[298] Dark Choco Cookie

Snow fell outside the tall, pointed windows of the Hall of Ancestors—in sparse, lazy flakes, as if nature itself had held its breath in anticipation of what was about to unfold. Dark Choko stood at the altar, carved from a single block of black obsidian, and gazed straight ahead. His face, shrouded in shadow, remained impassive—just like his father’s, frozen like a grim statue in the front row. None of the vassals present or the delegates from the Cream Republic had any idea what was going on inside him. But inside, everything was burning. He had grown into a worthy heir and now stood here like a prince sealing an alliance for the sake of his people’s future. Everything was going as it should. But it was unbearably painful. He watched as his future partner approached down the aisle, and with every step they took, his heart clenched tighter and tighter. They were beautiful in their grace, in the way they bore the burden of this treaty with quiet dignity, without complaint or pretense. Dark Choko had fallen in love with them during these days of getting to know them—fallen hopelessly, one-sidedly, as one loves unreachable stars. He saw respect in their eyes, a willingness to fulfill their duty to the Republic, but he saw no reciprocal thrill. And he accepted that. When the master of ceremonies spoke of sacred bonds, Dark Choko slowly raised his arm in its gauntleted glove, taking the hand of his future spouse. His touch was gentle, almost reverent—he held their hand as if it were the greatest treasure, even though he knew his own heart would remain locked away. He looked up, met their calm eyes, and spoke his vows in an even voice in which no one would hear the pain. He would be a good husband. He would build walls around them stronger than the Great Chocolate Wall. And his feelings—he would hide them as deeply as his father had hidden his love for him. This was the curse of the Dark Cocoa family: to love in silence and never show how deeply the heart bleeds.