Chapter 51
After some time had passed, the sudden exclamation of a maid drew Hezenne’s gaze upward.
One of the maids, smiling brightly as though admiring her own satisfying handiwork, nodded her head.
“Is… is it finished?”
Because she had kept her lips sealed for so long, Hezenne’s own voice felt strangely unfamiliar to her ears.
“Yes, everything is finished. And… please lower your tone. From now on, we are the servants who will serve you, Madam.”
Since she had entered the side parlor connected to the main reception hall, Hezenne had not uttered a single word. At her sudden question, the maid had flinched in surprise and quickly bowed her waist.
Born and raised as the daughter of a noble family, Hezenne had never been properly treated with the courtesy she deserved. That was why, even toward these unfamiliar servants belonging to the Grand Duke’s household, she found it awkward and unnatural to speak down to them.
“…I’ll take my time.”
Hearing Hezenne’s soft and gentle response, the maid couldn’t help but worry, though she knew it wasn’t her place to do so. ‘How can someone so naive manage the vast household of the Grand Duke?’
“Rose— it’s about time you leave now.”
Another maid, tidying up the remnants of preparation scattered across the parlor, quietly reminded the one speaking with Hezenne.
Startled, the maid who had been fretting over Hezenne let out a small “ah,” then once more adjusted Hezenne’s veil.
“Now, please stand. It’s time to head to the wedding hall.”
The maid’s expression, until now calm and composed, carried a faint trace of tension. Seeing that, Hezenne’s heart, which had only just steadied, began to pound all over again.
Led by the maids, Hezenne stepped into the wedding hall and was taken aback by the sight of the immense crowd filling the venue.
Countless eyes gleamed in her direction, gazes so sharp with curiosity that it felt as though they might devour her whole.
If the maid hadn’t lowered the veil over her face when they neared the hall, Hezenne might have collapsed right there, unable to endure the deluge of stares.
Determined not to make such a disgraceful scene, she forced strength into her legs with every step. Soon, she found herself standing at the entrance of the hall, where Baron Sevish was waiting.
“The Grand Duke has been waiting for some time already, and you dare dawdle even on this day? Are you out of your mind?”
“……”
Sevish, offering his hand, scolded her in a voice low enough that only she could hear. Impatient as ever, he urged her to place her hand on his without delay.
Hezenne, silent, lifted her hand and laid it atop his.
The expression of a father walking his daughter to another man, and the face of a daughter leaving her father’s side— both were devoid of emotion.
Only their joined hands hovered awkwardly in the air, stirring no sentiment whatsoever in either Sevish or Hezenne.
Step by step, they advanced until at last they reached the dais where Archbishop Lambert and Ian stood.
Before handing over the bride, it was customary for the groom to bow with courtesy to her father. Ian, however, merely tilted his head slightly in the faintest of nods, his expression haughty as he looked down on the Baron.
“That— how insolent!”
Sevish’s face flushed with anger at the discourtesy, but Ian cared little. Having offered that fleeting nod, he immediately turned his cold gaze toward Hezenne.
For a moment, he studied her through the veil before extending his hand.
Only then did Hezenne lift her eyes, catching sight of Ian’s face through the sheer fabric.
Thump, thump—
Clad in deep blue formalwear, hair neatly swept back, Ian’s appearance made Hezenne’s heart race wildly, as though it might burst.
“Your hand—.”
His quiet voice reached her ears, instructing her to place her hand in his. Startled, Hezenne dropped her gaze and carefully rested her hand atop his.
The warmth and strength of his grasp sent all her senses rushing to her fingertips. It felt as if her beating heart itself had leapt there to cling.
Ian, holding her hand firmly, led her before the Archbishop, facing forward. Hezenne, too, turned her gaze to where he directed.
The ceremony began. All eyes in the hall fell upon them, yet Hezenne no longer felt their weight.
Or rather, she could not feel them at all.
The only presence filling her heart was Ian, standing tall at her side.
The wedding of Ian, Grand Duke of the Clavendy family, a man whose every move captured public attention, was conducted in splendor. Attended by members of the imperial family and countless nobles, it was officiated by Archbishop Lambert.
Both bride and groom solemnly answered the questions of the Archbishop, agreeing to the vows and to accept each other as husband and wife.
The ceremony went smoothly, and at last came the moment all had awaited— the kiss of the bride and groom.
“Face each other and share a kiss.”
At Lambert’s instruction, Ian turned first, followed by Hezenne, who moved hesitantly with a tense expression.
Ian stepped forward and gently lifted the pure white veil covering her face.
The final barrier removed, Hezenne’s face was revealed before the crowd.
Some ladies craned their necks shamelessly, eager to see more clearly.
“So that is—”
Whispers rippled through the hall as they finally beheld the face of the so-called “ghost bride.”
Standing in the middle of the hall, overwhelmed by their piercing stares, Hezenne raised her eyes toward Ian, seeking solace in him without even realizing it.
It wasn’t that she expected him to provide comfort, but in that unfamiliar place with no one else to lean on, her instincts longed for him to be her support.
Yet Ian’s face, revealed to her once her veil was lifted, was expressionless— so unreadable she could not guess at his thoughts.
His hand, having lowered the veil, rose to cup her chin.
At the touch of his hot palm against her skin, Hezenne flinched, her lashes trembling.
Watching her reaction, Ian’s lips curved faintly, and he gave a quiet scoff.
It was so subtle that not even the Archbishop, standing close by, perceived it. Hezenne, too, completely missed it, for from the moment her veil was lifted, she had no space left in her mind for such details.
Her heart pounded so loudly it felt as though drums were beating right beside her ears.
As Ian’s face slowly descended, filling her vision, Hezenne clutched the hem of her wedding dress tightly and squeezed her eyes shut.
When his lips touched hers, the burning sensation froze her in place, stealing even her breath.
All the curious, prying eyes that had filled her mind seemed to scatter away like dust in the wind.
Lost in a whirl of excitement, nervousness, and wonder, Hezenne didn’t notice Ian’s strange expression.
For while she was overwhelmed by the kiss, Ian’s eyes were cool, as if searching for something in her features.
Finding nothing, he ended the kiss swiftly and withdrew.
The crowd, expecting a passionate embrace, murmured with faint disappointment at the briefness of it.
At last, Archbishop Lambert declared them husband and wife. The hall erupted in cheers and congratulations.
And so, with this marriage, Hezenne officially became the Grand Duchess.
