Chapter 51
A Thrilling Wedding?
Daphne glanced down at her aching arm. It felt as though bruises would form at any moment.
“I’m an anomaly who reincarnated into a novel, so there’s no rule saying he couldn’t be the same.”
The thought gave her a headache. The idea that the man who had been trailing after her might be in the same boat as her was more exhausting than amusing.
Daphne stared straight at Celestian. She felt the discomfort of knowing something she hadn’t wanted to know.
The man who had once only followed Psyche around was now clinging to her side, practically groveling. She couldn’t understand why.
“How much does he know? Why is he telling me this? Does he sense something different about my relationship with Psyche compared to what he’s heard?”
Celestian still hadn’t answered the question Daphne had posed. His large frame filled the narrow hallway, his presence radiating heat, leaving her feeling trapped in more ways than one.
“Is he keeping me alive, hoping that if I speak kindly to him, Psyche will come to him? Does he still believe that?”
Snippets of the things he’d drunkenly muttered last night flashed through her mind—comments about how he shouldn’t have let her live if he remembered, or something along those lines.
Daphne decided to think positively: “He’s probably just grateful I didn’t kill him.” She patted his shoulder lightly and added calmly, as if to reassure him,
“Cele, I won’t die. Not by becoming crocodile food, at least.”
As she spoke nonchalantly, Celestian’s face turned pale.
“How do you know that?”
“Because I’ve worked hard to make sure I don’t.”
“Daphne, I mean—”
She raised her hand to cut him off, signaling she wasn’t interested in hearing more. From the moment she’d realized she was an anomaly in this world, she had believed that everything would fall into place once Psyche’s wedding was over.
She still yearned to escape the exhausting role of “a villainess written solely for the protagonist” and leave for good.
“Cele, do you have prophetic dreams?”
“What?”
“Or can you see the future? Something like that?”
Or maybe he’d died once, returned to a fixed point in time, and now knew everything that would happen.
“Whatever you know, it’s all from a story—a written story. Or a dream, maybe.”
“A story? A dream?”
Daphne realized how absurd and insane her words sounded.
“Haha, a story? You’re saying everything I know is just…”
Celestian let out a short, incredulous laugh, then raised his hand toward Daphne’s neck. His light-green eyes gleamed ominously. Feeling the heat of his hand, Daphne grabbed his wrist.
He grasped her hand tightly, as if clinging to a lifeline.
“If this is, as you say, a story or a dream, then why doesn’t it end? Why do I still have to endure being treated like a lunatic by you?”
“He says ‘still,’ again.”
The Celestian and Daphne in the novel had no real connection aside from the grotesque scenarios involving Psyche.
Instances like Daphne pulling Psyche’s hair, slapping her, or using her authority to humiliate her in public were the extent of their interactions.
Celestian, for his part, had done nothing wrong to Daphne in either the novel or real life.
“Even outside the story, he’s never wronged me.”
Yet his apologies, his constant trailing after her as if to protect her, and his desperate, lovesick behavior all felt nonsensical.
Daphne continued to feel a tingling sensation where his hands had touched her.
“The story hasn’t ended yet because Romeo and Psyche haven’t married.”
Daphne forced herself to appear calm.
“When did I treat you like a lunatic? People with money often visit fortune-tellers in Geneva, don’t they? They tell you things like, ‘Live this way and you’ll have a short life,’ or, ‘Do this and life will be smooth.’”
She had avoided such places out of fear of hearing something like, “You don’t belong to this world.”
“And so?”
“I don’t believe in that stuff. But I plan to live a long life. They say people who get criticized a lot live longer, don’t they?”
The long ceiling light flickered again.
Celestian Theriosa, who always seemed to have all the answers, had now turned into an unsolvable enigma. Daphne frowned, trying to recall details of the “novel she’d read.”
But if she truly remembered every detail of the story from her past life, she wouldn’t be here trying to navigate this chaos. She’d have used her knowledge to build a business empire or make her name at a prestigious academic institution.
Celestian wore a strange expression.
Was he angry? About to cry?
“He seems sad… or something close to it.”
But it was far from a joyful expression.
“Cele, what does my death have to do with you? If I die, wouldn’t you finally be free?”
Daphne spoke softly, raising her cool hand near his flushed eyes.
“Free? Me? As if that would happen.”
Celestian tilted his head back, irritation visible in the furrow of his brow.
“It’s fine, Celestian. I don’t know why you’re acting like this, and I don’t know what’s going on, but you don’t have to come looking for me barefoot.”
Daphne had a million questions she wanted to ask him—what he was thinking, why he was acting this way, why every little thing she did seemed to provoke a reaction.
But some instinct told her not to confront him, to avoid the answers.
“Because if you die, Psyche will be sad.”
“Oh, right. I almost fooled myself.”
Daphne glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, then lowered her head. A dull ache lingered in her chest. Whatever he was doing, it was never for her.
Just as everyone she had crossed paths with had been the same.
“Daphne!”
A familiar voice snapped both Daphne and Celestian’s attention to the source. It was Iel, dressed in a pale blue gown. Apparently, she had come to find Daphne, who hadn’t returned for over thirty minutes.
Iel seemed intrigued by the dim, secluded hallway, her eyes wandering curiously as she approached.
“It’s been a while, Your Grace. I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Iel Algeste.”
Celestian gave her a curt nod before turning his head away. Iel, unbothered, stood at a respectful distance, casting a suspicious glance between Daphne and Celestian.
“Why are you looking at me like that? And why are you here?”
“It’s been over an hour, Daphne.”
“Already?”
“Well, thirty minutes, to be exact. I thought something might’ve happened, but here you are, having a cozy little date in this gloomy place. Am I interrupting?”
Before defending herself, Daphne objectively reconsidered the situation. The narrow hallway left little space between her and Celestian, whose reddened eyes and her flushed face only added to the appearance of intimacy.
It was no wonder Iel misunderstood. Thankfully, it was her who’d found them and not someone else.
“But why are you barefoot, Your Grace?”
Iel’s question caused both Daphne and Celestian to glance down simultaneously. Daphne let out an embarrassed laugh, using the hem of her long dress to cover his feet.
“To keep him from running away, I hid his shoes.”
“Oh, Daphne, you really are something.”
*****
On the way to the wedding hall, an awkward tension hung heavily between them. Daphne kept sneaking glances at the tall man beside her.
He didn’t look at her even once, keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead.
Daphne enjoyed gossip in moderation, but hearing secrets someone had worked to keep hidden was something she tried to avoid. The reason was simple.
“Because it’s uncomfortable.”
Iel had kept her promise and dressed Celestian handsomely. Almost excessively so—it was overwhelming. The only slight disappointment was that his suit didn’t match hers, making them look less like a couple.
Celestian, seemingly uncomfortable in his white silk gloves, kept adjusting them.
The invited guests were visibly excited, their faces glowing with anticipation for the wedding. Daphne prepared to step into the white diamond-adorned hall alongside Celestian.
“Lady Beaucater.”
“Oh, not again.”
Daphne frowned as she faced two figures blocking her path: the soldier she had seen in the engine room and Romeo’s familiar aide.
Celestian’s arm brushed her side, and Daphne, playing along, looped her arm through his and leaned her head gently on his shoulder.
“What is it now? Are you telling me I can’t go in again?”
“Please, go ahead. But the person beside you is not permitted.”
“Kindly address him as Grand Duke Theriosa,” Daphne replied curtly.
The aide ignored her comment, replying in an even tone, “A traitor cannot participate in the ceremony. I believe that’s a matter of basic propriety.”
It was a statement Daphne couldn’t argue with. Even as they exchanged just a few words, she felt the weight of attention shifting toward them from all directions.
Daphne gripped Celestian’s arm tightly, letting out a small sigh before speaking.
“Fine, I’ll leave too.”
“His Royal Highness the Crown Prince wishes for your attendance, Lady Beaucater,” the soldier interjected.
Daphne glanced between the two of them, her expression asking, “So what do you expect me to do?” The aide handed her a small slip of paper.
It was a torn corner from the stationery used for the Crown Prince’s official correspondence.
“Out of my jurisdiction. You must witness the end of the contract yourself.”
