Chapter 4: The Wedding
Ethan barely gave Annalise a moment to breathe. From the instant their wedding date was set, he took charge of every detail with ruthless efficiency. The dress, the bridal quarters, the etiquette lessons—all arranged meticulously, leaving Annalise little room to think, almost as if he feared she might change her mind. Yet, there was no wavering in Annalise's heart. She had already made her choice, and nothing could alter it.
The wedding was held within the grand yet somber halls of Vornhart Keep, an affair meant only for those Ethan deemed worthy of witnessing his vows. The flickering glow of countless candles bathed the stone walls in a soft light, while the lingering scent of burning myrrh gave the air an almost reverent weight. The grand hall had been stripped of excessive embellishments—no gaudy displays of wealth, no gilded nobles whispering behind their fans. Only the Obsidian Vanguard, Ethan's most trusted knights, and the loyal servants who had stood by him through every storm remained. The absence of aristocratic spectators was not a mistake; it was deliberate. Ethan had no need for their empty platitudes or veiled mockery. He wanted only his people there.
Annalise stood before him, draped in a gown of deep ivory, its delicate embroidery catching the candlelight like woven stars. Her nearly silver-blonde hair cascaded in soft waves down her back, framing a face so breathtaking it could silence a room. Her sapphire eyes, vivid and piercing, held no fear—only quiet determination. There was no elaborate crown upon her head, no priceless heirloom to mark her newfound status—only the quiet dignity in the way she held herself. The priest's voice rang through the chamber, solemn and final as he spoke the binding words of matrimony.
Ethan took her hand, his grip firm, possessive, as if anchoring himself to the moment. His right side, the side untouched by scars, reflected the handsomeness he might have fully possessed in another life—sharp jaw, high cheekbones, and stormy gray eyes. But on his left, the skin bore the remnants of old wounds, a disfigurement neither burn nor simple scar, twisting across his features in a testament to battles past. And yet, Annalise did not flinch, did not avert her gaze as others had. Instead, she met his stare unwaveringly, as if she saw not ruin, but the man beneath it.
When he vowed to protect her, his voice carried the weight of an oath unbreakable. And when she vowed to stand by him, she did so with the same unwavering resolve that had first drawn him to her.
As they sealed their vows with a kiss, there was no eruption of applause, no joyous fanfare. Instead, there was a quiet, profound acceptance. For those gathered, it was not merely a wedding. It was a declaration. Ethan Vornhart had chosen his bride, and no force in the empire could change that.
The wedding night was no less significant. Their chamber, dimly lit by the glow of the hearth, carried an air of expectancy. Annalise was not a noble bride trained in the ways of seduction, nor did she approach their union with the hesitancy of a trembling maiden. She was steady, calm, and that alone intrigued Ethan. He traced his fingers over the lace of her sleeve, watching as the firelight danced across her skin.
"I will not force you," he murmured, his voice quieter than usual, a rare softness within it.
Annalise lifted her gaze to his, her sapphire eyes unreadable. "And if I want this?"
Ethan's fingers tensed. There was a challenge in her words, an unspoken declaration of her own agency. Slowly, his grip slid to her waist, pulling her closer, and in that moment, the line between duty and something far more dangerous blurred.
By morning, the empire was ablaze with whispers. The news of Ethan Vornhart's marriage had spread like wildfire, igniting an uproar among the aristocracy. A maid? A commoner? How scandalous! The nobility reeled in shock, their carefully curated world shaken by Ethan's defiance of convention.
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Ethan's Perspective:
The summons came swiftly. The council of nobles had demanded his presence, a feeble attempt to force an explanation.
As he stepped into the grand hall of the council chamber, the room buzzed with barely contained outrage.
"This is an insult to noble blood!" one lord bellowed.
"A disgrace to our traditions!" another sneered.
"The Vornhart name—your family's legacy—you tarnish it with this foolishness!"
The accusations flew like poisoned arrows, but Ethan stood unmoved, his gray eyes cold and calculating. When they demanded he annul the marriage, his lips curled into something that might have been amusement.
"Annul my marriage?" His voice, smooth yet laced with danger, silenced the room. "Tell me, who among you possesses the authority to command me?"
The nobles stiffened, exchanging nervous glances.
"I hold the wealth that funds your estates. I command an army stronger than any of your private forces combined." Ethan's gaze swept over them, his presence suffocating. "Shall we test whether your titles can stand against the might of the Obsidian Vanguard?"
A ripple of unease spread through the council. The weight of his words pressed down on them, and one by one, they averted their eyes. Fear and resentment warred in their expressions, but not a single voice rose in further protest.
With that, Ethan turned on his heel and left them to stew in their own bitterness.
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Shadow Council's Perspective:
In the dim glow of candlelight, cloaked figures convened in secrecy, their voices hushed but urgent.
"He actually married?"
"We did not foresee this."
"It complicates matters."
The leader, his face obscured by shadow, tapped his fingers against the table. "Ethan Vornhart is not a man given to sentimentality. This marriage must have purpose."
Silence settled over the room as they considered the implications.
"The question is… what does this mean for us?"
No answer came, only the flickering of flames and the heavy weight of uncertainty.