Lady Cynthia had asked to see Leyla. What could she possibly want? With her, every action was a mystery wrapped in sharp silk. But I couldn't waver. I was Leyla Nerwine, after all.
When I allowed her in, she entered gracefully, her smile cutting sharper than any blade. I knew the meaning behind it immediately—was she here to admire my gown, or to ruin it? Obviously, the latter.
"I thought I'd come too late, but it seems I've arrived at just the right moment. Congratulations on your marriage, Leyla," Cynthia said smoothly, her voice dripping with elegance as she offered me a bottle.
"Thank you, Duchess. I'm touched." My words came out steady, though my eyes searched behind her. Where was Keith? Through the doorway, I caught a glimpse of Epsilon standing guard.
"Please accept this gift from me." She pressed the wine bottle into my hands. Why was she acting so gracious? Hadn't I provoked her wrath just recently?
Yet… I couldn't keep my mind on this exchange. That dream from last night gnawed at me like icy claws on my spine. The image was too vivid. Too real.
Keith dead.
Cynthia's hand stained with it.
No, it was only a dream. A dream couldn't predict the future. Still, the unease slithered in my chest.
I accepted the bottle and thanked her, though her eyes lingered on me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.
"Well then, I'll take my leave," she said finally, bowing out with that perfectly measured grace."Give my regards to Xerta."
The door shut, and I was left staring at the dark glass bottle. I placed it in the corner, watching it as though it might come alive. A sour frustration rose in me. At last, I snatched it up and tossed it into the waste bin.
----------------------------
The wedding began under the hand of Xerta's meticulous arrangements. The grand hall echoed with chants of devotion to Helius, the god of light. Incense smoke curled upward, gilded by the light filtering through stained-glass windows.
Beside me, Nicholas was silent, a rare occurrence. My palms were slick with a cold sweat.
The King and Queen entered in a procession of glittering steel and velvet. Behind them came Crown Prince Rodhius and his fiancée Stella, radiating nobility like painted icons.
They were seated at the front row of honor, the King casting a sharp glance back—toward this very section. Rodhius followed suit, his eyes narrowing when they met his brother's. Friction snapped in the air like an invisible whip.
Meanwhile, Nicholas beamed and waved like a lunatic. Thanks to the royal entrance, the uncomfortable conversation we'd been having before was mercifully cut short. Not that I had answers for him anyway.
Who said I'd switched sides—from Leyla to Cynthia? No.
I only wanted to keep watch over that top-tier villainess, to prevent chaos from spilling loose.
From the corner of my eye, I caught the silhouettes of Epsilon and Cynthia again. But strangely, they were summoned by the King himself, given seats near the throne. And so I remained, stuck beside Nicholas.
At last, when the prayers ended, Leyla emerged—her arm linked with Count Nerwine, her father. The hall drew in a collective breath.
Even Nicholas seemed reverent, his manic grin softening. Leyla was radiant, a vision of beauty cloaked in silk and solemnity. Xerta stood ahead, waiting with composed dignity.
And then, for the briefest second, Xerta's gaze flicked to me. A heartbeat. A flicker. Before it darted away.
Do you pity me? Do you see me as pathetic?
Count Nerwine released her, stepping back. Leyla and Xerta now faced each other, with the priest of Helius standing between them.
"To Lady Leyla Nerwine, do you vow to love Xerta von Helming, in times of joy and hardship?"
"I do."
"And to Lord Xerta von Helming, do you vow to cherish Lady Leyla for all your days, in ease and in trial?"
"I do..."
"The god Helius has heard your oaths. Let us now exchange the rings."
Their hands touched as the rings slid into place. Their every move was seamless, convincing, almost tender. Their performance was flawless—though I knew it was all just a contract.
'Look at how she gazes at him, as if brimming with love.'
"And now, the final rite. Bride and groom, seal your bond with a kiss."
Xerta's hand cupped Leyla's cheek, and their lips met. My chest tightened, but strangely… I began to let go. After all, I could never kiss her. Little by little, I was becoming like Keith from the novel—learning to release her.
DUARRRR—!
The blast roared, the floor shuddering beneath me. Crimson flames licked at curtains and pillars, as smoke and dust swallowed the light.
"—cough—cough..." My lungs burned, each breath a struggle. The air, a choking haze.
I staggered upright. Our seats had taken less damage, but chaos roared all around. "Sir Nicholas, are you alright?"
"I think so… I told you, call me Nick."
"Now's not the time!" I shoved toward the main doors, the cold metal slick against my palms, forcing. Stuck. Jammed.
"Damn it. Do I have to break it down?" Behind me, the frantic *thud-thud* of panicked footsteps, screams of nobles echoing, the acrid smoke stinging my nostrils, the roar of spreading fire a deafening presence.
People stampeded, a desperate, blind wave toward the exits.
"Nick! Hold this place! Keep them calm and get the door open—whatever it takes!" I barked.
"What?!"
"Do it! I'm going the other way."
And then I sprinted against the current of fleeing bodies, heart pounding.'Leyla… please, please be safe.'
Fire licked at the walls, heat searing my skin. I spotted the King and Queen through the smoke, their crowns glittering dully under falling debris. Nearby, Rodhius fought to clear the suffocating dust, his fiancée Stella pinned beneath rubble.
"Your Majesty—are you unharmed?" I called. His face was pale, dazed, unable to comprehend the destruction.
And then, out of the haze—a shimmer. A green barrier, pulsing. Epsilon's magic. He had shielded Cynthia and the royal family just in time. But Stella lay beyond its reach.
I pressed my fingers against her throat. A pulse—faint but steady. With gritted teeth, I heaved the rubble off her legs, muscles screaming.
"Your Highness, take her! Quickly!" I rasped. Rodhius immediately scooped Stella into his arms.
"Epsilon, do you hear me?!" I shouted into the smoke.
"I hear you, Keith!" his voice answered.
"How many can you teleport at once?!"
"…Three at a time."
"Good! Take the King, Queen, and Cynthia out first! Hurry!"
"Understood!" A flare of violet light, and they were gone.
"Don't forget—the front doors! They're jammed, something's holding them shut!"
"I'll check!" came his fading reply.
I turned to Rodhius, voice firm. "Cover your mouth, Your Highness. Don't breathe in more smoke."
He nodded grimly.
Just then, Nicholas stumbled back to us, his hands glowing faint blue. "Keith—the doors won't budge. Some people are collapsing from exhaustion, so I doused them with a little water magic to help."
Clever. His water spells weren't strong, but they could at least quench some of the larger flames.
"Then check the front yourself, Nick. There's something I need to confirm."
Rodhius cut in sharply, "The fire is too strong ahead. What are you planning?"
Nicholas didn't argue. He surged water forward, forcing back the flames enough to reveal—
A figure. Emerging through the blaze.
"RAJIR!!" I shouted. "Are you unharmed?!"
Rajir turned toward my voice—but behind him, something far more terrifying stirred.
From the inferno itself, a colossal presence rose.
The Spirit of Fire. Prometheus.