The Villainess's Secret Bedroom Service
Chapter 132: Rostan and Roksolana

Chapter 132: Rostan and Roksolana

Rosalie fixed her big, empty grey gaze on the stone pathwalk in front of her, her thoughts meandering through familiar but perplexing pathways of her mind. It had all begun with that letter acquired by Laith which imparted the news about Evangelina, and now, she grappled with an overwhelming sense of disorientation.

The questions swirled in her thoughts like autumn leaves caught in a gentle breeze.

’How could this even be possible? It is as though this entire situation has decided to erase the very essence of our novel’s plot. So, what is going to happen now? Who will come to Damien’s aid in his relentless struggle with the curse that binds him? And what of the other events, those moments that were destined to unfold once Evangelina returned?’

The situation proved to be a perplexing and exasperating one, to say the least. As Rosalie absorbed the contents of the letter Laith had handed to her, her mind was confronted with startling revelations. It transpired that a baby girl named "Florence," wrapped in a blanket bearing her embroidered name, had indeed resided within the walls of an orphanage for a brief span of a few months before succumbing to a debilitating lung disease that took her life.

These revelations stirred within Lady Ashter a complex mix of emotions. On one hand, despite the moral conflict within her, a semblance of relief and unexpected joy coursed through her being at the unexpected twist in this narrative. However, on the other hand, a profound and pressing question loomed large: If the world held no trace of the Hidden Saintess, who then would step forth to aid Damien in his desperate quest to sever the chains of his relentless curse?

Rosalie gently rubbed the porcelain skin of her forehead, as if attempting to smooth away an imaginary furrow etched into her skin, releasing a protracted sigh.

’So, does this mean I can prolong my time with him? If I continue sharing my Acme with him, will he be alright? Yet, then again... What fate awaits me in the end? Half of my soul lies in the clutches of Asmodeus! This situation has spiraled into utter chaos. Everything feels so askew, so fundamentally wrong."

Princess Angelica, who had maintained a discreet watchfulness while her friend wrestled with these internal quandaries, extended a gentle touch to Rosalie’s shoulder. She leaned in closer, her words a hushed and compassionate whisper into her friend’s ear,

"Rosalie, are you feeling alright? Would you prefer to wait inside the Palace?"

The duchess experienced an involuntary flinch at the princess’s inquiry, her response caught between the boundaries of conscious thought. As her bright eyes locked with Angelica’s, she mustered a subtle smile and then offered a reply, mindful of her word,

"I’m alright, just a touch of nervousness."

Rosalie’s apprehensions regarding the future of both Damien and herself were not the sole weight on her heart today. There was another significant matter tugging at her emotions – the esteemed delegation from the Empire of Izaar was set to arrive, granting her the honor of being present alongside Princess Angelica.

Now, brought back to reality, she came to the stark realization that she stood before the grand entrance of the Emperor’s Palace, flanked by none other than the Emperor himself, the distinguished members of the Imperial Council, and her dear friend Princess Angelica. Their collective purpose: to extend a personal welcome to the forthcoming delegation’s leaders.

She paused, her thoughts dancing on the precipice of confusion, yet an undeniable resolve began to take root.

’Indeed, as bewildering as my current state may be, this is not the moment for personal apprehensions. There is something far weightier unfurling before us, something that demands my unwavering composure, not just for Angelica’s sake but also for Damien’s. My own quandaries can find their resolution in a more fitting hour.’

Lady Ashter’s contemplations were once again interrupted, this time by the distant approach of carriages. Moments later, the anticipated guests finally made their appearance.

Emerging into view were six towering carriages, their deep crimson exteriors adorned with opulent, intricate golden designs that gleamed brilliantly beneath the sun’s radiant gaze. The large horses that led these splendid conveyances were of a rich brown hue, their long, silken manes reminiscent of the sun’s golden descent.

As the majestic horses came to a halt, their powerful hooves stirring up a cloud of dust, a hushed stillness descended upon the scene. It was then that the first and largest carriage’s door opened, accompanied by a subtle, muffled creak, revealing a tall, bronzed figure with closely cropped black hair, garbed in a distinctive blend of red and yellow attire.

The enigmatic man of exotic appearance gallantly extended his arm, a gesture of offered assistance to those within the coach. Atop his large, bronzed hand, another sizable hand alighted, belonging to a tall, robust young man who disembarked from the carriage with an air of striking regal bearing.

Following this young man, another, more delicate palm made contact with the servant’s hand. This time, it was a young woman, her stature petite and her movements imbued with an almost playful grace, who gracefully alighted from the carriage as well.

As the Imperial twins drew nearer to the representatives of Rische, Rosalie could not suppress a subtle gasp of awe. The youthful siblings were unmistakably twins, their likeness so striking that, were they dressed identically with matching haircuts, they could have easily become mirror images of each other.

The young man was dressed in a flowing, sleeveless silk robe of deep black, featuring intricate golden embellishments gracing its collar and chest. Across his shoulders and cascading down his back, a masterfully embroidered image of a formidable dragon added an aura of majestic presence.

Beneath the robe, he wore a white silk shirt, its long, billowing sleeves glistening in the daylight, reminiscent of the pristine surface of untouched snow. His black, straight hair, cascading down his back in a loose braid, found a careful resting place on his shoulder. His curtain bangs framed his strikingly tanned face, accentuating the radiant green brilliance of his almond-shaped eyes.

His sister, though petite in stature, exuded a noticeable strength. She, too, donned a robe of the same design, with the only distinction being its vibrant hue—a shade reminiscent of the red Laurel flower. Her shirt’s loose sleeves mirrored the iridescent ivory glow of the pristine silk, providing a striking contrast to the coal-black cascade of her straight hair, artfully gathered and secured with a long, golden hairpin at the nape of her neck.

The twins possessed an enigmatic charm that one would scarcely envision within the realm of Rische. As they approached the eagerly awaiting hosts, their presence assumed an increasingly enchanting, almost ethereal quality.

Rosalie’s big grey eyes found themselves torn, struggling to decide which of the twins to fixate upon. Their overwhelming and captivating aura initially proved almost too bewildering to comprehend. Eventually, she settled her radiant gaze upon the commanding presence of the foreign prince, her heart quickening in response to the swirling emotions that stirred within her.

’Wow... So this is how people from Izaar look... I can’t recall their description from the novel, but they truly exude a magical aura, as if they’ve stepped out of another realm. It’s an ethereal, mesmerizing beauty that seems plucked right from the pages of a fantasy novel.’

As the Imperial twins stood before their welcoming hosts, their emerald eyes methodically surveyed each and every representative before gracing them with wide, appreciative smiles and a hearty greeting.

"Good afternoon, esteemed members of the Imperial family of Rische, distinguished members of the Imperial Council, and Your Grace..."

The young man uttered these words in a low, strangely seductive tone, his voice carrying a hint of allure. He paused briefly, letting his gaze and greeting linger on the Grand Duchess. Then, with his lips still curved into a warm smile, he offered a polite bow to the others while his hands disappeared within the opposite sleeves of his shirt as he continued in the same enchanting manner,

"I am Rostan, and this is my sister Roksolana Izaar, representing the Imperial lineage of Emperor Rohanon Izaar. It is indeed a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Your Majesty."

"The pleasure is entirely mine, Your Highness!"

The Emperor responded warmly, reciprocating with a gracious bow of his own, prompting the rest of his retinue to follow suit in a show of respect.

"You must be weary from your journey. Allow my servants to guide you to your chambers first, where you can partake in some much-needed rest. While I refrained from organizing a grand welcoming banquet as per your request, I would be honored if you would join us for dinner. I shall ensure that the finest culinary treasures of Rische grace your palate."

Rostan exchanged a sly yet congenial glance with his sister. Turning his attention back to the Emperor, he offered another warm smile, a curious glint now dancing in his eyes as he replied,

"That would indeed be most delightful, Your Majesty."

Then, he directed his glistening green eyes toward Rosalie, casting upon her a prolonged, somewhat appraising gaze as if attempting to discern something beyond her physical appearance. The duchess, in turn, endeavored to decipher the meaning behind his intense scrutiny, but her thoughts yielded no answers.

Before she could return from her contemplative reverie, Rostan’s eyes had already shifted away from her. Nevertheless, as he followed the Imperial servants into the grand Palace, the prince’s head would occasionally tilt sideways, as if he sought another fleeting glimpse of the lady standing behind him.