21. This Marriage Must End in Tragedy
Still, compared to the reaction when rumors spread that he was dating Ansi de Lubelsa, this was relatively civil.
Perhaps he should be grateful that they even came this far.
“There’s a set order of events, you know. We can’t just rush it.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Oh? Then what did you mean?”
“Don’t betray the people who raised you, Damion.”
Marianne, who had been biting her lip, suddenly spoke. Her golden eyes once again brimmed with fury. Those were the same eyes that had sometimes pitied Damion and other times coldly ignored him.
“You talk like I stabbed you in the back, Mother.”
“You’re trying to humiliate us.”
“Exactly. Your brother said he would respect your decision, so we’re not saying more—but must it be such a grand ceremony?”
“Then what, shall we cancel it?”
Damion asked with a crooked smile.
Veins bulged on Basirof’s face.
The sly little snake. To suggest canceling the wedding on the day of—he knew full well it was impossible and was mocking them.
He had always been like this. Aware of his position, always smiling faintly, but with blades hidden behind his eyes.
That was Damion’s only form of rebellion—and knowing that made it all the more chilling.
In any case, the ceremony was moments away.
Marianne knocked four times quickly on the dressing room door, then approached Damion. That was the signal that everything was ready.
She smiled sweetly and lightly caressed his cheek. The Duke wrapped an arm around Damion’s shoulders.
At that exact moment, the door opened—precisely five seconds after the knock.
The eyes of the people waiting outside turned toward Damion and his family.
“Once again, congratulations, my son.”
Marianne’s voice was choked with emotion.
It was laughable, but as always, Damion chose to play along with the performance. He placed his hand gently atop hers and asked,
“May I be happy?”
To others, it sounded like the nervous joy of a groom about to marry. But to Marianne, it sounded like he was saying he had never been happy before.
“Just like always—be happy.”
Marianne responded, trying to withdraw her hand. But Damion wouldn’t let go.
One of her eyebrows twitched involuntarily.
“Thank you, Mother.”
Only then did Damion release her hand. Marianne smiled and nodded.
“They say the Duke and Duchess favor their second son deeply—it must be true.”
“To think he returned from the battlefield only recently and is already marrying—it must be bittersweet.”
The onlookers smiled warmly. To them, it all looked genuine.
Because Hofri had arrived early at the grand cathedral, he managed to get a fairly good seat—not as good as the best man Henet’s, but decent enough. Seeing the growing crowd made him anxious about the return trip, but for now, he focused on the wedding.
When Damion de Orphe entered, Hofri wasn’t even jealous—he looked too perfect.
Wearing a perfectly tailored shirt and pants under a long morning coat, Damion walked with grace and confidence, like he was gliding across water. He didn’t appear nervous at all—in fact, he looked relaxed. The guy was exceptional.
And yet, the one he chose to marry was the daughter of a ruined house. Hofri thought perhaps the god Riento had granted Damion everything—except taste in partners.
Then Damion’s expression suddenly brightened, and Hofri turned around instinctively.
“…!”
Of course—he chose her for her looks.
At that ball, Hofri had only glanced at her, but even then, she had stood out. Today, she looked nothing short of stunning.
Wearing a traditional plum-colored gown and her black hair tied back, the woman radiated both elegance and brilliance. Her sharply defined features made her look both refined and striking—two contrasting impressions at once.
“Anemone flowers. They symbolize love, right?”
Only then did Hofri notice her bouquet, following his friend’s whisper. The red anemones matched her dress beautifully.
The bride began walking alone. That was unusual. Typically, a father or another male relative would escort the bride.
Her silk dress trailed behind her, fluttering gently with each step.
Then, as murmurs spread among the crowd, Hofri turned to see Damion walking toward the bride to greet her—another unusual break from tradition.
Hofri had a feeling. From now on, walking in together as a couple would become the new trend.
The couple stood before the altar and pledged eternal happiness before the god. Everyone clapping truly believed they would fulfill that vow.
No one knew what the bride was thinking at the center of it all.
Ansi believed she was enduring the pageantry quite well.
Though she disliked the blood-red gown, she didn’t show it. She smiled demurely at Damion de Orphe, pretending to be happily in love. Nervousness, after all, could easily mask discomfort.
But then there came a moment when she froze completely.
When her eyes met those of Cardian de Orphe.
Ansi had feared he would interfere in the wedding. After all, how could a man calmly watch his brother marry the daughter of someone he had killed?
And yet, despite her fears, nothing had happened.
Now she knew why.
He was sitting there calmly, congratulating his brother on his wedding.
With a completely composed face.
As if nothing had ever happened.
“…Ha.”
Ansi let out a quiet, bitter laugh.
A surge of hatred rose within her. If only he had shown even a flicker of distaste—then perhaps she would have felt a small sense of victory.
But all she felt now was a crushing sense of humiliation and burning resentment.
Her grip tightened around her bouquet, crushing the stems of the red anemones.
“Are you all right?”
The soft voice came from the man beside her. Turning her head, she saw him looking at her with concern.
The brother of her enemy.
The romantic who had chosen her without knowing anything.
Choosing the anemones for her bouquet was a stubborn act.
In Belgader, the known meaning of the anemone was “love.”
But its lesser-known meaning was betrayal.
This bouquet was both her comfort and her warning—a gift to herself for having to take on the Orphe name she so despised.
And with this final gesture, Ansi decided to abandon the whirlwind of emotions that surged whenever she thought of him.
“I must’ve been a little nervous.”
Ansi smiled as she looked at Damion.
His large, warm hand covered the one she had looped through his arm.
“It’ll be overwhelming, but once we get over there, it’s over.”
He gestured gently toward the cathedral doors. Ansi turned her head forward again. Her smile now concealed all the hatred and sorrow.
As the slow wedding march played and blessings rained down upon them—
Ansi thought to herself:
We will be unhappy.
This marriage must, without fail, end in tragedy.
The music at the banquet hall was composed of short pieces for brief dances. Young men and women in attendance danced to the music—but the bride and groom could neither dance together nor speak to each other.
Such was the long-standing tradition in Belgader, and Damion had never really questioned it.
“Congratulations, Lord Orphe.”
“Thank you for taking the time to come, Lady Nayan.”
As another short piece began, Damion moved lightly to the rhythm, but his eyes often drifted across the hall.
They always found Ansi de Orphe—the woman who had just become his wife.
“Congratulations, Lady Orphe.”
“Best wishes on your marriage.”
“Yes, thank you.” Ansi responded in her usual curt tone before beginning the dance.
There was barely any conversation, and her movements were dry and mechanical—yet they inexplicably unsettled him.
Perhaps it was because, through this ceremony, he had finally become her partner. He couldn’t help but wonder if he would be able to achieve the happiness he desired.
Something about her complexion didn’t look right, either.
“You could’ve had a better match… What a shame, Lord Damion.”
“I already have a match far beyond what I deserve. Kindly keep your ignorant and rude concerns to yourself.”
He may have been a little more blunt than usual, but since it was his wedding day, he decided to forgive himself.
Still, the tradition irked him. Dancing with others right after the wedding, instead of with one’s new spouse—who had invented such a crude, disgraceful custom?
Ansi’s expression remained blank as she danced. With each step, her plum-colored gown rippled gently, the floral decorations swaying.
The plum flowers signified she was the star of the day. They matched her dark hair and pale skin perfectly—but Damion couldn’t shake the feeling that she didn’t like them.
Did she dislike red? Or perhaps the wedding dress itself? Or… was she feeling unwell?
The thought seemed silly. After all, it wasn’t like they could talk right now anyway.
“Damion, congratulations on your marriage.”
Damion pulled his gaze away from Ansi and turned to the group of men approaching him. He stepped away to chat and distract himself.
But when he returned to the hall—
He saw someone standing next to Ansi.
And at that moment, Damion, almost unconsciously, took a step toward her.
