Chapter 222: Chapter 184: The Wedding

The dawn had not yet awakened, and a light mist lightly covered the eaves of Red Tide City; dewdrops hung between the stone slabs and vine leaves as if the world had just opened one eye.

Today was not an ordinary day.

It was the wedding day of the great Lord Louis Calvin.

The sky remained dim, yet the square outside Red Tide City was already filled with shadows of people.

People gathered spontaneously in twos and threes, rarely seeing anyone holding weapons or shouting loudly.

They wore their best clothes, and some even adorned themselves with their own embroidered “Red Sun Shoulder Badge,” the color of the Red Tide flag.

No one knew who started it, but families brought out food for the celebration.

Pots of steaming new fish soup were laid out on the prepared cloth, with wild ginger and radish rolling at the bottom, giving off a fresh and fragrant aroma.

Dry loaves of coarse wheat bread were stacked beside them, and nearby, children clutched berry wine jugs tightly in their hands, the rich sweetness tinged with a hint of wild acidity.

The entire square was free from noise and urgency.

The crowd sat quietly, some whispering, others with calm eyes, gazing only at the towering Red Tide Castle.

The castle they once looked up to on the coldest winter nights.

“He fed us through the winter and drove back the Barbarians.”

“Today, he is to marry, and we must come to bless him.”

The voice was soft, yet it seemed to stir waves, leading everyone to nod silently.

Some even quietly wiped their tears, an old woman with a rough, worn shawl and a face marked by wind and frost.

“My son… if he hadn’t been killed by the Snow Swearer last year, perhaps he too could see this day, living warm and full. The great Lord… he saved us people…”

Her words did not alarm many, and those who heard only tugged gently at her shawl, offering hot soup, and helping her sit down.

To not trouble the Lord, no one shouted or sang loudly.

Yet it seemed all emotions were condensed in this strand of summer wind that had not yet awakened.

The sun had not yet risen, but the “sun” of the Red Tide Territory had long stood in people’s hearts.

…

The castle’s bell, after the seventh chime, fell slowly and steadily.

The double doors of the banquet hall deep within the Red Tide Main Castle closed quietly, leaving the noise outside and the people’s prayers behind.

Peering in from the porch, it felt like stepping into another world.

On the high vaulted ceiling, two large emblems swayed in the wind.

The moon-patterned red glow of the Calvin Family burned hot, while the silver eagle of the Edmund Family spread its wings, mutually reflecting, weaving the faith light of noble union across the ceiling.

Candelabras stood densely around, all crafted from traditional Northern high-stem bronze, the firelight gentle yet steady, intersecting with the morning light seeping in through the windows, casting a solemn purity on the walls and banners.

The bluebells, white violets, and ice roses, carefully selected over three rounds by the noble merchants’ guild, were skillfully woven into the flower stands and table decorations.

The bluebells quivered like the morning breeze, the white violets stood upright, the ice roses shimmered bright as if the first frost had melted—these were not for brilliance, but for remembrance—loyalty, chastity, honor.

All these, from the emblem drapes falling from high above to every inch of limestone patterns on the red carpet;

from the choice of flowers to the height and placement of the candelabras, even the angle of the light entering the hall.

Each detail at the scene reflected the Calvin Clan’s respect for tradition, yet it never appeared extravagant.

This arrangement made guests, once stepping in, unconsciously hold their breath and lighten their footsteps.

It was all thanks to Bradley’s personal design and arrangement.

This old butler of the Calvin Family and chief of household affairs at the Red Tide Main Castle had been busy for over a month.

All for the perfect realization of this moment.

He was not seated at the main table, nor in the spotlight among the guests.

Yet every breath and beat of this wedding bore his signature and belief.

The guests were already seated, and the wedding hall was silent.

On the front row of benches sat a man and a woman.

One was the Governor of the North, a heavy minister of the Empire, Duke Edmund.

He wore a ceremonial robe of interwoven black and silver, a silver eagle cloak draped over his shoulders, with eagle eyes gently closed, his face carved like stone—stern and authoritative.

Today, he set aside all official matters to personally come to Red Tide, in the capacity of a father.

Edmund slowly opened his eyes; within those eyes like an eagle’s, for a moment, there seemed a barely noticeable trace of gentleness.

That expression seemed to pull time back to more than ten years ago.

Back then, little Emily was cloaked in a little gosling yellow cape, chasing an eagle through the snow, falling and shouting, “Father! Look, I caught it!”

In the blink of an eye, it was time for her to wed, filling him with endless emotions.

Beside him sat a woman, Duchess Irina, Emily’s stepmother.

She was always dignified and serene, naturally embodying the demeanor of an imperial noble lady.

Yet at this moment, she clutched a snow-white embroidered handkerchief tightly, her knuckles slightly white.

Irina looked at the girl about to appear at the end of the red carpet, her eyes already tinged with redness, lips trembling as if she was trying to suppress some emotion.

She remembered the first time that child called her “mother.”

Remembered her curling up with a fever in the middle of the night, holding her little hand, feeding her medicine spoon by spoon.

Remembered teaching her to wear a formal dress, teaching her her first dance, remembered her smile in the sunlight.

And now, she was to be wed.

Irina took a deep breath, lowering her head to hide her moist eyes.

She did not know that through the window, Emily had already glanced at her discreetly.

In that glance, aside from gratitude, there was also a deep sense of reluctance.

For Emily, this wedding wasn’t just about honor and family, it was also one of the most significant farewells of her life.

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