TWOP Ch 2

Behind the positive assessment of having created a powerful duchy lay negative appraisals: “The War Madman,” “The One Protected by a Witch.” There were strange rumors that he enjoyed impaling multiple enemies on his longsword, that he smeared and drank the blood of his enemies, and that he had a peculiar fondness for women with black hair. There could not have been a more unsuitable marriage partner.

‘Do I want this marriage, or do I not?’

During the short carriage ride to the Cathedral, Margarita was lost in thought. Whether she followed him to Paitan in the north or remained in the Kingdom of Valveron, her precarious situation would be the same. How should she live? Her mind was in turmoil.

“We have arrived, Princess.”

The carriage stopped, and an attendant informed her as he opened the door. Supported by noblewomen and maids who had followed, Margarita stepped out of the carriage. As she ascended the stairs, her long dress trailing behind her, she stopped, a strange feeling washing over her, and looked up.

A man stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at her. He wore a ceremonial cloak, richly adorned with fox and mink fur, over a crisp uniform that looked freshly donned. He was taller and more powerfully built than most men. He exuded an overwhelming presence, like a statue of the first king erected before a triumphal arch.

Although she had never seen him before, Margarita immediately knew who he was.

Duke Carlos Hannibal. The man she was to marry today.

Carlos, who had been silently watching her with his chin raised, began to descend the stairs, one step at a time. He was the one approaching, yet she felt as if she were being swept upwards.

Reaching the same level, he lowered his head and met her gaze. Although the veil covering her face obscured her vision, it did not hinder her from recognizing his features.

Shining silver hair, deep-set eyes with flashing blue-gray irises, a prominent nose at the center of his face, and calmly closed lips, all perfectly positioned.

He was the tallest and most handsome man Margarita had ever seen. He was also the man with the most feral gaze and coldest aura. This man, who overwhelmed her with such contrasting impressions, was…

‘…going to be my husband.’

It was a strange feeling, the idea of having family, whether close or not. While Margarita was momentarily lost in thought, Carlos bowed, bent down, and took her hand. His lips on the back of her hand, his gaze fixed upwards, and the air around him as he addressed her were all icy cold.

Margarita knew. Ah, this man hates me.

“My apologies for the late greeting, Princess.”

His voice was deep and resonant, matching his appearance. He maintained a courteous demeanor, but it lacked sincerity. The thought of his rudeness was immediately dispelled by the scent that reached her nose.

Blood and iron.

The moment her eyes widened in surprise, the Duke, as if realizing the cause of her astonishment, straightened up, still holding her hand, and turned.

“Endure it. You should consider yourself fortunate to have even made it this far.”

“……!”

Margarita held her breath at Carlos’s arrogant words. His attitude seemed to foreshadow her future, and it made her insides burn. Biting her lip, she ascended the stairs with him.

There was no need for anger or fear. It was a fate she had accepted long ago, so she simply had to move forward with composure.

The wedding ceremony deviated from protocol from the very beginning. Crown Prince Heinrich, her older brother, who was supposed to escort her down the aisle, hadn’t even reached the entrance when Carlos took her hand and began to walk forward.

Was this allowed?

Surprised, she turned to look at him, but he was looking straight ahead, unwavering. As if the laws of the kingdom were none of his concern, or rather, as if he would not abide by them.

The grand pipe organ began to play, and the majestic wedding march filled the air. It felt as though the flow of the world was aligning itself with his will. Her own turbulent heart gradually calmed. All she could feel now was Carlos’s hand in hers and his overwhelming presence.

The Cardinal, holding a staff and a Bible, stood behind the pulpit, watching the two of them approach. Crown Prince Heinrich, seated on the right side of the hall, wore an impassive mask. His face was expressionless, but his eyes, visible through the holes of his mask, burned as if they would incinerate them.

Nobles, dressed in finery, sat on both sides, murmuring as they watched them. Margarita could clearly sense that no one was sincerely blessing them. Even the Duke holding her hand must feel the same.

The blatant hostility from all sides was suffocating. She could feel her fever rising, even without touching her forehead.

She felt another sharp pain in her chest. She didn’t know why the pain had become so frequent in the past few days. It was a symptom that had rarely appeared since she became an adult. Her vision began to blur.

She couldn’t collapse now. The moment she disrupted the wedding, which was proceeding by sheer force of will, she would become a great sinner of the kingdom and her future would be uncertain.

Despite her firm resolve, her legs weakened, and she stumbled involuntarily. At that moment, the Duke gripped her hand tightly. His strong grip pulled her upright, preventing her from falling.

This kind of support and relief was a first for Margarita, and she instinctively turned to look at the Duke. Carlos, who had been observing her with a puzzled look, seemed to notice her condition and whispered quietly,

“Don’t let go of my hand. Hold on tight.”

“…….”

“Just endure it until the vows.”

It was impossible to tell whether it was encouragement or a threat. Yet, for words spoken by someone who disliked her, they felt strangely reassuring. As Margarita instinctively tightened her grip, he moved closer to her. They had reached the Cardinal before she knew it.

The long and tedious ceremony proceeded, starting with a short prayer. The Duke supported Margarita throughout the entire ceremony, as she was on the verge of collapse.

“Place your hand on the Bible.”

Finally, the Cardinal spoke, looking at the Bible placed on the lectern. Carlos placed their joined hands on the Bible.

“Duke Carlos Hannibal, do you swear before God to take Princess Margarita Emmanuel Felipe as your wife, to love and cherish her?”

“I do.”

Carlos’s short and clear answer echoed through the hall.

“Princess Margarita Emmanuel Felipe, do you swear before God to take Duke Carlos Hannibal as your husband, to love and cherish him?”

“I do.”

Margarita replied, breathing heavily.

“You have now made your vows before God. Now face each other and kiss.”

The vows to God were finally over. Carlos held Margarita’s waist and lifted her veil with one hand.

Ah! Even with the veil, she had thought she could see him clearly, but she was mistaken. Carlos’s appearance, now fully revealed, was that of a perfect creation of God. He smiled, as if pleased to have endured the ceremony, and kissed her lips. That was the last moment Margarita remembered of her wedding.

✧🏰˖°

Her body was burning. It felt as if she were submerged in a boiling cauldron, slowly being cooked. Her throat was parched and painful, as if someone had inserted a torch into it.

Thirsty. Someone, water…

“Margarita.”

Someone called her name and placed a hand on her forehead. The coolness emanating from them seeped into her head, pushing away the drowsiness.

Margarita weakly opened her eyes, and the blurry scene of her room came into view. Night. She was in her room.

The room was illuminated by candlelight, but her vision was particularly dark. After blinking a few times, she realized that someone was sitting at her bedside, their back to the light.

The dark, large figure, large enough to engulf her, was definitely a man. The scent of blood and iron mingled with the artificial fragrance of perfume, creating a strange dissonance.

“Water….”

Margarita’s lips moved slightly. At her words, the man, who had momentarily disappeared, reappeared with a glass of water. He helped her sit up, but she couldn’t swallow. As she lay back down, she heard a tsk and a sigh above her.

A moment later, a heavy shadow fell over Margarita, and something soft pressed against her lips. Against her will, cool water trickled into her mouth. She gulped it down as if it were the elixir of life, and in her thirst, she raised her chin and took his lips.

After several repetitions, Margarita finally felt some relief and relaxed her body. The soft sensation lingered on her lips, but sleepiness overtook her once more, making it difficult to keep her eyes open.

“If you don’t want to die….”

A chilling message reached her ears, despite the gentle voice.

“…you’d better follow me immediately.”