The Villainess's Secret Bedroom Service
Chapter 104: The Wedding, Part 2

Chapter 104: The Wedding, Part 2

Rosalie was already impressed by the grandeur of the outside walls of the Temple, however, once the Crown Prince led her inside, her bright gray eyes sparkled in astonishment even more – while the original Rosalie Ashter might have been closely familiar with its interior, for the current Rosalie, this was a sight she had never witnessed before. In all possible senses.

Towering white stone walls, probably cool to the touch, extended upward as if attempting to meet the heavens, stood tall akin to Holy Knights, imparting a sense of timelessness and reverence, and reflecting the solemnity of the sacred space.

Adorning the walls, hung intricate tapestries, their vivid red and golden threads capturing the rich history of the temple and the Empire itself. Their woven narratives told the solemn stories of the past, glorifying the bravery and grand achievements of the past generations.

Beneath her feet, Rosalie found lush carpets unfurling like regal pathways, their patterns an ode to opulence and intricate craftsmanship. They muffled her footsteps as she walked down the aisle, preserving the serenity of the Holy Temple.

Despite Lady Ashter’s expectations, the ceremony hall was decorated rather lavishly with the myriad of flowers and ribbons placed along the aisle and hung above the arches – delicate blossoms, woven into intricate garlands, brought a touch of the lost summer beauty while tall, white candles cast a warm, ethereal glow, illuminating the path like dozens of little stars.

The altar, the girl’s final destination, decorated in rich silks and fresh flowers, stood as a solemn beacon of love’s promise, and behind it, stood her – the Saintess that everybody worshiped, yet nobody could perceive. As a mere presence, created and carefully crafted by the effort of collective imagination, her stone body was the epitome of perfection and yet, she had no face, nothing that could make her seem real.

’A faceless Saintess... Soon, you will finally find it. And it will be the face of Evangelina.’

As expected, and much to Rosalie’s delight, the number of guests was notably sparse. Both the Emperor and the Princess occupied the space to the left of the altar, their ceremonial attire, resplendent in white and adorned with intricate golden embroidery and chains, gleamed as it caught the warm candlelight’s glow. On the opposite side, the elite Holy Knights had gathered – a select dozen of the most skilled and trusted warriors from the Imperial Guard. Their presence seemed to serve as a solemn reminder that the wedding ceremony was an integral part of a sacred ritual, destined to unite two solitary souls beneath the all-encompassing power of unwavering faith.

In the center, the girl’s gaze fell upon High Priest Alexander, a venerable figure singularly entrusted with overseeing the sacred ceremony. His very presence possessed the remarkable ability to eclipse even the imposing presence of the colossal sculpture of the Saintess, positioned directly behind him. Such was the extent of his power—an embodiment of faith, the most potent conduit of divine grace in all of Rische.

Beside him stood Altair, a striking juxtaposition in both stature and beauty. His customary immaculate white attire now shimmered with intricate silver embroidery, gracefully accentuating his extraordinary features and enigmatic platinum eyes. He stood as the very epitome of purity and radiance, the chosen heir to the hallowed power within the Temple, the embodiment of all that was sacred and luminous.

As the girl’s gaze swept across his pale face, an abrupt shift in expression overcame it, dispelling the solemn and tranquil features, and molding them into a subtle semblance of evident irritation.

Finally, Rosalie’s eyes alighted upon the groom. Positioned with his entire body turned toward her, Damien appeared as impeccably composed as ever. His luxuriant, obsidian hair was meticulously swept backward, revealing his smooth forehead and elegantly contoured black eyebrows. The profound golden hue of his eyes seemed to radiate even more brilliantly from within the dark frames of his long, lustrous eyelashes, tracking every nuanced motion of his betrothed. Simultaneously, the corners of his full lips gently curved, forming an almost unfathomable smile, which cast a delicate flush upon his handsome face.

His wedding attire, meticulously coordinated with Lady Cecilia Bennett’s choice for Rosalie’s gown, exhibited a flawless harmony. The ensemble, a blend of eggshell white embellished with rose gold buttons, delicate tassels, and slender chains, stood in striking contrast to the subdued crimson expanse of his flowing cape, draping gracefully over his broad shoulders like a grand rose petal, flowing in its silken splendor.

’What a sight... Damien possesses not just handsome features but an exquisite beauty, a masterpiece of a man.’

Lady Ashter blushed as this thought raced through her mind, quickening her pulse once more, and enveloping her in a dense fog of both enchantment and peculiar regret. She momentarily averted her gaze, as if seeking to dispel her tumultuous reverie through a change of perspective.

At last, Rosalie relinquished her hold on the Crown Prince’s arm, advancing toward the altar. She positioned herself directly before the duke, whose gaze, conversely, remained firmly fixed upon her visibly disconcerted countenance.

Once Loyd took his designated place beside other members of the Imperial family, the Emperor offered a nod to the Priest, who, in turn, proceeded with the ceremonial rites.

"We are gathered here today, within the hallowed walls of the Holy Temple, to bind the hearts and souls of Damien Dio and Rosalie Ashter in matrimony, blessed by the Omnipotent Divine Power of the Beloved Saintess."

While the High Priest continued with what appeared to be a customary liturgical recitation, Rosalie found herself wrestling with an inexplicable, stifling sensation constricting the organs within her chest. It was not the corset of her dress, compressing her lungs, nor the poignant scents of roses and candles that clouded her senses. No, this sensation emanated from within her own being—an enigmatic force seemingly at odds with Lady Ashter’s very presence.

’I feel as though my very being is resisting this union. Does she really know that this is something that was not supposed to happen? Is this her means of warning me?’