Chapter 3
Chapter 3. The 500-Denir Wedding (Part 2)
A brutal blizzard howled through Blenheim’s snow-swept peaks. Within the tent, every knight’s eyes locked onto their lord at the table’s head, absorbed in a letter.
Jet-black hair framed his pallid skin, sharp eyes angled upward, his commanding frame radiating dominance—the Duke of Blenheim, Loic Blenheim, sovereign of the North.
Abruptly, his broad fingers crushed the parchment without mercy.
“Has the marquis accepted the conditions?” Perel, the advisor at his right, inquired tentatively, as though verifying the inevitable.
Bang!
Dmitri, the first knight commander, pounded the table opposite him.
“This makes no sense! Wedded to the marquis’s daughter?!”
“Count your blessings if she’s truly his. Word is, she’s a bastard,” another voice grumbled.
Perel massaged his temples, face etched with worry amid the knights’ murmurs.
“The marquis means business. I figured he’d balk at the funds at least, but no such luck.”
Dispatching 500 denirs had been Perel’s scheme, banking on the arrogant, tightfisted marquis rejecting it outright.
“I’d hoped to stall the wedding through haggling over costs…”
Loic murmured icily, fingers pressing his temples.
“The rite’s set for a chapel.”
His deep, detached voice quelled the knights’ prior outrage.
“Five hundred denirs ought to cover it handily.”
Still, staging the marquis’s daughter’s nuptials in a chapel stripped the bride of any real honor.
“Poor thing,” Perel said with pity, though the knights tsked in retort.
“Pitiful? You hear the tales? The marquis’s third girl is notorious in the capital—a real viper.”
“And wasn’t she that phony saint from before?”
“Even so, reared as a noble in the city, Blenheim life will chafe her raw.”
Loic fixed Perel—the bride’s lone defender—with a glacial stare.
“Who said she’d reside here?”
“But… she’s to be the duchess…”
Loic interrupted sharply.
“Get real. That woman’s never crossing into Blenheim.”
The knights gaped at their lord.
“You’re not fetching the marquis’s daughter here?”
“How do you dodge her?”
“No dodging needed.”
Loic tousled his hair roughly. “I’ll ditch her post-ceremony.”
Perel’s jaw slackened in astonishment.
“You’re abandoning your wife?”
“I’m not importing the marquis’s line into my keep,” Loic stated flatly.
“Smart move!” Dmitri approved with a nod.
“Or else they’d flood in with ‘maids’ and ‘guards’ as pretexts. Cut it off early.”
“Who’s your stand-in?” Hedrick, the deputy commander, finally spoke up.
The knights averted their eyes. None relished proxy duty at this fraught wedding.
Loic glanced idly around.
“Perel.”
“Me?!” Perel bolted upright, aghast.
Dmitri narrowed his eyes, doubting this tender soul’s mettle for the job.
“My castle duties pile up…” Perel pleaded, scanning for allies, but eyes dodged him.
Hedrick intoned flatly, “Depart tomorrow, or you’ll miss it. Stranding her at the altar? No father—no marquis—would stomach that.”
“Lord Duke…” Perel’s features crumpled. Loic turned to Hedrick with grudging orders.
“Escort him. Grab a handful from the first division.”
As glances darted among the knights, Loic hurled the mangled letter into the hearth flames.
“Sympathy? Absurd.”
The marquis had orchestrated his parents’ demise. Even nominal ties to his spawn fueled Loic’s urge to raze the whole lineage.
The paper charred to nothing. Loic’s rage ebbed.
It’s tolerable. Bide time, then annul.
Visions of a forsaken bride lingered not in his thoughts.
At last, wedding day dawned.
Preparations swirled, yet all fell into place punctually. I reached the chapel unscathed.
“Prettier than anticipated,” I mused, surveying the interior en route.
Stone pillars braced the core, infusing quiet gravity. Sunbeams pierced narrow panes, bathing saintly effigies in golden light.
Approaching from beyond the altar came Perel Otis, the duke’s counsel and my proxy groom. A mere background figure in the tale’s original arc, yet strikingly comely.
At the altar, Perel proffered his arm, jittery. Lordly duty or villainess whispers—his hand quivered.
Brushing aside the tremor, I rested mine lightly atop it.
The officiant’s grave tones resounded.
“We assemble today to behold this exalted bond.”
No guests save Perel and my maid, yet formality befitted a duke-marquis match.
Groom’s oath due, Perel—strained—recited,
“I, Perel Otis, for Loic Blenheim, pledge to treasure this bond with lifelong devotion and esteem.”
Lifetime? I’d count blessings not to be ousted at once.
My moment. I paused, then murmured softly,
“I, Annette Freis, pledge my heart and spirit to this holy bond, embracing a spouse’s true obligations.”
The words rang hollow in sanctity, yet I voiced them with feigned sincerity, eyes downcast.
Rings exchanged: Perel grazed mine fleetingly, wary of the duke’s consort, slipping it on.
Not plague-ridden, am I?
Mirroring his unease, I fitted his ring with minimal touch.
The officiant proclaimed,
“By divine mercy, this marriage is hallowed. May affection and grace attend you ever.”
Thus, I wed the duke officially.
Never glimpsing his face stung faintly, but the rite concluded smoothly.
Exhaling relief in the antechamber, I lifted my veil. Janet entered.
“Head to the manor, change there.”
Fumbling solo with the gown, I accepted her grudging aid amid heavy sighs, veil adjusted. I donned a simple azure frock—the least cumbersome packed—and hastened forth.
“Miss! Where to?”
Rushing chapel-ward, I spied the ducal carriage, crest bold. Perel stood by, passing a note to the priest.
“Extend my regards to Her Grace…”
“Perel?”
He whirled, startled, bowing low.
“Your Grace.”
The priest, peeved, shoved the letter back.
“You’ve addressed Her Grace. I’m off.”
Perel clutched the missive, eyes evading mine.
“Perel, departing?”
Not truly querying. His evasion screamed.
“Regrettably, yes. Duchy crises demand haste.”
Liar. Dodging me plain.
“An urgent dispatch en route, and…” Perel’s words faltered, flimsy as his resolve.
“That note—for me?”
He jolted, hiding it.
“…Uncertain of post-rite encounter, I drafted this.”
“Fortuitous meeting, then.”
“…Indeed.”
Hard to fault him. Capital-bound after carriage week’s trek, superior’s command likely spurred instant retreat.
Fretting I’d harass or demand?
Yet, defying ducal expectations, I meant Perel no hassle.
My plan: trail him.
“Then together we go.”
“Pardon? How so?”
“To the duchy, with you, now.”
Pallor drained Perel’s face, dismay plain.
“Now? But…”
“Miss, what nonsense?”
Janet, trailing, arched a brow—irritated, not puzzled.
Bold of me, this sudden claim.
Ducal presumption I’d linger tamely was bold; my foresight bolder.
Wise prep.
Luggage minimal, packed days prior. Jewel sold for coin; priciest gowns alone. Valuable gifts stowed.
“Your Grace, apologies—I depart at once. Another date, perhaps…”
“No need. All packed.”
I nodded to the nearing coach: nondescript, aged rental, crestless. Perel recoiled.
“That? And the maids?”
“The maids…”
Janet scorched me with a glare.
Some villainess I am.
Her ire laid bare years of Annette’s mistreatment.
“Truth, Miss—hair’s no platinum, just gray-streaked. Dull skin? Makeup fails your face too.”
Wedding day, still her barbs flew.
Beyond words: combing drew blood via “accident”; baubles vanished from my chambers.
Humiliating me before the duke’s man now?
Past regrets aside, priority loomed.
Depart today, come what may.
Smile strained, I said, “Circumstances dictate they remain.”
“Remain?! But the marquis—”
Janet’s cry peaked, then hushed at Perel’s shock.
