Chapter 324: The Wedding
Natasha stepped forward and personally helped Isolde to her feet. Gazing at her face, she choked up and whispered, “Good… good.” Isolde supported herself into a seat before kneeling once more—not to pay formal respects, but to lower her head onto Natasha’s lap. With trembling fingers, Natasha traced the delicate features of Isolde’s face. Her mind drifted back to the memory of Prunella’s wedding all those years ago. Her heart ached as though sliced by a knife. Yet, as she lowered her gaze to Isolde, an unexpected warmth filled her chest—her granddaughter had grown up. She was getting married.
The sky had fully brightened, but the snow only grew heavier. The Valen family had gone all out for the occasion. Invitations had been sent far and wide, and with Pablo’s recent military triumph, his prestige was at its peak. Nearly the entire court—civil and military officials alike—had gathered to celebrate his son’s marriage.
Prior to the wedding, the Sharp family had already spoken with Pablo. Given that both families held significant positions in court, they decided to host a joint banquet at the Valen estate rather than separate feasts. This way, officials wouldn’t be forced to choose between attending Garrett’s celebration for his granddaughter or Pablo’s for his son.
Meanwhile, the Langley family had set up long banquet tables for the common folk, distributing food and porridge to Argentum’s impoverished citizens. Oliver had been up all night. Generals who were off-duty had come to congratulate him, and his wedding procession was filled with soldiers from the Southern Watch and the military ranks—mighty and formidable.
Yet, grand as it was, the bridal escort was even more imposing. Though Garrett remained silent, the Sharp family’s entire guard had been dispatched. North Camp’s Lucas led a contingent of warriors. Anthony Keith and his men arrived in force. The princess, Johnathan, and others had sent representatives. Naturally, the princess herself, along with Rosemary and Sadie, were also part of the bridal escort.
The auspicious hour arrived. The bridal sedan chair stood at the entrance. Isolde knelt in the main hall, offering farewell respects before her red veil was placed over her head. Supported by the matron of honor and Esme, she stepped out of the hall. The blare of horns rang through the air, firecrackers crackled endlessly, and the courtyard was packed with guards from the bridal escort. The lively sounds reached Isolde’s ears. Her palms were slick with sweat as she clutched Esme’s hand.
A red carpet stretched all the way to the estate’s gate. As Esme guided her forward, she whispered, “Cry.” Isolde couldn’t force the tears out. Instead, she let out two exaggerated wails—so fake that even she laughed. Esme nearly smacked her. Step by step, Isolde moved forward. The firecrackers ceased, and the horns fell silent. Only when she reached the gate would the music resume.
Just moments ago, she had been smiling as Isolde paid her respects. But now, watching her granddaughter walk away, Natasha couldn’t hold back her tears. Patricia hurried to console her. “This is a joyous occasion—no tears, no tears.” Natasha, still choked with emotion, replied, “Yes, yes, a joyous day… but she’s only been by my side for such a short time, and now she’s leaving. My heart… I just can’t bear it…”
Hearing this, Isolde felt a sharp pang in her heart. Tears welled up uncontrollably. She wanted to turn back and bow once more, but Esme whispered firmly, “Do not turn back. Keep walking.” Esme, satisfied that Isolde had finally shed tears, nonetheless felt an ache in her heart. This young woman, who had only recently found some peace within the Langley family, was now setting off to an unfamiliar household, beginning an entirely new chapter of her life. Esme’s tears weren’t just for parting. They were for the hardships Isolde might face in the days to come.
Oliver sat atop a tall white steed, his nerves taut. His eyes locked onto the gate, where the red carpet extended outward, its color matching his wedding robes. The vibrant red cast a striking contrast against the snow-covered world, making his sharp features even more dazzling. Refined like a nobleman, yet commanding like a warrior—he embodied the perfect balance of elegance and strength. And today, as the groom, everyone finally saw it: Douglas’s son, Pablo’s godson, was a man of extraordinary caliber.
The sound of firecrackers and horns exploded once more. Oliver tightened his grip on the reins, feeling his palms grow damp. Snowflakes drifted onto his shoulders, the world before him seemingly blurred between the brilliance of white and the fervor of red. Then, she appeared. Supported by Esme and the matron of honor, Isolde stepped outside, holding a red umbrella. He had expected her to be carried out. At every wedding he had attended, the bride was always carried out. But she walked. Step by step, steady and composed, she walked toward him.
An inexplicable emotion surged in Oliver’s chest. His vision blurred. His breath hitched. He stared at the veiled figure before him, his heart whispering with overwhelming reverence: My bride. My wife. The woman I will cherish for the rest of my life… She is coming to me.
Outside, the commotion reached a fever pitch. The streets were packed with spectators, and the warriors on either side whooped and cheered. The entire city seemed to tremble with excitement. Oliver’s mind went blank. He merely followed instructions, bowing when told to, saluting Garrett and Natasha, paying respects to Geoffrey, and even kneeling before the ancestral tablets. A dizzying blur of rituals later, he finally stepped outside—where his bride had already boarded the sedan chair. He cast her a lingering look. Then, amidst the thunderous horns and drumbeats, he swung himself onto his horse.
The bride’s escort stretched endlessly, carrying dowry chests and ceremonial gifts, making its slow but majestic journey toward the Valen estate. Traditionally, only uncles and brothers escorted a bride, but today, the procession was led by Clark and an entire battalion of soldiers. Because both families were hosting a joint banquet, Garrett, Geoffrey, and the others would head to the Valen estate later—only after the bride had crossed the threshold and completed the wedding rites.
When the Valen family’s relatives saw the sheer size of the bridal procession—its imposing presence akin to a military campaign—they were visibly stunned. This wedding was destined to be a day of mixed emotions.
Cristina sat alone in her chamber. She had cried all night, her eyes swollen and red. Now, as she listened to the raucous celebration outside—the horns blaring, firecrackers booming—she thought bitterly: That joy should have been mine. But instead, it had been handed—gift-wrapped—to that country girl. She couldn’t accept it. Neither could Eleanor.
Watching the wedding unfold, Eleanor seethed with resentment and envy. This was the grand, jubilant ceremony she had once dreamed of. But it would never be hers. Even so, what truly unsettled her was Agnes’s plan. She wasn’t willing to accept this outcome, but Agnes was right—there was only one thing left to do. This grand spectacle had nothing to do with Ashley.
She sat comfortably in her room, reading. With Rowena busy outside helping Oliver, she enjoyed rare tranquility. A maid entered and curtsied. “Lady Martha requests an audience.” Ashley closed her book, smiling gently. “Let her in.” “Yes, my lady.” Moments later, Martha stepped in. She was dressed festively in a crimson satin gown, her face adorned with delicate makeup that complemented her attire. She looked lively and charming. Yet beneath that beauty was an undeniable tension—alongside the determination of someone who had already made up their mind.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward and bowed. “Greetings, Lady Rowena.”