Reborn: The Duke's Obsession
Chapter 92 - Ninety Two

Chapter 92: Chapter Ninety Two

The great St. Peter’s Cathedral was silent, the air heavy with the scent of a thousand white lilies and old, hallowed stone. Sunlight, fractured into a rainbow of colors, streamed through the magnificent stained-glass windows, painting the faces of the assembled nobility in jeweled tones. The pews were filled with the most powerful and influential people in the entire kingdom of Albion, all of them waiting with hushed anticipation.

The priest stood before the grand altar, his voice echoing in the vast, vaulted space. "Dearly beloved," he began, his words formal and traditional, "we are gathered here today in the sight of God, and in the face of this company, to join together this Man and this Woman in holy Matrimony..."

Delia stood beside Eric, her hand resting lightly on his arm. To the world, she was the picture of a blushing, happy bride. Her smile was serene, her posture was perfect, and her eyes, visible through the sheer, delicate veil, seemed to shine with joy. But inside, her heart was a cold, hard stone of resolve.

The priest spoke the words, his voice a steady sound, but Delia hardly heard him. Her focus was on the moment to come, the vows that would seal her fate and give her the power she so desperately needed.

Finally, the priest turned to Eric. "Wilt thou have this Woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?"

Eric turned to face Delia. He looked not at the priest, not at the congregation, but directly into her eyes. His own gaze was so full of a deep, unwavering tenderness that it almost made her forget the cold purpose in her own heart.

"I will," he said, his voice clear and strong, ringing with a profound sincerity that went far beyond a simple promise. He then began his own vow, his words a personal, heartfelt pledge. "I, Eric Carson, take thee, Delia, to be my wedded wife." He gently took her hand in his. "To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health. I will be your shield when you need protection, your partner when you need an ally, and your home when you need a safe place to rest. I vow to love and to cherish you, till death do us part."

The priest then turned to Delia. "Wilt thou have this Man to thy wedded husband?"

Delia took a small, steadying breath. This was her moment. She turned her gaze to Eric, a perfect, loving smile on her face. "I will," she replied, her voice as clear and sweet as a silver bell. She repeated her own vows, her words a flawless recitation of wifely devotion and promise.

They exchanged the rings. He slid a simple gold band onto her finger, a symbol of his strength and constancy. She, in turn, placed a more ornate ring, one bearing the Carson family crest, onto his. The metal was cool against his skin.

The priest raised his hands over their joined ones. "Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder." He smiled. "I now pronounce you husband and wife."

The cathedral remained silent as Eric, his eyes still fixed on her, gently lifted her veil. For a moment, he just looked at her, his expression full of a love so raw and real it was breathtaking. He then leaned in and kissed her, a tender, gentle claiming of her lips that sealed their vows.

They turned to the congregation, and the silent cathedral erupted with a thunderous clap of congratulations. Delia’s smile was radiant. She looked like the happiest bride in the world.

From the front pew, she saw Duchess Lyra smiling at them, her eyes shining with pure, unadulterated joy.

As they came down from the altar, hand in hand, ready to walk down the aisle as husband and wife, Augusta moved to intercept them. She was fluttering her fan dramatically, as if she were in mourning, and her face was arranged in a mask of perfect, sorrowful sympathy.

"Oh, Delia, my dear," Augusta said, her voice loud enough for those nearby to hear. "You must be so disappointed that your dear father couldn’t make it today. His health took a turn this morning." She pretended.

Delia smiled sweetly at her stepmother, playing her part in this public shenanigans. "It’s fine, Baroness," she said, her voice full of a daughter’s gentle concern. "His health is what is most important. It’s nothing to worry about."

Delia then did something that surprised everyone. She leaned in and gave Augusta a warm, affectionate hug. As her arms wrapped around her stepmother’s stiff, unwilling form, she brought her lips close to Augusta’s ear.

"I know you kept him from coming," she whispered, her voice a low, venomous hiss that no one else could hear.

She then broke the hug, her sweet, public smile still perfectly in place. Augusta, however, could not hide the flicker of shock and fear in her own eyes. She let out a rushed, fake smile, her face suddenly pale.

Delia looked at her, at the woman who had tormented her for her entire life, and felt a cold, satisfying thrill of power. "That’s right, Baroness," she thought to herself. " Be angry. Be afraid." She took Eric’s offered hand, her own smile turning genuine for the first time that day. "Because the anger and fear you feel right now isn’t even close to what I have felt. And it is nothing compared to what I am going to do to you."

She smiled brilliantly in front of everyone, looking the very picture of a blissfully happy bride. As she and Eric began their triumphant walk down the long aisle, she glanced one last time at Augusta, and she showed her a quick, sharp flash of teeth. It was not a smile. It was the baring of fangs, a silent promise.

"I will destroy you. I will destroy all of you, completely."