Chapter 7
The servant approached with a bow, then returned sheepishly. “My lord, the procession ahead belongs to House
Ravenscroft. They demand right of way.”
For an instant, Gideon’s world seemed to crack apart. “Whose house?!” he demanded, voice cracking.
“House Ravenscroft, my lord. The bride is Lady Isolde. The groom is the newly appointed Chief Justiciar, Lord Alaric.”
Gideon’s pupils constricted violently. “But-how can she marry another when I’m still-? And that position-!”
His face drained of color.
Just weeks ago, the former Chief Justiciar had died unexpectedly, and the Emperor had entrusted Chancellor Ravenscroft
with selecting a successor.
Gideon had heard the news, even laughed off his friends’ teasing. “The Chief Justiciar oversees all major cases in
Evermere, but everyone knows it’s a stepping stone under the Chancellor’s wing,” they’d jested. “Climb this ladder, and you
might replace him one day.”
Gideon had scoffed publicly-but privately, he’d already counted the title as his. His future father-in-law would surely
secure it for him.
Yet now, not only had Isolde married another, but the promised appointment had vanished like smoke.
Panic clawed at his throat. He spurred his horse forward-only for his servant to yank the reins. “My lord! That’s the Chief
Justiciar’s bridal procession! We’re mere commoners-we must yield. Today is your big day; don’t ruin an auspicious hour
over impulse!”
Gideon froze.
So now, he didn’t even have the right to interfere.
The Blackwood family’s party retreated to the roadside.
Inside her curtained litter, Lenora dared to lift the velvet drapes-and stifled a gasp.
Before her stretched a procession of unimaginable opulence: an eight-carrier bridal sedan, trailed by a hundred carts of dowry, attendants scattering coins as commoners scrambled for blessings.
A pang of envy struck her.
Gideon had supplemented her dowry, yes-but only twenty carts. He owned no estate, no real wealth. Still, he was this year’s most promising scholar. Once he rose, so would she.
Just as Lenora’s fingers relinquished the velvet drape, the crystalline note of silver against sapphire stilled her-
A passing wind stirred the pearls adorning the bride’s coronet-and there, unveiled, was the face Lenora despised above
all others: Isolde.
Lenora’s breath caught.
Since Alaric was to be a live-in husband, custom required only a single circuit through the capital before returning to
Ravenscroft Manor. Yet fate intervened-
We crossed paths with Gideon’s own wedding party.
The delay lasted barely half a prayer’s length before they yielded.
As our carriages passed, I felt two burning gazes.
One seethed with venom.
The other-unreadable, almost wounded.
I dismissed both.
Yet peace was short-lived.
The moment Alaric and I completed our vows, a shout shattered the ceremony. “HALT! Alaric cannot marry her!”
Gideon.
He had abandoned his own mistress to disrupt our wedding.
