The Villainess's Secret Bedroom Service
Chapter 78: A Suitable Umbrella

Chapter 78: A Suitable Umbrella

The Throne Room lay engulfed in an unsettling hush, a stillness that seemed to carry an air of foreboding. Amidst this quietude, the Emperor occupied his resplendent golden throne, his weathered hands finding an elegant perch on its broad armrests.

In a display of self-assured composure, Damien stepped into the chamber, his footfalls gentle but purposeful. He advanced with unwavering determination, his path leading him to a stance beside the Emperor – a position of unwavering loyalty, akin to that of a devoted guard.

Their figures stood aligned, and as the Grand Duke settled into his designated place, a subtle yet deliberate clearing of the Emperor’s throat shattered the oppressive quiet. From his lips emerged a voice that bore the rough edge of age, breaking the spell of silence,

"Your suspicions could indeed hold weight – the ancient symbol discovered at the ritual site has indeed been verified as belonging to the occultists. However, the prisoner who consented to testify for us remains ignorant of its significance. Intriguingly, one of the Imperial Magicians suggests a possible connection to the Sages of the Northern Barbarian Clan."

Damien’s brows knitted together, and his hands curled into tight fists. He comprehended the implications carried by these words, yet an ember of hope still flickered within him.

"Could it be that they are manipulating the Demonic Cult to orchestrate a conflict with Rische? It does strain credulity to consider that a mere handful of barbarians would dare to challenge us. After all, our magicians alone could decisively quell their clans."

The Emperor slowly shook his head before resuming,

"Damien, you persist in viewing matters through the lens of strength. The continent’s aspiration is to forge unity among all its people through faith. In due course, even Izaar will confront a choice: to acknowledge the prevailing truth or risk isolation due to religious discord.

Rische became the fourth nation to embrace this religious harmony, leaving only Izaar and the barbarian factions as supporters of religious freedom. However, the Demonic Cult’s objective extends beyond mere warfare; it seeks to sow chaos. The ones manipulating the Cult to wage conflict are not the barbarians, but rather, the situation is quite the reverse."

A brief pause punctuated the Emperor’s words as he drew a deliberate breath, replenishing his lungs. He reclined slightly in his throne, concluding in a voice that carried even deeper resonance,

"The path ahead seems clear – once the knights are prepared, the Army of Shadows must set forth for the Northern border without delay."

Damien swept his large gloved hand through his hair, releasing a tired exhale. He closed his eyes briefly, seeking respite from the burgeoning headache.

"... I understand."

The duke’s tone resonated with an unexpected blend of chilliness and melancholy. As if attuned to the unspoken undercurrents, the Emperor extended his hand, positioning a parchment secured with the Imperial seal before Damien’s expansive chest. With a slow unfurling of the document, the man’s elegantly arched black eyebrows lifted in an expression of profound astonishment.

"Your Majesty, this is ––"

"The official date for the wedding has been sanctioned by the Council. Your union with Lady Ashter is to be solemnized on the final day of October. Following that, I anticipate your departure to the border."

In an instant, a potent wave of anger entwined with despair coursed through Damien’s chest, akin to a poisoned arrow finding its mark. He seized the document in his large fist, his grip unyielding, as he replied with a voice that had turned even icier,

"... Yes, Your Majesty."

***

Engulfed in an avalanche of tasks, Rosalie found herself sharing a dinner with Felix within the confines of Damien’s study. To her surprise, Felix noted that this practice was not entirely prohibited, given that even the Grand Duke himself occasionally sought sustenance in such settings.

Pausing briefly for a hasty nibble and a sip of invigorating ginger tea, thoughtfully prepared by Aurora to replenish their waning vigor, the duo maintained their focus on the sprawl of documents before them. In the midst of this concentrated effort, a sense of déjà vu swept over Rosalie, reminiscent of her arduous overtime sessions at the office.

At last, as their workload eventually drew to a close, a smile tugged at her lips – a mix of contentment and revitalizing fatigue, leaving her with a gratifying, almost invigorating weariness.

Still unprepared to embrace the soothing clasp of nocturnal slumber, Rosalie’s gaze wandered toward the imposing standing clock nestled within the reading room. A sigh involuntarily escaped her lips. The pervasive shadowy darkness that seemed to creep into every crevice of the duke’s mansion made it an arduous task to distinguish between day and night. Consequently, when her gray eyes fell upon the wooden hands of the clock, she was taken aback by the proximity of midnight – a realization further underscored by Damien’s continued absence.

’Haven’t laid eyes on him all week. Truth be told, I’m starting to miss his presence. This sluggish, rain-laden ambiance is becoming rather depressing.’

With a brisk, purposeful movement, Rosalie removed herself from the embrace of the plush armchair, standing before the towering window. She cast a glance outward, her line of sight hindered by the tiny rivers of water coursing down the thick window glass.

’Endless darkness shrouded in rain... What a somber season this is.’

In spite of the evident meteorological challenges, Lady Ashter’s spirit remained unyielding, her inclination compelling her towards the outside world. Having been cooped up inside the mansion for almost an entire week was making both her body and mind rather stiff and she was desperately craving a change of any kind.

Thus, with determination to partake in a brief rejuvenating stroll around the estate, Rosalie donned a newly tailored coat by the deft hands of Lady Bennett. Her course of action decided, she descended the stairwell, driven by the quest for a resilient umbrella that could weather her sudden venture into the outside world.

With steadfast determination, she set her course for the maids’ quarters, intent on enlisting the aid of her favorite maid. Yet, as she passed the corridor and brushed past the slightly ajar door leading to the unoccupied kitchen, a subdued blend of voices seeped into her curious ears.

’Could that be... Aurora and the butler? Oh, it seems like they are flirting with each other once again. How delightful! She truly deserves all the happiness. And perhaps, refraining from sending her to the Festival was a wise choice after all... She’s here, alive.’

Rosalie’s slender fingers traced the contours of the silver bracelet adorned with delicate rosebuds encircling her left wrist. A serene smile graced her lips as she retreated on tiptoes from the kitchen, resuming her as-yet-unfinished quest for a suitable umbrella.