The Wedding (1)
Time passed with cruel speed, and before anyone realized it, the day of the wedding had arrived.
As feared, the witnesses from the atelier remained missing, and the situation had not advanced an inch.
In the end, going to Malipa was the right choice.
I blinked weakly at my reflection in the mirror. Having barely slept the night before, exhaustion weighed on me like lead.
“Ishtel, you’re not ill, are you? You look utterly drained.”
Baroness Turen’s voice was laced with worry as she placed the tiara on my head. She usually took such delight in adorning me, yet today her face was shadowed with unmistakable gloom.
“I simply didn’t sleep well.”
“You’re certain you’re not sick?”
“Yes. Molly, enough.”
I jerked my head in the opposite direction and clamped my mouth shut. Every time I parted my lips, Molly tried to force food into me.
“But you haven’t eaten a proper bite in days!”
“I did eat.”
“A few crumbs a baby bird would scorn, more like!”
Frustration finally got the better of Molly and she scolded me outright. Baroness Turen gently took the plate from her hands.
“There, there, Molly. I know how much you worry, but if she has no appetite, forcing her will only do more harm. The last thing we need is for her to suffer indigestion before something so important.”
“That may be true, but…”
“This is no ordinary day. It’s her wedding. Let Ishtel decide for herself. No one knows her own body better than she does.”
At the baroness’s soft persuasion, Molly finally surrendered. With a heavy sigh, she cleared the plate away.
“Rose, would you fetch the veil?”
“Ah, yes, right away.”
Rose, standing by the window, hurried to lift the veil from the mannequin. The veil reserved for imperial weddings was so long that even with both arms stretched high, its edge still brushed the floor.
“This thing is impossibly long. I nearly tripped over it. If only Shuri were here—her height would have made it easier. Oh dear.”
Realizing she had mentioned Shuri, Rose’s face fell and her mouth turned downward. Baroness Turen shook her head and accepted the veil.
Not only Shuri, but Hellion and all the northern vassals had chosen not to attend today’s ceremony. Shuri had desperately wanted to see me, yet her older brothers’ firm opposition had kept her away.
“Ishtel, stand up now, dear.”
At Baroness Turen’s gentle prompt, I rose slowly from the chair. She, Abigail, and the other maids gathered around me, helping me into the wedding dress.
It was the same gown Karina had worn at the title bestowal ceremony. The difference lay in the absence of the red cloak; instead, I wore a veil so long it far surpassed my height. As Baroness Turen smoothed the hem, she looked up at me and smiled.
“My heavens, you look so beautiful, Ishtel. If your sister could see you now, she would be overjoyed.”
Tears gathered swiftly in Baroness Turen’s green eyes. She pressed a hand to her face to hold them back, but they slipped between her fingers anyway.
“Please don’t cry, Aunt.”
When I stepped closer to comfort her, her sobs only grew louder. Rose, still holding the edge of my veil, began to sniffle with reddened eyes, and even Molly was wiping away tears.
Everyone present knew this marriage contained none of my own will. They had watched with lingering doubt, hoping against hope, but now that the moment of the procession had come, the truth of it must have struck them as utterly wrong.
“Ishtel, the ceremony hasn’t truly begun until you walk in. This could be your last chance. Call it off—even now.”
Baroness Turen clasped my hand tightly. I shook my head with firm resolve.
“No. It must proceed.”
“I truly cannot understand what’s going through your mind.”
My aunt echoed the same words Hellion had spoken. I held back my tears and pulled her into my arms. The embrace was also an apology for what would soon unfold. Holding her close, I begged for forgiveness in my heart.
“Molly, Rose.”
Where my aunt had stood, Molly and Rose now approached. They wrapped their arms around me with all their strength and wept openly like children.
“Ishtel, we must finish preparing and go.”
Baroness Turen, the first to regain her composure, lifted the necklace from the vanity. It was the late Empress’s necklace, the one she had treasured for the day she would marry the designated crown prince.
“No. This is enough.”
I touched the golden rose necklace resting against my collarbone—the Regentera family heirloom I already wore.
Illid was not the crown prince, and this wedding would not follow its intended course. The Empress’s necklace would be far too extravagant for a day like this.
The wedding preparations were complete. Yet one final, most crucial thing remained.
“Esi.”
At my call, Esi entered with quick, light steps from her post outside the door.
“You summoned me, Duchess?”
“Yes. My throat feels dry. Could you bring me a glass of water?”
“Of course. Right away.”
Esi soon returned with a single glass of water on a silver tray. I turned to everyone gathered in the room.
“I wish to be alone for a moment. Please leave me.”
Baroness Turen nodded and ushered Molly and Rose out. Once the spacious chamber was empty, I moved to the desk. My hand slipped into the drawer and closed around the glass bottle hidden deep inside.
Just one drop will suffice, she said.
When I uncorked the bottle, white smoke rose exactly as it had in Malipa’s tower. I let a single drop fall into the glass.
For an instant, a vivid red bloom spread from where the droplet landed, turning the entire glass crimson. Then, as though nothing had happened, the water returned to perfect clarity.
Though I did not believe in the gods, I offered a brief prayer over the glass. Please let me wake again.
I lifted it and drank without hesitation. There was no strange taste, no scent—nothing at all. For a poison said to be the closest thing to death, it was disarmingly ordinary.
One hour.
Not much time remained before the toxin would spread. After drawing a deep breath, I stepped out of the room.
The wedding hall visible from the bride’s waiting room was breathtakingly beautiful. The imperial palace garden, adorned with flowers, brimmed with far more life than usual. Statues and marble platforms brought from the Temple lent the scene an air of solemn dignity.
All the nobles invited to the ceremony had taken their seats. Because the Regentera Duke and Duchess were forbidden from attending, the seat of highest honor among the guests had gone to Duke Bladin—Ebony Bladin. Beside her sat Marquis Lilche, Yulian Lilche, followed by the Silanda count family and the southern vassals.
Nowhere in the hall could Hellion or any of the northern vassals be seen. It was as though they had never existed; not even a shadow of them remained.
Soon, Duchess of Rockfelt Karina Regentra ascended the highest platform, escorting His Majesty the Emperor.
Despite the joyous occasion of a national marriage, the Emperor’s expression remained grim. In stark contrast, the Duchess of Rockfelt seated beside him wore a bright look. It was not happiness. Rather, she appeared deeply pleased by the sight of a bride whose misfortune had already been written.
“Begin the ceremony.”
At the Emperor’s command, the High Priest made his declaration and the rite commenced. Soft music carrying the unmistakable dignity of the imperial family filled the air as the doors to both the bride’s and groom’s waiting rooms opened at once.
Loud applause rose. From the opposite side, Illid approached. Each step I took toward him felt unsteady, as though the ground itself were swaying. The world appeared hazy and blurred, as if veiled in fog.
Is the potion beginning to take effect?
My head spun. My vision refused to hold focus, trembling constantly. When I finally stood before Illid, only the red cloak and the imperial family’s black uniform registered faintly; his face remained indistinct.
“Are you still angry with me, Ishtel?”
When I grimaced from the headache, Illid let out a deep sigh as he looked at me.
“The ceremony has already begun. Even if you despise it, there is no turning back now. So please don’t stand there so rigidly.”
I gave no answer. In truth, I could not. The changes overtaking my body, combined with his still shameless demeanor, had stolen my voice.
Illid and I ascended the platform just below the Emperor’s seat. We knelt upon the red-carpeted dais and received the blessing beneath the incense burner the High Priest carried.
Yet none of the words reached my ears. Malipa’s potion was spreading swiftly through my veins. There was no pain, only a dizziness so profound that I felt I might collapse at any second, my mind growing hazy.
“Your Highness Archduke Illid, Duchess of Wintera. You have completed the marriage vows. Finally, please sign the marriage contract.”
Illid rose first, straightening his knees. With the assistance of the junior priests, I managed to stand before the dais.
Illid signed the document the moment it was placed before him. The junior priests then handed me the long scroll and a quill heavy with ink.
Not a single character on the contract registered in my eyes. The hand holding the quill trembled beyond my control.
“Ishtel.”
When I remained frozen, merely gripping the quill, Illid urged me. Even his voice sounded distant, echoing strangely in my ears.
Drip. Drip.
Ink—no, not ink—fell onto the contract. The color blooming across the paper was vivid red. It was not from the quill. It was blood flowing from the corner of my mouth.
“Ishtel!”
Illid’s sharp cry rang out, laced with horror. At the same moment, blood surged from my lips. It spilled across the pure white dress, spreading in ghastly crimson patterns.
So this is what Malipa meant by dramatic visual effect.
Red blood blooming across white fabric. Even from a distance, the severity of the scene would be unmistakable.
Screams erupted throughout the guest seats. Ebony Bladin and Yulian, seated in the front row, shot to their feet in shock. Sharp cries from the noblewomen followed. I could hear Baroness Turen and Rose desperately calling my name again and again.
I had no strength left to hold myself upright. Like a broken doll, I collapsed helplessly to the floor.
“Your Majesty!”
The instant I fell, Karina’s scream tore from the highest point of the dais. Even as my vision blurred, the sight remained clear: His Majesty the Emperor convulsing and collapsing.