Chapter 5. The Marriage Feast

The dawn broke over the enchanted harbor with a glow as brilliant as the world's first spell. The sun, dressed in topaz shades spun from celestial light, rose clear and bright, its rays kissing the rune-carved waves so they shimmered like ruby‐streaked threads of magical fire.

On the second tier of La Réserve—a grand pavilion famous for its ancient living oaks and silvery vines—a wedding feast had been arranged. The room itself was vast and filled with a soft, otherworldly glow from the many stained‐glass windows. Each windowsill bore golden inscriptions naming old kingdom cities, blending history with prophecy. Beneath these windows stretched a broad wooden balcony covered in carved sigils and braided with living ivy. Though the feast was set for noon, by eleven o'clock the balcony was already packed with guests—sailors from the spellcruiser Pharaon and close friends of the groom—all dressed in their finest enchanted attire.

Whispers floated among them that the mysterious owners of the Pharaon might appear, though even the city's most learned seers doubted such high lords would come in person. Then Danglars arrived, slightly behind a still‐tipsy Caderousse, and confirmed the rumor: he had spoken to M. Morrel—the respected shipowner whose judgment carried the weight of ancient rune‐scrolls—and learned that Morrel planned to attend.

Moments later, M. Morrel indeed appeared. A rush of applause burst from the sailors, who saw in his presence a sign that Edmond Dantès would soon be named the Pharaon's captain. Edmond was well-liked among the crew; they believed he was fated to guide both ship and men to prosperity.

With M. Morrel's arrival, Danglars and Caderousse were dispatched to fetch the groom and tell him the shipowner was waiting. They hurried through the winding passages of the city, but they had barely taken more than a few steps when the wedding procession arrived. Edmond and his fiancée Mercédès led the way, accompanied by a group of young maidens, followed by Edmond's elderly father—his silver hair lending him a dignified air—and Fernand, whose tense smile hinted at hidden turmoil.

Mercédès and Edmond, absorbed in their own joy, were too happy to notice Fernand's pained expression. Danglars and Caderousse, having delivered their message, found seats next to Fernand and Edmond's father. The old man wore a suit of gleaming watered silk, decorated with polished steel buttons crafted by master rune-smiths. He leaned on a carved staff etched with protective symbols, holding himself with the grace of an old courtier strolling through enchanted palace gardens. Caderousse, lured by the feast's promise, had mostly set aside the previous night's worries, though faint shadows still haunted his mind like half‐remembered dreams.

Danglars spotted Fernand's pale features and gave him a meaningful look. Fernand tried to remain composed, but from time to time a surge of emotion twisted his face, and he cast uneasy glances toward Marseilles as if expecting disaster. Meanwhile, Edmond, handsome in a uniform that fused both military flair and merchant style, wore an expression of pure contentment. Beside him, Mercédès was radiant, her dark hair and bright eyes glowing with the warmth of love. She moved with a natural grace, like an Andalusian dancer in the midst of a timeless festival.

As the wedding party neared La Réserve, M. Morrel stepped down from the portico with a group of soldiers and sailors—many of whom hoped that Edmond would soon become their captain. Smiling, Edmond placed Mercédès' arm through M. Morrel's in a show of gratitude, and the shipowner guided her up the polished steps to the dining hall. The guests followed behind, and the old floorboards creaked under their collective excitement, as though awakened by ancient memories.

"Father," Mercédès said softly when they reached the center of the table, "will you sit by my right hand? On my left, I want to seat him who's always been like a brother to me." She gestured toward Fernand, whose face went deathly white, as if forced to swallow a bitter truth.

Meanwhile, Edmond helped his most important guests get settled at the other end. He placed M. Morrel at his right and Danglars on his left. At Edmond's silent direction, the rest found their seats in an almost graceful dance, as though guided by invisible magic.

Soon, the feast began. Plates of spiced Arlesian sausages, scarlet lobsters, and vivid prawns made their way around. Echinus—spiny on the outside but tender inside—and clovis—prized by wizard gourmets for a taste rivaling the rare northern oyster—were offered in abundance, courtesy of the bountiful sea.

"A strange sort of hush," Edmond's father remarked, raising a chalice of golden wine that flickered like trapped starlight. He glanced at Mercédès with a kindly smile. "You'd expect more noise with so much happiness in the air."

"A man can't always be loud, even when he's about to get married," Caderousse joked, his voice still rough from the night before.

Edmond offered a modest laugh. "I'm so overwhelmed by this day, it feels like I'm standing inside a dream. I can hardly believe Mercédès agreed to marry me—I feel unworthy of such a blessing."

"Don't be too sure of yourself," Caderousse teased, winking. "She's not your wife quite yet. Act like a husband too soon, and she'll remind you the ring isn't on her finger!"

Mercédès blushed. Fernand, clearly agitated, dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief, his face shining with anxious perspiration.

"Ah, relax," piped up a friendly neighbor, pulling out a rune-etched pocket watch. "In less than an hour and a half, she really will be your wife. The mayor expects you at city hall by half‐past noon!"

Surprised chatter rose around the table. "Really?" Danglars asked, color draining from his face. "That quickly?"

Edmond's grin widened. "Yes. Thanks to M. Morrel's help, every obstacle was removed. The formalities were waived, and by one‐thirty today, Mercédès becomes Madame Dantès!"

A fresh wave of applause and cheers rippled through the gathering. However, Fernand closed his eyes and swayed briefly, supporting himself against the table. His low moan was lost in the clamor.

"By all the runes," Edmond's father exclaimed, "you only arrived yesterday, and you're getting married today! That's traveling at the speed of magic!"

Danglars, trying to sound casual, said quietly, "But what about the usual paperwork—like the marriage contracts?"

Edmond chuckled. "They were easy. Mercédès has no fortune, and I don't have much more. The contracts were straightforward—and cheap, at that!" The guests laughed louder at his remark.

"So this feast isn't just the engagement party; it's the wedding feast!" Danglars said, forcing a grin.

"Not exactly," Edmond answered, toying with the stem of his wineglass. "Tomorrow I need to leave for Paris to finish an important errand, but I'll only be gone a few days. I plan to be back by March first, and on March second, we'll have the real wedding celebration."

Delighted by the prospect of a second feast, the guests grew noisier. Even Edmond's father—who only moments ago was marveling at the quiet—found it almost impossible to raise his glass in the uproar. Edmond exchanged a warm look with him, and Mercédès watched the enchanted clock, smiling at Edmond as if reassuring him that no matter how quickly time passed, they still had each other.

Not everyone was carried away by the excitement. Fernand's face had grown whiter with every passing second. Danglars watched him with calculating eyes, noticing how Fernand kept drifting away from the laughing crowd to pace at the edge of the room. Before long, Caderousse joined him, and they whispered nervously.

"I have to admit," Caderousse muttered, "Edmond is a fine fellow. Seeing him about to marry the girl of his dreams makes me wonder if that silly stunt from last night might come back to haunt us."

"He'll be fine," Danglars said. "At first, I worried Fernand might do something extreme, but look at him—he's managing his emotions well enough to stand here at Edmond's wedding. Nothing to fear now." Yet Caderousse kept glancing uneasily at Fernand's ashen face.

Danglars shrugged. "Honestly, if you think about it, Fernand gave up something precious by letting her go—especially given how beautiful Mercédès is. Our future captain sure got lucky."

Before they could say more, Mercédès called out in her gentle voice, "Shouldn't we get going? The clock's already struck noon, and we have just fifteen minutes left."

"Absolutely!" Edmond said, jumping to his feet. "Let's head out right away!"

The gathering stood, chairs scraping loudly against the ancient floor. Danglars noticed Fernand stumble, slumping down near an open window. At that exact moment, they heard footsteps on the stairs. Swords clinked in the corridor, and a low murmur of voices overtook the lively chatter. Three loud knocks echoed on the heavy door. Everyone fell silent.

"Open up!" demanded a firm voice. The door swung inward to reveal a magistrate wearing an official sash woven with runic threads, flanked by four soldiers and a corporal in armor etched with protective symbols. A chill spread through the room.

"Excuse me," M. Morrel said, stepping forward. He recognized the man as one who served both mortal and magical law. "What's the meaning of this? Surely there must be some misunderstanding."

"If it is indeed a mistake, it'll be corrected," the magistrate said solemnly. "But I have an arrest warrant, and I'm required to carry it out. Who among you is Edmond Dantès?"

All eyes turned to Edmond. Though startled, he moved forward with calm dignity. "I am Edmond Dantès. What's going on?"

The magistrate cleared his throat. "Edmond Dantès, I'm placing you under arrest in the name of the law."

"Me?" Edmond repeated, his face going pale. "Why?"

"I can't reveal the details here," the magistrate replied. "You'll learn everything at the hearing."

Morrel, seeing the unwavering authority on the magistrate's face, said nothing. But Edmond's father stepped forward, heartbroken. He pleaded with the officer, who looked moved by the old man's distress yet still bound by duty. "Don't worry," the officer said gently. "It could be a simple paperwork issue with cargo or crew lists. Once it's sorted out, he'll be free."

"What's this about?" Caderousse muttered to Danglars, who put on a mask of surprise.

"Honestly, I have no clue," Danglars replied with an innocent shrug. Nearby, Caderousse searched for Fernand, but he was gone.

Suddenly recalling the previous night's conversation, Caderousse felt a wave of dread crash over him. Everything they'd joked about—was it leading to this?

"So," he whispered hoarsely, "that 'prank' we discussed was more serious than we thought."

Danglars frowned. "I had nothing to do with it," he insisted. "You remember, I tore up that note!"

"No, you just threw it aside," Caderousse countered. "I saw it, crumpled in a corner."

"Shut up," Danglars hissed. "You were drunk."

"Where's Fernand?" Caderousse demanded, ignoring him.

"How should I know?" Danglars answered coolly. "Maybe he left to handle his own affairs."

In the midst of this, Edmond exchanged comforting handshakes with the few who dared approach. "Don't worry," he assured them, "I'm sure this will be cleared up quickly."

He went down the old staircase with the magistrate and soldiers. At the entrance, a carriage drawn by shadowy, rune-charmed horses waited. Edmond climbed in with two of the soldiers and the magistrate, and they set off for Marseilles.

"Goodbye, Edmond!" Mercédès called from the balcony, reaching out her arms. "We'll be waiting for you!"

Leaning from the carriage window as it swung toward Fort Saint Nicolas, Edmond replied, "Farewell, Mercédès—we'll see each other again soon!" Then the vehicle disappeared into the city's winding streets.

"Stay here, everyone!" M. Morrel shouted, his voice steady but urgent. "I'll get a carriage and find out what's going on." Reassured by his words, the wedding guests waited. Edmond's father and Mercédès clung to each other for comfort. Fernand slipped back into the room, trembling, and gulped down a glass of water before sinking into a nearby chair—uncomfortably close to where Mercédès had just collapsed in grief. Realizing where he was, he jumped as if repelled by his own guilty conscience.

"He's behind this—I'm sure of it," Caderousse muttered to Danglars, watching Fernand's anguished expression.

"I doubt it," Danglars replied coolly. "He doesn't have the wit to plan something like this. I only pray the real culprit gets what they deserve."

"What about the people who helped?" Caderousse insisted.

Danglars shrugged dismissively. "You can't blame everyone who sets events in motion. Sometimes fate sends an arrow flying, and it lands where it lands."

"And sometimes," Caderousse said softly, "that arrow ends up lodged in your own skull."

News that Edmond had been arrested for being a Bonapartist agent spread through the magical city like a gust of stormy wind. M. Morrel, rushing back toward the port to get updates from M. de Villefort, overheard Danglars telling someone in a low voice, "I knew it was suspicious when he stopped at the Isle of Elba."

"Did you mention that to anyone but me?" Morrel asked.

"No," Danglars replied quietly. "Because of your uncle, M. Policar Morrel—who served the previous ruler—I worried it might hurt you and Edmond if I spoke up. A mere supercargo must report all to the shipowner, but I also know when to keep certain things secret."

Morrel nodded. "Thank you, Danglars. I appreciate your caution. I was already thinking about your position aboard the Pharaon if Edmond became captain."

"You were that considerate?" Danglars asked, sounding surprised.

"Yes," Morrel said. "I asked Edmond about you. He said there'd been some friction, but assured me that anyone trusted by our shipping house would remain in favor."

Danglars muttered under his breath, "Well, maybe he was just pretending."

"Poor Edmond," Caderousse sighed. "He never deserved this."

"But now the Pharaon is without a captain," Morrel added sadly.

"Oh," said Danglars, "since the ship isn't scheduled to leave for three months, we can hope Edmond will be free by then."

"True, but in the meantime?"

"I'm at your service," Danglars offered. "I can handle the ship's business until Edmond returns. Then it'll just take a small adjustment to restore things to normal."

"Thank you, Danglars," M. Morrel said. "I appreciate that. Be sure to handle the Pharaon's cargo carefully—it's a big responsibility."

"I will, sir," Danglars promised. "But do you really think Edmond will be released soon?"

"I'm meeting with M. de Villefort. He's a royalist, but hopefully he'll see this is just a misunderstanding. I believe he's reasonable," Morrel said.

"Maybe," Danglars murmured. "They say he's ambitious, though—and that can be dangerous."

"We'll see," M. Morrel replied. "For now, I must go. I'll come aboard the Pharaon as soon as I can."

He headed off toward the Palais de Justice, leaving Danglars and Caderousse behind.

Later, as the last echoes of the aborted wedding party faded, Danglars pulled Caderousse aside. "Look how events have turned," he said quietly. "Still think we need to defend Edmond?"

Caderousse shook his head, voice thick with regret. "No. But it's awful that a silly joke caused all this."

"Whose joke?" Danglars snapped. "It was Fernand who did it, not you or me. I threw away that letter—remember?"

"Oh no," Caderousse insisted, "I saw it on the ground—I'm sure someone could've taken it."

"Enough. You were drunk that night." Danglars waved him off. "Anyway, if something bad happens to Dantès, that's on whoever pulled the strings. I want no part in it."

"Amen," Caderousse muttered, watching Danglars hurry toward the Allées de Meilhan, his mind swirling with ominous thoughts.

"So far," Danglars mused under his breath, "everything's going exactly as I hoped. I'm acting captain on the Pharaon for now, and I might get the job permanently—unless Dantès walks free. But he's in the hands of the law, and the law can be harsh." With that, he hopped into a waiting boat, eager to return to the Pharaon, where M. Morrel had promised to meet him.