Chapter 210: Throwing the Bouquet
"Throw it to me!"
"Over here! Over here!"
Under the watchful gaze of a hundred expectant eyes, the bride turned her back and, with a heave, she threw the bouquet into the air. It arced gracefully, a white and hopeful thing, and soared towards the back of the crowd.
It was a perfect throw, a beautiful arc, and it was about to land right in the hands of a young girl in the front row.
But just then, the fingers of the hand that was still wrapped around her waist... twitched. No incantation, no flare of a magical light, just a small, almost imperceptible, ripple.
And in that moment, a gentle, unseen breeze, a breeze that had come from nowhere, now kissed the bottom of the bouquet, and its trajectory shifted, just slightly. It now sailed over the outstretched hands, over the heads of the crowd, and, as if guided by the hand of fate itself, it began to descend upon a certain blond-haired elf, an elf who had shown no interest whatsoever in the whole, foolish affair.
She was just standing there, a frown on her face, when a flash of a white and green appeared in her vision. And on pure instinct, she raised a hand.
Plop.
And the bouquet, the symbol of a happiness and a blessing, landed right in her arms.
For a moment, the entire square was silent. And then, a hundred heads all turned to look at her. The cold and distant goddess of a woman, who had been standing on the edge of the crowd, as if in a world of her own.
Her?
Even she herself was stunned.
She looked down at the fragrant bouquet in her arms, a look of a pure and utter bewilderment on her face. This... this was even more surprising than his teasing from before, especially after he had explained its meaning. She looked up at him, a silent plea in her eyes.
He, for his part, was the very picture of innocence. He even clapped a few times, just like everyone else. But the grin, the grin that was now threatening to split his face in two, it betrayed him.
"You see?" he said, his own voice now a loud and boisterous sound, a voice that was clearly meant to be heard. "It is the will of the gods!"
The will of the gods? More like the will of a certain mischievous human. She could still feel it, that faint and subtle flicker of his mana, a flicker that no one else would have noticed, but a flicker that she, she had felt. A new wave of heat, a heat of a pure and unadulterated embarrassment and anger, now rushed to her cheeks. She wanted to throw the damned thing right in his face.
But all the eyes... and the bride's, a look of a genuine and sincere surprise and delight in them... she held it back. The great Serie, the most powerful mage in the modern age... to lose her composure over a bunch of flowers? The very thought of it was too mortifying.
She took a deep breath and, with a great and terrible effort of will, she forced down her rising anger. And then, with an expression of a pure and utter disdain, she held the bouquet a little further away from her, as if it were a hot potato.
The crowd, which had been in a state of a stunned silence, now erupted in a new and even more enthusiastic cheer. "Congratulations!" "May you be happy!"
And the cheers... they just made her cheeks burn even hotter.
He looked at her, at her trying so hard to be cool and collected, and he had to physically restrain himself from laughing out loud. He took the bouquet from her hands. "It seems," he said, his voice a low and quiet sound, a sound that only she could hear, "that even the goddess thinks that our little 'joke' was a good idea, doesn't it?"
He sniffed the flowers and gave her a look, a look that was filled with a new and strange meaning.
"We will settle this later," she hissed, her own voice a low and angry whisper.
But she did not take the flowers back. She just turned her head away, her own cheeks now a deep and burning crimson. And the bouquet, it was now a silent and unspoken thing between them, a brand that had seared the memory of this day, and the scent of him, and the feel of his hand in hers, even deeper into her heart.
The crowd began to disperse, and the newlyweds were now gone. "Come," he said softly. "Let's find a quiet place. We have to decide what to do with this. Maybe find a vase?"
She just nudged him with her elbow, a silent protest. But she did not pull away. She just let him lead her, and the unexpected "happiness" in his hands, away from the square.
In the northwest, in a place that was beyond the reach of both the Elven Kingdom and the human nations, in a place that had once been the heart of the Demon King's own domain, a place that was now a wild and untamed land...
Flamme pulled her cloak tighter around her and looked out at the rolling hills in the distance. Ela stood beside her, her own eyes constantly scanning their surroundings. The number of monsters here was much greater than in the central lands. They had already fought several, and had even encountered a demon once, though it had just stared at them for a moment and then had run away.
It had been several months since they had received his letter. They were now heading to the far north, still searching for the elven villages. But it was a fruitless quest. Every lead, every piece of information... it all just led to a dead end.
"Sister Ela, do you feel any elven aura?" she asked, a note of weariness in her voice. An old dwarf had just told them of a small village on the other side of the mountain. He had been there, in his youth. But when they had arrived... there had been nothing.
She closed her eyes for a moment, her pointed ears twitching slightly, and then she shook her head. "No. Just the wind and the rocks. No life, no magic. It's the same as all the others."
Her heart sank. Another village, gone, as if it had never been.
"Are we really going to be unable to find even one?" she said, her own voice a low and frustrated sound.
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