Chapter 115: Chapter-115

Change the empire.

Or at least survive it.

Either would be impressive.

Both would be extraordinary.

Time would tell which she achieved.

# Scene 13: The Wedding Ceremony

The imperial wedding hall was filled to capacity.

Every noble family of significance had sent representatives. All seven remaining princesses sat in designated positions—First Princess Eleana near the front with her mother the First Consort, Third Princess Sera in shadows near the back, the younger princesses scattered between. Ministers, military commanders, wealthy merchants, foreign ambassadors—all gathered to witness the Fourth Princess marry Duke Romian Ashford.

The whispers were constant.

“—forty-four year age gap—”

“—she’s using him for protection—”

“—he’s using her for commercial wealth—”

“—scandal—”

“—brilliant strategy—”

“—will it even be consummated—”

Elara stood in a preparation chamber adjacent to the main hall, looking at herself in a full-length mirror.

She wore white—naturally. But not a traditional wedding gown. The tailors had created something that matched her aesthetic while meeting formal requirements: a structured white suit with a long coat that fell to her ankles, embroidered with gold thread in patterns that caught the light. The butterfly pin was positioned precisely on her lapel. Her hair was styled simply, with minimal ornamentation.

She looked like she was attending a corporate merger, not a wedding.

Perfect.

“Your Highness,” Lisa said quietly, adjusting the coat’s collar. “You look beautiful.”

“I look appropriate for the occasion. That’s sufficient.” Elara checked the hidden chain mail under her clothing—still in place. The poison detection charm on her wrist—functioning. The emergency signal crystal—accessible.

Even at her own wedding, she prepared for assassination attempts.

“Are you nervous?” Lisa asked.

“Define nervous.”

“Worried. Anxious. Afraid something will go wrong.”

Elara considered. “I’m aware that this ceremony has significant political implications and that multiple hostile parties will be present. I’m aware that the marriage itself represents a major strategic shift in the succession battle. But those are just facts requiring management, not triggers for emotional distress.”

“So… no.”

“Correct.”

A knock at the door. The fox knight entered and bowed. “Your Highness. Duke Romian is ready. The Emperor has arrived. It’s time.”

Elara nodded and walked toward the door.

The fox knight fell into step beside her. “Your Highness… I know you don’t experience emotions normally. But for what it’s worth, we’re all very happy for you. Duke Romian is a good man. You’ll be safer with him as your husband.”

“Acknowledged. Thank you.”

“And Your Highness? Try to at least look like you’re enjoying your own wedding. The political optics matter.”

Elara paused. “How do people look when they’re enjoying weddings?”

“…Smiling helps.”

“I’ll attempt it.”

She stepped through the doors into the wedding hall.

The room went quiet immediately. Everyone turned to watch as she walked down the central aisle.

Elara kept her expression neutral—attempts at forced smiling would look fake anyway—and moved with measured pace toward the raised platform where Duke Romian waited.

He wore full military dress uniform, dark blue with gold insignia, every medal he’d earned displayed across his chest. His silver-white hair was perfectly groomed. He looked distinguished, powerful, every inch the decorated war hero.

When he saw Elara approaching, he smiled slightly—genuine warmth that softened his normally stern features.

She reached the platform and stood beside him.

The officiant—an elderly minister in formal robes—began the ceremony. Standard imperial marriage rites, modified slightly for the unusual circumstances.

“We gather today to witness the union of Her Highness, Fourth Princess Elara Blackwood, and His Grace, Duke Romian Ashford…”

Elara’s attention drifted, scanning the assembled crowd. Cataloging threats, assessing reactions.

First Princess Eleana sat rigid in her seat, face carefully composed but eyes burning with cold fury. Beside her, the First Consort watched with calculating interest.

Third Princess Sera was barely visible in the shadows, but Elara caught her gaze once. Sera inclined her head slightly—acknowledgment or warning, impossible to tell.

The younger princesses looked variously shocked, envious, or frightened.

And at the very back, elevated above everyone else, the Emperor sat on a throne-like chair. He watched the ceremony with an unreadable expression, but when his eyes met Elara’s briefly, something flickered there. Approval? Hope? Hard to say.

“—do you, Princess Elara Blackwood, take Duke Romian Ashford as your lawfully wedded husband, to honor and respect, in sickness and in health, in prosperity and hardship, until death parts you?”

“I do,” Elara said clearly.

“And do you, Duke Romian Ashford, take Princess Elara Blackwood as your lawfully wedded wife, to protect and support, in sickness and in health, in prosperity and hardship, until death parts you?”

“I do,” Duke Romian said firmly.

“Then by the authority vested in me by His Imperial Majesty, I pronounce you husband and wife.”

The officiant gestured. “You may seal the union.”

Duke Romian turned to Elara. Leaned down slightly—accounting for their height difference—and kissed her forehead. Brief, chaste, appropriate for the public setting.

When he pulled back, he murmured quietly, “Congratulations, wife. Try not to get assassinated during the reception.”

“I’ll do my best, husband.”

Applause rippled through the hall. Polite, measured, with undertones of shock and speculation.

The Emperor stood. Everyone immediately went silent.

“Duke Romian. Princess Elara.” His voice carried across the hall. “May your union bring strength to the empire and prosperity to your house. I grant you my blessing and my support.”

He raised one hand in formal gesture.

That was significant. The Emperor publicly blessing the marriage meant he was endorsing it—which would make direct attacks against Elara more politically costly.

The whispers started immediately.

“—the Emperor approves—”

“—he never blesses marriages—”

“—what does this mean for the succession—”

Duke Romian took Elara’s arm and they descended from the platform together. Walked back down the central aisle as husband and wife while nobles bowed and applauded.

Outside the wedding hall, the reception space was already prepared. Long tables laden with food and wine, decorations in white and gold, musicians playing softly.

Elara and Duke Romian took their positions at the head table.

Almost immediately, nobles began approaching with gifts and congratulations.

A minor baron presented an ornate vase. “Your Graces, may your marriage be blessed with harmony and prosperity.”

“Thank you,” Elara said mechanically.

A wealthy merchant offered an elaborate jewelry box. “For the beautiful bride. May your union bring fortune.”

“Appreciated.”

More gifts. More polite words. More political maneuvering disguised as celebration.

Then First Princess Eleana approached.

She wore ice-blue silk that made her look ethereal and untouchable. Her expression was perfectly controlled—pleasant smile, warm eyes, absolute poison underneath.

“Fourth Sister,” she said sweetly. “Congratulations on your marriage. What a… surprising match.”

“Thank you, First Sister.”

“I brought you a gift.” Eleana gestured to a servant, who brought forward an elaborate wooden box inlaid with mother-of-pearl. “Something special. For your new life together.”

Duke Romian’s hand tightened slightly on Elara’s—warning.

Elara opened the box carefully.

Inside were two items: a beautifully bound book and a delicate glass figurine of two birds.

“The book is about successful imperial marriages throughout history,” Eleana said, her voice carrying to nearby nobles. “I thought you might find it educational. And the figurine represents partnership—two birds who mate for life.”

Elara examined both items. The book looked genuine. The figurine was beautiful, delicate work.

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