla took the brunt of the pain, often crying herself to sleep, thinking that she somehow caused her mother's death. Mikael was her rock, staying by her side through the nights, offering comfort to soothe her worries.
Their father's unshakeable love and support acted like a shield, protecting them from the worst blows. As time went on, the rumors slowly faded, and their seventh birthday appeared to be a turning point. The cloud of suspicion that hung over them began to clear away.
All Mikael truly wanted was to see his twin sister leading a happy life from then on. He hoped for a future that would be as radiant and joyful as the memories they shared while growing up, not for those nights when she would cry herself to sleep, unfairly blaming herself for something beyond her control.
Now, on this particular day, Mikael found him inside a carriage, the wheels rhythmically clattering over the capital city's cobblestone streets.
Outside, everything was a jumble of colors and movement, showing the lively commotion around him.
As his carriage made its way through the streets, he caught glimpses of the people lining the roads, their cheers and smiles painting a scene of celebration of the well-wishers passing by in a blur.
He could not believe he was getting married while pretending to be his twin sister. He glanced down at the bouquet of white roses and soft pink peonies he held, his fingers gently gripping the delicate stems.
With a deep breath, he tore his eyes away from the bouquet and looked ahead to the sprawling building before him. As his carriage drew closer, the Silvest Cathedral came into view, its grandeur impossible to ignore.
The towering spires reached skyward, their pointed peaks piercing through the clouds like guardians of the sacred realm.
For ages, it had stood there in the capital, a strong presence that had endured the flow of time. The fancy patterns on its front carried stories of old times.
His thoughts briefly drifted through, and in his head, the image of Nicolaus Wolfram came into mind, the man he had only encountered twice.
The first time had been during the coming-of-age celebration with his twin sister, which marked their transition into adulthood.
Their father had introduced him to the rising new noble in the circle. Mikael felt respect for the rising star in the aristocratic world, Marquess Nicolaus Wolfram. He had an unforgettable aura of confidence and charisma.
Mikael's memories brought him back to when he witnessed Marquess Wolfram's gaze fixated on his sister, Mikayla. The Marquess' attention was unmistakable, his demeanor shifting as he took her hand and pressed a gentle kiss against it.
Little did Mikael know, that very moment marked the beginning of the engagement that had been orchestrated behind the scenes, a decision that Mikayla had no choice but to accept.
The second encounter was when the Marquess visited at home to share tea with Mikayla in the serene garden of their estate. Mikael saw him as he glanced out of the window from the library.
Mikael peeked out from behind the curtains at the window, his curiosity getting the best of him. He was curious about why Marquess Wolfram had shown up at their place.
It wasn't until he went and asked their dad about the whole thing that the truth finally clicked for him. That Count Steele and Marquess Wolfram had actually set up a planned engagement.
The carriage jolted and shuddered, the sudden motion jarring Mikael from his reverie. Shaking off his thoughts, he took a deep breath as the vehicle stopped.
Moving towards the entrance, Mikael walked right into white rose petals dropping from above. It felt like a soft rain, with the petals brushing his skin gently.
A white veil adorned him, draping down to about shoulder length. It danced around in the soft breeze with a soothing fluttering sound.
Standing by the entrance, he took a moment by the door. The excitement seemed to linger around as if even time itself had suspended its usual flow, holding its breath, waiting for what was about to unfold.
This was a big moment, a monumental step that would forever alter the course of his life. There was no way to reverse what was about to happen.
Talon's advice echoed in his thoughts, a warning of the situation he was about to embrace. Mikael could get killed if Marquess Wolfram found out about his identity, which would also end the Steele family.
He squeezed his eyes shut, sending a silent plea that Silvest would be kind to him.
And the door swung open, a flood of light pouring out, almost blinding him with the intensity of radiance.
As Mikael's eyes slowly got used to it, he spotted someone who knocked the wind out of him at the far end of the aisle: the person waiting there, their face hidden by the intense light.