The Villainess's Secret Bedroom Service
Chapter 103: The Wedding, Part 1

Chapter 103: The Wedding, Part 1

"My Lady, you are undeniably the most exquisite bride I have ever had the pleasure of setting my eyes upon."

With a heartwarming smile, Aurora gently brought her hands together in admiration, her eyes fixed on the resplendent figure of her lady. There was no denying it – Rosalie Ashter was unquestionably deserving of the title "The Most Beautiful Bride" in the entire Empire of Rische.

As Rosalie gazed upon her own reflection within the tall, full-length mirror of her lavish bedroom, a silent nod of agreement escaped her lips. Truly, she was a vision to behold, a living testament to the empire’s grandeur.

The final iteration of Lady Ashter’s wedding gown exceeded all expectations. A delicate, ethereal light-pink fabric, reminiscent of the softest tulle, gracefully billowed above the gown’s pure white silk foundation. The gown’s multi-tiered skirt cascaded like a blooming tulip, evoking an air of effortless elegance.

At Rosalie’s specific request, the dress’s corset was lovingly fashioned from the same luxurious silk, its slender, blush-colored ribbons artfully tied at the back, ensuring her comfort and ease. The exquisite embroidery, executed with a touch of rose gold threads, adorned the corset’s front with a subtle, luminous shimmer, imparting a touch of enchantment to the gown’s already airy design.

The choice of a square-cut neckline for an Autumn wedding may have seemed rather bold, yet it proved to be the ideal one. It gracefully unveiled Rosalie’s slender neck, delicate collarbones, and the flawless expanse of her chest, all while the gown’s long, billowing sleeves gathered gently at her wrists, their elegant frills nearly enveloping her hands.

Though it appeared deceptively simple, it was the woman who inhabited this dress that transformed it into a work of art, a true masterpiece.

As she continued to study her own reflection, an unexpected rush of melancholy washed over her, churning a tumultuous sea of emotions within her heart.

’If this were the Rosalie Ashter of old, she would have undoubtedly been on cloud nine. After all, she was so passionately in love with Damien, and marrying him had been her sole dream.’

"My Lady, your bouquet awaits."

Aurora delicately placed a bouquet of exquisite pink roses into her lady’s awaiting hands, her breath catching in fascination as the blossoms harmonized flawlessly with the wedding gown. Rosalie’s gaze drifted downward, drawn to the tender, heart-like petals of the roses, and a soft sigh escaped her lips.

’He even personally chose the bouquet... It is incredibly thoughtful, yet I find myself unable to fully savor this moment. There is something deep within my chest, a gnawing unrest in my soul. I just want this to be over with as soon as possible.’

A gentle rap on the bedroom door disrupted her thoughts, ushering in Sir Logan in his celebratory attire, a stark contrast to his usual black uniform. His handsome yet endearing countenance lit up with a radiant smile as his crimson eyes fell upon Rosalie’s resplendent appearance.

"My Lady, the carriage awaits. It’s time for us to depart."

According to an age-old tradition among the elite, it was customary for the parents to precede the betrothed couple to the Holy Temple, ensuring all arrangements were impeccable. However, in a unique twist of fate, neither Rosalie nor Damien had families to fulfill this role. Instead, the Grand Duke himself undertook the responsibility on their behalf.

Ever since the official announcement of their impending wedding, Damien had shouldered all the preparations single-handedly. Despite Rosalie’s earnest entreaties to contribute, he steadfastly declined her offers of assistance. Consequently, Lady Ashter found herself relegated to the role of a mere observer, patiently awaiting the commencement of the grand event.

In addition to the persistent guilt that gnawed at her for her perceived helplessness in the midst of the wedding preparations, another looming issue cast a shadow over the young woman, igniting a worrisome anxiety within her chest. With her father, Lord Ian Ashter now in prison, the question of who would escort her down the aisle remained unresolved. However, this quandary was "graciously" addressed by none other than the benevolent Emperor himself, who entrusted this pivotal role to his own son, Crown Prince Loyd Rische.

’I cannot help but feel this way. There is something about the prince that sends shivers down my spine every time I see him. It is as if he alone truly sees through me, as though he possesses an understanding that something within me is amiss.’

Rosalie’s sole comfort for the day lay in the knowledge that the wedding ceremony served as a mere formality, devoid of the need for extravagant celebrations or a sizable guest list. The event was reserved exclusively for members of the Imperial family, guardian knights, and, naturally, the esteemed clergy from the Holy Temple who played a direct role in the proceedings.

’As absurd as it may seem, I suppose I should find solace in the fact that Damien’s military duty calls him away so soon.’

She quickly shook her head, suppressing a nervous chuckle. Nothing about this day adhered to normalcy, and she could not help but wonder if she, too, was gradually losing touch with reality.

With care and grace, Aurora assisted her lady in approaching the waiting carriage. She held the delicate hem of the wedding dress with utmost gentleness as they proceeded, pausing momentarily to sniffle and dab at her eyes, which, it appeared, were rather eager to release their salty tears as swiftly as possible.

"Ah, Lady Rosalie, I would have given you a warm hug, but I am afraid of spoiling your exquisite dress."

Those words acted as a gentle nudge in Rosalie’s emotional turmoil. She did not hesitate for a second; she enveloped her devoted maid in a heartfelt embrace, trembling arms encircling Aurora’s shoulders. Her chin rested against the soft fabric of Aurora’s uniform as she whispered, her voice quivering in the effort to hold back her own tears,

"Thank you, Aurora. I genuinely appreciate it. I am sorry you won’t be there by my side today."

Aurora responded with a radiant, affectionate smile gracing her face. Her palm tenderly patted her lady’s back as she whispered in return,

"My heart will be by your side wherever you are, My Lady. You can always count on that."

As their bodies slowly parted, Rosalie graced Aurora with yet another warm smile, accompanied by a subtle wave from her still quivering hand. She then accepted Logan’s offered hand to assist her into the waiting coach. Her deep gray eyes remained firmly fixed on her maid’s tearful face throughout this transition, only giving up as the carriage began its relentless acceleration, altering the scenery outside the window.

The faint, rhythmic clatter of the horses’ hooves and the gentle rocking of the carriage seemed to have a soothing effect on Lady Ashter’s racing heart. She kept her gaze fixed outside the window, though her eyes struggled to capture the swift blur of the fading autumnal beauty. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the dense wall of forest trees gradually parted, revealing a darkened sky in stark contrast to the vibrant red hues of the setting sun.

Due to the relentless rain that had persisted throughout the night, the usual morning wedding ceremony had to be rescheduled for the evening as the path leading to the Holy Temple had transformed into a treacherous quagmire, rendering travel unsafe. Now, within the carriage, bathed in the fading crimson hues of the day, Rosalie could not shake a growing sense of unease, as if there were foreboding omens lurking in the atmosphere.

’At least this situation hints that it will all conclude soon."

***

As the ebony coach came to a halt before the main entrance of the Holy Temple, Rosalie observed a gathering of people who patiently awaited her arrival. His Highness, the Crown Prince, stood alongside four vigilant knights, their solemn, dignified uniforms basking in the fading light of the setting sun.

’Here we are... Strangely, I am tempted to simply mount a horse and flee.’

The girl briefly shut her eyes, seeking to steady her racing heart, and released a quiet sigh as she discerned Loyd’s nearing footsteps.

"May I extend my assistance, Lady Rosalie?"

With gentle grace, the prince opened the carriage door and extended his gloved hand to Rosalie while his lips curved into a satisfied smile as his azure eyes slowly traversed her stunning appearance.

As the girl’s glistening white shoes made contact with the chilly ground of the Temple, Loyd gently encircled her arm with his, offering yet another sly smile, and spoke in his customary, somewhat exaggerated manner.

"You look incredibly stunning, My Lady. His Grace is undoubtedly one of the luckiest men in the world to have you as his bride."

Although the compliment was generous in words, it carried a distinct air of insincerity, sending another icy shiver down Rosalie’s spine. In response, she mustered a somewhat awkward smile, her words held captive within her sealed lips. In that very moment, she could not help but feel that the minutes ahead, walking beside the prince toward her future, would be among the longest she would ever endure.