The Wedding Uniform
For a moment, time turns back—to the instant Julia collapsed in exhaustion while trying to lace Chloe into her dress.
“Do I absolutely have to wear a dress?”
Julia, who had been agonizing over how on earth she was supposed to produce the miracle of making a dress in three days, looked up at Chloe with a frown.
What in the world was she talking about?
But Chloe was quick to point to the fabric samples, swatches, and royal protocol manuals spread across the floor.
“What I’m required to wear for a royal wedding is the sash and the crown, yes?”
“That is true, but…” Julia answered cautiously.
However hastily arranged the wedding might be, it was still a royal marriage, and as such, there were certain formalities that had to be observed.
For instance, Prince Frederick’s guarantee of the marriage. Unless a member of the royal family stood as witness, the marriage would not be recognized.
The wedding attire was the same. Anyone marrying into the royal family had to wear the royal sash, and tradition dictated that the bride, in addition, wear one of the royal jewels.
Prince Frederick had sent Chloe a small tiara and veil through an attendant.
“Surely you aren’t suggesting something as radical as wearing only the sash and crown over your nightclothes.”
Curtis asked with his arms folded, looking intrigued.
That man really does have to sneer no matter what he’s asking.
Chloe narrowed her eyes and folded her arms right back at him.
“I was merely wondering whether the Royal Guard’s formal uniform had been set aside to boil stew in.”
Ah.
Curtis’s lips parted slightly. Julia, on the other hand, jumped as if she had been struck.
“What?! You mean you intend to wear a military uniform?!”
Naturally, both their gazes turned toward Chloe’s uniform, which had been draped over the partition.
But Chloe waved a hand.
“Not that one. The ceremonial uniform.”
“The white one, you mean.”
“Yes.”
“B-but… you are the bride!”
Julia, horrified, tried to dissuade her. Curtis, meanwhile, said nothing and rubbed his chin.
Chloe pushed herself up with a little grunt and added,
“Your Grace is a war hero. You are also someone who enlisted of your own accord. If I wear a uniform, I imagine it won’t look half bad to other people.”
It was something he had never considered.
But it was also a suggestion very much to Curtis’s taste.
This marriage had come about because he had defied the king.
Moreover, it was a marriage that had let the whole world know he had defied the king.
The king would be on edge right now, nerves sharpened, looking for anything to pick apart.
And that was not all. People of every sort would invent every sort of story.
Even now, tens of thousands of rumors must already have been produced around the two of them and their marriage.
But Curtis had enlisted the moment the current king ascended the throne for one reason only: he had not wanted the hassle.
To put it plainly, he had shouted to the entire world, I don’t want your seat! I’m not even thinking about it!—and yet the king alone refused to believe him.
And at a wedding like that, both bride and groom would wear the uniform of Ibanes.
“Your Grace defied His Majesty because you… love me, but this would show that your loyalty to Ibanes remains unchanged. What do you think?”
Watching her lips tremble over the word love, Curtis felt a little amused.
She did not bother hiding how much she hated the situation, and yet she was still using her head rather well. He found that satisfying.
To begin with, Curtis had not expected much from Chloe.
She was an aide he had found tolerable enough, but he had never once imagined she might make a decent politician.
And yet the suggestion she had made was highly political and efficient.
On top of that, there was not so much as a speck of romance in it.
That was the part he liked best.
“If I’ve overstepped, I apologize.”
“No. I like it.”
Curtis smiled faintly.
“I’ll wear my ceremonial uniform as well. The ceremonial uniform is white to begin with. Not a bad idea.”
Only Julia looked as if she wanted to die.
“Aaaah. But this is the wedding of none other than His Grace the Grand Duke… And for you as well, my lady, it is a once-in-a-lifetime marriage.”
“It’s precisely because he’s none other than His Grace the Grand Duke that a wedding like this can happen. I’m all right.”
Chloe patted Julia with considerable tenderness.
And so the two of them decided to hold the wedding in military uniforms.
And now, back to the wedding hall.
“Isn’t that a military uniform?”
The guests erupted into murmurs as the bride and groom appeared in the Royal Guard’s ceremonial dress uniform.
“A military uniform, for a once-in-a-lifetime wedding? Good heavens.”
A once-in-a-lifetime wedding.
What a laugh.
Curtis could, this very instant, pick out exactly how many of the guests saying such things had been married twice—or even three times.
Instead of doing so, however, he arched a brow and looked at the bride beside him.
Perhaps it was nerves.
Chloe Amboise looked unusually dazed.
Even when he had once made her work three straight nights without sleep, her eyes had still been sharp and alive. But even for her, today seemed to be a tremendously burdensome and frightening day.
Quite apart from how she felt, however, Chloe Amboise looked rather good.
Her hair, which she usually tied back in one rough bundle, had been braided up decoratively.
Jewels gleamed here and there between the glossy strands, and at the very top rested a tiara from the Ibanes royal treasury.
The moment one guest saw it, they recalled that it was the same tiara Crown Princess Beatrice had worn at her wedding last year, and let out a small gasp.
A full veil woven with tiny pearls draped beautifully over it, flowing all the way down to the floor like water.
Her rare pink eyes were extraordinarily striking.
People had whispered that she was rather old for a new bride, but as if to mock them, her lively cheeks were flushed red as roses.
She was tall and slender, of course, but because she wore trousers, her long, straight legs stood out as well.
The line from her firm shoulders to her back, combined with the upright posture of a soldier, gave her enough presence to hold her own even beside Grand Duke Berk.
Looking at Chloe, Curtis was certain of one thing.
If she set her mind to it, a second marriage would not be terribly difficult for her.
And by then, she’ll probably have plenty of time to have a decent dress made.
Why was it?
The moment he thought that, he remembered the time in the toilette room when he had personally tightened her waist because the dress had not fit.
In truth, he too had been a little flustered.
He had not realized what it meant to hold a woman by the waist.
The distance was too close.
Another person’s body beneath his fingertips.
The pale nape of her neck, exposed.
Should he call it a disaster?
Because the dress had been too small, her back had been far too exposed—slender and taut, like a young doe.
The faint scent that had brushed past him should, by all rights, have been unpleasant, but…
What the hell is this?
Curtis shook his head lightly and tried to clear his mind.
Before him, the Royal Guard bastards were lined up to form the ceremonial honor guard for this wedding.
Belatedly conscious of Chloe’s right hand looped through his arm, he looked down.
Just then, Chloe’s gloved left hand, resting over her stomach as it would during a Royal Guard ceremony, entered his line of sight.
A finger still empty.
Soon, however, his mother’s ring would take its place there, and then…
Will it come back to me?
For some reason, thinking that far irritated him.
Why?
Probably because it’s too far off.
Marrying, buying time, finding her a suitable partner, proposing again, divorcing…
Just imagining it was exhausting.
In any case, it was not something enjoyable to anticipate.
Compared to that, this wedding—where he was essentially throwing a bucket of filth in the king’s face—was actually more entertaining…
Damn it.
This was not the time for such useless thoughts.
Contrary to the confusion in his head, Curtis tugged the corners of his mouth upward.
As it happened, a rather delightful sight was unfolding before him.
Hundreds of people staring at him, all of them utterly bewildered.
He became certain once more that he really was a hopeless human being.
After all, seeing other people thrown into confusion because of him always felt amusing.
Everyone doubted their eyes.
Some were so dumbfounded they rubbed them several times.
But the scene before them did not change.
Georges let out a groaned curse.
“Fuck.”
It was far too crude a word for a subordinate to utter at his superior’s wedding, but at that moment, every guest present agreed with him.
The Ibanes royal family was immensely wealthy.
Naturally, the Royal Guard’s ceremonial uniform was second to none in splendor.
Gleaming epaulettes, an ornamental sash, luxurious fabric.
Moreover, each uniform was custom-made by royal tailors.
On the days when the Royal Guard members—who were chosen with their appearance taken into consideration to begin with—wore those white uniforms, people often said it was a feast for the eyes.
So the two people getting married today did look exceedingly splendid.
As for Curtis, nothing needed to be said.
As for the bride… well.
Everyone did know the face of “Miss Amboise” from the illustrations in the newspaper.
But illustrations were bound to flatter.
People had snickered among themselves that they were curious what the original would be like, in all sorts of ways.
But today’s Chloe Amboise betrayed everyone’s expectations.
In a good way.
Not one of the qualities people usually named first when speaking of feminine beauty belonged to her.
But that was no reason to deny Chloe Amboise’s strange beauty.
In a word, she looked stunning.
On any other day, people would not have hesitated to say the pair suited each other well.
But.
“But… this is a wedding…”
One guest murmured as if sighing.
It was absurd.
Why?
Because, no matter what, what bride got married in a military uniform?
“Grand Duke Berk may be an extraordinary soldier, but… he’s making her wear a uniform even on a day like this?”
“Is this some kind of political performance?”
The guests murmured among themselves.