Previously
Damian blackmails Duke Vandermeer with evidence of the mercenary attack, forcing him to sign the marriage consent form. Meanwhile, Oscar plots to seduce Aracella to sabotage his half-brother's future.
The wedding hall was crowded with guests. To the left of the red carpet leading toward the dais stood knights in formal dress, while on the right, mages wore their ceremonial robes.
In addition, nobles with personal ties or connections to both houses attended, lending further grandeur to the occasion.
Before the ceremony began, people gathered here and there, conversing noisily and filling the hall with a bustling hum.
The knights and mages, who rarely crossed paths, exchanged hostile glares and traded barbed insults.
Soon enough, the chatter turned to the bride and groom, the stars of this wedding.
Sally and Rodri, attending the wedding of their respected senior, exchanged sharp glances and glared angrily at the people criticizing Aracella.
The moment those gossiping realized that Sally and Rodri were Aracella's direct subordinates working under her supervision, they fell silent at once.
Sally glared at them furiously.
While Rodri soothed the incensed Sally, similar scenes unfolded among the groom's guests.
As they laughed, the knights suddenly sensed an impending chill.
Turning around, they found Isaac, Vice Commander of the Red Falcon Knights, and Colin, Damian's aide, standing there with stone-cold expressions.
Isaac fixed them with a menacing glare.
Faced with the sharp gazes and blunt warnings from Isaac and Colin, the knights bowed hurriedly and scrambled away.
Watching the knights scurry off into the distance, Isaac sighed.
Isaac nodded in agreement.
Considerable time remained before the ceremony would begin.
Aracella wore an off-the-shoulder wedding dress adorned with diamonds and delicate lace.
She sat in the bridal waiting room, her wavy hair arranged softly beneath a tiara pinning her veil in place, bestowing upon her an exquisite beauty.
The Marquis spoke with tearful eyes as he looked at Aracella. The Marchioness gave her husband a light smack on the back.
With an exasperated face, the Marchioness produced a handkerchief and gently dabbed away her husband's tears.
She thought to herself that had his handsome looks not suited her taste so perfectly, she would never have been swayed by those tears.
Despite her words, a tender smile graced her lips as she gently took his hand.
While the parents displayed their affection in the waiting room, the children gathered around Aracella.
Adrian, who had inherited his father's sentimental nature and tearful disposition, offered his congratulations in a hoarse voice, teetering on the verge of tears.
Aracella smiled gently and caressed her brother's cheek.
Aracella let out a soft laugh at the sight of her younger brother clad smartly in his formal attire, his hair neatly styled with pomade just as when he visited the imperial palace.
Soon, her gaze shifted to her sister standing just behind him.
The two sisters, close as twins all their lives, exchanged affectionate glances and grasped each other's hands.
The thought of living apart left them feeling a hollow ache in their hearts.
Aracella then embraced each member of her family in turn.
Though she knew this marriage might one day end in divorce, the warmth of the moment touched her deeply.
At that moment, a knock sounded at the door.
Crown Prince Frederick appeared in the doorway.
Surprised by the Prince's appearance, the Marquis's family quickly straightened their posture and offered their greetings.
Frederick offered a gentle smile and inclined his head.
The Marchioness hesitated to leave her daughter alone with another man at such a time, but Frederick noticed her reluctance and spoke again.
Knowing the close bond of friendship that Aracella and Frederick had shared since their academy days, the Marquis's family saw no harm in stepping outside.
Once the Marquis's family left, quiet settled over the bridal waiting room.
Frederick walked forward with slow, deliberate steps until he stood before Aracella.
He had visibly lost weight and looked worn compared to before.
Though she had sent him gifts and letters after the banquet, she had received no reply from him.
Still unable to fathom why he was angry, she had given him space, needing to understand the reason before they could reconcile.
Frederick smiled softly, but his crimson eyes, usually so bright, looked sunken today.
It looked as though Aracella had not shed any weight for the wedding, but Frederick had lost it in her stead.
It was as if his heart were heavy with worries.
Frederick spoke with utter gravity.
His words sounded strange and unexpected, and Aracella tilted her head in bewilderment.
“I still feel sorry for you because of this marriage… but I won't allow myself to be driven away from you on account of it.”
Aracella frowned as her friend began to speak in riddles she could not decipher.
Yet Frederick pressed on solemnly, completely undeterred.
He reached out and gently smoothed Aracella's hair.
Aracella brushed his hand away gently, unwilling to hear such ominous remarks on her wedding day.
Frederick offered a faint smile as he looked down at the hand she had pushed away.
He seemed to be striving for gentleness, yet something felt off about his demeanor.
As Frederick walked toward the door, he committed the vision of Aracella in her wedding dress to memory.
Aracella did not see his face freeze over with an icy chill the moment he turned his back.
The family of Duke Vandermeer arrived at the wedding venue. Reluctant though they were to attend, social decorum compelled them to show their faces—to the point that the Grand Duchess had even traveled from the duchy.
Standing beside the Duke, the Grand Duchess brushed past the Duchess standing nearby with a look of displeasure, taking in the wedding hall with a scowl.
She was an elderly woman with tightly pinned gray hair, looking severe at first glance.
Standing behind the Grand Duchess, the Duchess hurried to chime in to curry favor with her.
The Grand Duchess looked toward the Red Falcon Knights, observing them with a sharp eye before whispering.
While the Duchess nodded along with the Grand Duchess's words, Oscar stole glances from the side, subtly rolling his eyes.
Having noted the path, he whispered to the Duchess.
The Duchess gave an understanding nod, thoroughly occupied with pleasing the Grand Duchess.
Oscar, having deceived his mother, began to hum softly under his breath as he headed straight for the bridal waiting room.
He had resolved to begin his scheme to entice Aracella and steal her away from Damian.
Arriving before the slightly ajar door, Oscar peered inside the bridal waiting room.
Bathed in streaming sunlight, Aracella stood there in her pure white wedding dress, her eyes downcast. She looked like a saint straight out of a painting, making Oscar's heart quicken.
He smiled at the thought, then pushed the door open and stepped inside, clearing his throat with a loud cough.
Hearing the noise, Aracella turned slowly to face him.
Aracella frowned, irritated by his unauthorized intrusion into her waiting room.
Her blue eyes flashed with a mix of wariness and disgust as she took in Oscar, who waved his hand with shameless ease.
Oscar Vandermeer cut a pathetic figure in this light. Aracella could find nothing redeeming about him; he was merely the living embodiment of the betrayal that had driven Iris to her grave.
Oscar smiled coldly, disregarding her expression.
He tried to appear indifferent to her feelings, yet he knew full well he was trespassing on her patience.