Chapter 325: Wedding Night Pranks
The grand wedding ceremony unfolded like a dream. Amidst the chanting of blessings and solemn rituals, Isolde and Oliver felt as if they were drifting through a sea of tradition and festivity. Isolde's vision, completely obscured by the red bridal veil, relied solely on Oliver's steady grip, following his lead. When the wedding attendant commanded them to kneel, she knelt. When it was time to rise, Oliver's strong hands supported her.
She desperately wanted to lift her veil and take in the grand occasion, but years of martial training had honed her senses—she could recognize voices, discern footsteps. Yet today, even with her keen hearing, she couldn't make out how many people were present. The sheer scale of the event overwhelmed her.
At last, the rituals were complete. A boisterous crowd escorted them to Ningser Pavilion, laughter and chatter filling the air. Through the clamor, Isolde could still hear one thing—Oliver's heartbeat. Fast. Unsteady. Hers matched his pace.
Taking deep breaths, she fought the dizziness creeping in. Her legs felt weak—no, her entire body felt weak. If not for Oliver's firm grip, she might have stumbled on the way.
Then, amid the joyful commotion, she heard his voice. “Isolde, I’ve finally married you. From this day on, through fortune and hardship, I will never let go of your hand.”
Her breath hitched. Did he actually say that? Or was it her imagination? His grip remained steady—no tremor, no extra pressure to confirm or deny.
Before she could dwell on it, they reached the pavilion. “Wait! Wait!” The wedding attendant suddenly called out, halting them in place. Isolde and Oliver froze, worried they had missed a crucial tradition.
With a teasing smile, the attendant announced, “The groom must cover the bride’s ears.” Oliver blinked in confusion before hastily cupping his hands around Isolde’s head, shielding her ears.
Isolde tensed. “What’s happening?”
“Firecrackers,” Oliver murmured.
The next moment—BANG! Explosions erupted around them, a relentless storm of crackling firecrackers sending plumes of smoke into the air. The sharp scent of gunpowder filled their lungs. Isolde flinched at the deafening noise, but she was wrapped in Oliver’s protective embrace, his warmth anchoring her amidst the chaos.
The barrage seemed to go on forever. Even with her ears covered, the thunderous blasts rattled through her bones. Finally, as the last echoes faded, the sound of drums and flutes replaced the commotion, guiding them forward. They stepped onto a fresh straw mat, marking their passage into the bridal chamber.
Inside, the bed was lavishly adorned with red satin and scattered with dates and lychees, a symbol of fertility and prosperity. Isolde sat down, only to realize she had landed on something firm. The poor creatures squirmed under her weight, and she instinctively shifted, but the wedding attendant pressed a hand on her shoulder. “Stay still.”
Uncomfortable and slightly panicked, Isolde obeyed, even as the fruits beneath her dug into her skin. Oliver, mistaking her unease for nerves, whispered reassuringly, “Just a little longer, and I’ll lift the veil.”
The attendant then presented him with a balance scale tied with a lucky knot. “Groom, lift the bride’s veil. From this moment on, may your marriage be harmonious and everlasting.”
Oliver took the scale and glanced over his shoulder. Ese and Patricia Christine stood nearby, smiling at him expectantly. His pulse thundered in his ears. Why was he nervous? He had seen her countless times before, yet this moment felt… different.
With deliberate care, he lifted the veil. First, the curve of her chin. Then, the deep red lips. Finally, her eyes—filled with warmth and mirth—locked onto his. They held their gaze, lost in each other. A silent promise passed between them.
The wedding attendant chuckled. “The veil is lifted! May your days be filled with joy! Groom, lead the bride to drink the wedding toast.”
A grand banquet table was set up, the room glowing with candlelight. Though the dishes had long gone cold, Isolde’s stomach grumbled at the sight of them. She swallowed hard—so hungry. But tradition demanded patience. First, the wedding toast. Then, the pranks. Then… food.
Golden cups were filled with wine, a considerate choice, knowing the bride had barely eaten that day. They raised their goblets and exchanged glances. Isolde smiled shyly. “I’m grateful to have met you.”
Oliver, caught off guard, blushed furiously. Not realizing he was supposed to respond, he hurriedly repeated, “I’m grateful to have met you.”
Laughter rippled through the room. The couple’s faces burned brighter. This was entirely unfair—why must they drink the wedding toast in front of an audience? Awkwardly entwining their arms, they leaned in, their breaths mingling as they took a sip.
The attendant clapped her hands. “With this toast, may your hearts remain as one until old age.”
Just as the tension eased, the doors burst open. “Time to prank the newlyweds!” Anthony’s voice boomed as a horde of raucous soldiers stormed in. “Make the groom suffer! Make the bride laugh!”
The atmosphere ignited with mischief. Before they knew it, Isolde and Oliver were pulled apart, each surrounded by a mob.
Anthony hopped onto a table, grinning devilishly. “Now, tradition states that the husband is stronger than the wife. But is that really the case here? I think we need proof!”
The soldiers roared in agreement. Oliver smirked. “And how exactly do you propose we prove it?”
Anthony’s eyes gleamed. “Simple. You’ll carry Isolde on your back and take a lap around the hall.”
Oliver scoffed. “That’s it? Please. I could carry a 200-pound soldier without breaking a sweat.”
Anthony grinned wider. “Ah, but there’s a catch.” He turned to his men. “Bring the ropes!”
Isolde blinked. “Ropes? What ropes?”
Anthony chuckled. “Oh, just a little extra challenge. We’ll be tying up the groom’s hands and feet.”
Isolde’s jaw dropped. “How is he supposed to walk like that?!”
“He won’t,” Anthony said smugly. “He’ll jump. And if he doesn’t reach the ceiling beams, it doesn’t count.”
Oliver immediately shook his head. “No way. That’s impossible. I can’t even balance if you tie me up like that.”
“Rules are rules!” Keith chimed in. “Tonight, there are no generals—just the bride and groom at our mercy!”
Oliver shot a desperate look at the wedding attendant. She merely chuckled. “I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
Resistance was futile. In no time, Oliver was thoroughly bound—arms, legs, even his torso. He could barely bend, let alone jump.
Isolde clutched her stomach, laughing so hard she could barely stand. “How is he supposed to carry me like this?”
“You jump on,” Anthony instructed matter-of-factly.
Still giggling, Isolde stepped behind Oliver. “Alright, I’m coming up.”
“Come,” Oliver crouched—well, attempted to. The ropes restricted him so much he could barely lower himself.
With practiced ease, Isolde leaped, hooking her arms around his neck and locking her legs around his waist.
Lucas whistled. “Now that’s some impressive agility.”
The crowd cheered as they stepped back, watching the bound-and-burdened groom prepare for his impossible task.
Esme, finally stepping in, raised a hand. “Gentlemen, gentlemen! Let’s not torture the newlyweds too much. Accept this small token and call it a night.”
Cheers erupted as she tossed a bag of coins into the air. Anthony sighed dramatically. “Fine, fine. You win this round.”
Oliver exhaled in relief. Isolde? She was still laughing.