I Got Married to a Yandere Queen
Chapter 54 - 53 - The Unwanted Guest

Chapter 54: Chapter 53 - The Unwanted Guest

After an entire day of ceremonies and formalities—greeting noble guests from various regions, dancing to orchestral music, exchanging well-rehearsed polite conversations—Armand Valderacht could finally breathe.

He sat at the edge of a large bed covered in pale cream sheets, surrounded by thin curtains that swayed gently from the breeze coming through a half-open window. Aromatic candles flickered softly in the corners of the room, casting a calming golden light.

Armand was not a man who enjoyed crowds. He didn’t care much for applause, loud laughter, or lavish praises. But tonight... everything felt worth it.

Beside him sat the woman whose face he would now see every day—the woman who had just become his lawful wife. Brigitta Lospen, now Brigitta Valderacht.

Her frame was small, but not frail. There was strength in the way she held herself, yet a gentle softness in her eyes when she turned to look at him. Her evening gown was simple, a soft ivory, far more comfortable than the ornate wedding dress she had worn earlier. Her hair was half pinned, the rest falling over her shoulders in gentle waves.

With a small smile, Armand pulled his wife into his embrace. Brigitta let out a small gasp, her body tensing in surprise. But that innocent reaction only made Armand chuckle softly, a deep and warm sound.

He then leaned forward, shifting his weight until they were lying face to face. His arm moved gently, locking her into place on the wide bed that now felt small due to the intimacy that filled the space.

They stared at each other. Long. Silent, yet filled with meaning.

Blushing slightly, Brigitta closed her eyes. She leaned in, her lips slightly pursed—shy, yet certain.

Armand froze for a moment. His heart pounded in disbelief that this moment was real. He leaned in closer, their faces just inches apart. His lips puckered, ready to meet hers. Their breaths mingled—warm, nervous, sweet.

But just as the distance narrowed to mere millimeters...

Click.

The door swung open—without a knock, without warning.

The groan of old hinges cut through the silence like a thunderclap in the night.

They both turned, still in their intimate pose. Their expressions instantly shifted—shocked, irritated, and embarrassed.

But that budding anger vanished the moment their eyes landed on the figure standing in the doorway.

A woman stepped into the room. Her crimson hair glowed like embers in the candlelight, her face blank, cold, unreadable. She wore a gown of deep blue-black, elegant and flowing, but carrying an ominous air difficult to explain. Her steps were light, but each one seemed to carry weight.

She looked at them without the slightest hint of guilt. As if she wasn’t intruding on the most sacred moment of someone’s wedding night.

Ashtoria Belmore.

The Mad Queen.

Realization dawned in the young couple’s eyes. The color drained from their faces.

Brigitta froze like a statue, while Armand, who had been so calm just moments ago, now sat rigid, pale as parchment.

With voices tight and filled with tension, they stammered nearly in unison:

"Y-Your Majesty..."

.

.

.

After Riven agreed to travel with Ashtoria to the capital city of Belmore, their journey didn’t begin with an ordinary carriage ride.

Instead, the three of them spent hours wandering the city—taking in its stone alleys, market scents, and distant bell chimes—while casually discussing where they might find a cheap inn for the night.

But Ashtoria had other plans.

Without a word of warning, she led them through the winding streets with quiet confidence, until they found themselves standing before a magnificent estate in the heart of the city.

It wasn’t a palace, but it might as well have been. The manor belonged to one of the old noble families—the Valderachts—who had just drawn the city’s eyes with their opulent wedding celebration held earlier today.

As they stepped through the doorway, Riven and Mira hesitated at the threshold, unsure whether they were guests... or intruders.

The high ceiling was adorned with golden carvings, a thick red carpet muffled their footsteps, and old oil paintings lined the stone walls—making them feel like they had stepped into another world. A chandelier of crystal refracted candlelight into soft rainbows dancing across the ceiling.

Mira swallowed hard and whispered to her brother, "This is someone’s house, right?"

Riven merely nodded, his eyes scanning the luxurious interior that felt too rich to be called cozy. He didn’t know whether to be impressed or just overwhelmed.

Meanwhile, Ashtoria walked ahead of them without hesitation, her steps quick and light, like a winter wind that knew exactly where it was going.

No servant dared to stop her. Not a single voice echoed through the house—as if every soul knew to disappear when the queen walked.

She briefly questioned an old servant who appeared at the end of the hallway, trembling as he bowed low.

"Lord Valderacht?" she asked curtly.

"Y-Your Majesty... he is currently at the city office. He had urgent matters to attend to..."

"Then who’s here in the manor?" she pressed.

"The Young Lord Valderacht... is in his chamber with his wife," the servant replied, not daring to meet her gaze. He pointed toward Armand’s room with a shaking finger.

Ashtoria gave a single nod and continued walking without another word. Then she stopped in front of an intricately carved door, her gaze sharpening.

Riven watched her back, a creeping sense of dread crawling up his spine.

With a motion both graceful and firm, Ashtoria turned the handle and slowly pushed the door open.

Golden candlelight spilled out into the hallway, casting a warm glow that belied what lay within.

And there—on a large bed draped in delicate canopies and soft sheets—two figures froze in place.

Armand Valderacht was still bent over his new bride, just inches away from her lips. Their moment of intimacy shattered in an instant.

Armand’s head snapped up. Brigitta yanked the covers to her chest, her face pale with shock and embarrassment.

At the doorway stood Ashtoria.

No smile. No emotion. Just a cold, unwavering gaze that stripped them bare.

Behind her stood Riven and Mira—just as stunned. Mira immediately clamped her hands over her eyes, mumbling, "Oh no, I didn’t see anything..."

With strained voices and nervous stammering, the couple spoke nearly together:

"Y-Your Majesty..."

Ashtoria stepped into the room with elegance, though the chill of her presence filled every corner. She didn’t stop until she stood beside the bed, staring directly at Armand and Brigitta without blinking.

"Prepare a room for the three of us," she said, her voice calm... but heavy with meaning.