Chapter 19: The Wedding Night
“I was so nervous, I almost panicked. Do you think I handled it well?”
Aracila whispered softly, rising slightly on her toes. The faint brush of skin sent a subtle tickling sensation through the air.
Damian glanced down at the face that had come so close to his and gave a slight nod.
“Yes. Considering how nervous you were, you handled it quite well.”
Watching her beam with satisfaction, he added,
“You even called me by my name so naturally.”
“Of course, we’re married now. You should call me Aracila, too.”
“Well, I suppose…”
Damian rolled his eyes slightly as if in thought, then the corner of his lips curled.
“I rather like calling you ‘wife’ instead.”
“Ugh, that’s so cringeworthy. Just call me by my name.”
“Wife, there are many eyes watching. Try to manage your expression properly.”
Seeing her pull a face like she was about to gag, Damian chuckled helplessly.
The newlyweds were under heavy scrutiny. Conscious of their surroundings, Aracila quickly adjusted her expression into a pleasant smile.
“But instead of worrying about my expression, shouldn’t you at least offer your arm?”
She shot him a pointed look.
“Most couples at least link arms, you know?”
“I’d rather not.”
“Even at your own wedding, must you act so standoffish?”
Her full, red lips barely moved as she scolded him, yet from the outside, they appeared like a couple whispering sweet nothings to each other.
“…Then I suppose I’ll place a hand on your shoulder instead.”
Damian hesitantly rested his hand on her shoulder.
Aracila immediately noticed the faint gap he deliberately left between his palm and her skin.
She shook her head in exasperation.
He’s being so dramatic.
Since they had already agreed not to take a honeymoon, the couple headed straight to the Vandermir estate after the banquet.
Now, only the wedding night remained.
According to temple tradition, the wedding night had to be consummated.
For a couple publicly known to be in love, there was no plausible excuse to avoid it.
To dispel any suspicion from the Vandermir family, they had to go through the motions.
In the dressing room adjacent to the bedroom, Aracila was prepared for the night.
Draped in a silk slip and a light robe, she rose from her seat.
“My lady—no, my mistress—aren’t you nervous at all?”
Audrey, following behind her, whispered cautiously.
Why is my heart racing for someone else’s wedding night?
“Audrey, you clearly don’t know Damian well enough.”
That man despised physical contact.
Even during the banquet, he had carefully kept his hand from fully touching her shoulder, tucking it into her thick lavender hair instead.
There was no way he’d lay a finger on her tonight.
Besides, they had already agreed to keep things strictly contractual.
“There’s nothing to be nervous or worried about.”
“But the master—no, the lord—is much bigger than you are, my lady.”
“So? You think he’s going to crush me to death?”
Aracila giggled softly.
Audrey, more anxious than the actual bride, found herself at a loss for words.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Audrey.”
Aracila, halfway through the bedroom door, bid her goodnight.
Audrey barely managed a smile as she nodded.
Tonight, no servants would be allowed inside.
“Have a peaceful night, my lady.”
As the door closed behind her, Aracila calmly took in her surroundings.
A grand crystal chandelier, intricately patterned lace curtains, plush carpets, and a fireplace adorned with delicate carvings.
The room was lavishly decorated.
Was this an act to appear like a devoted husband?
Or was this simply Damian’s personal taste?
Wandering around, her steps halted before a golden sword mounted on the wall.
“Of course.”
Aracila frowned at the ornament.
Even if it wasn’t a real sword, she wasn’t particularly thrilled about it hanging there.
Fine. I’ll hang up a gold staff later, just to balance it out.
Determined, she was about to sit on the sofa when the door opened.
Damian stepped in, dressed in a black robe embroidered with gold.
“Damian.”
Aracila called his name as she stood up from the sofa. Her silky hair cascaded over her robe.
It was explicitly stated in their prenuptial contract that they would not consummate the marriage.
No physical intimacy of any kind—including the wedding night.
Not for the sake of purity, but to prevent the possibility of children.
However, now that they stood face-to-face in the dimly lit room, adorned with flowers and wine, an odd feeling settled between them.
Holding his gaze, Aracila was the first to break the silence.
“Let’s decide who gets the bed with rock-paper-scissors.”
She had no intention of sharing a bed with him.
Not because, as Audrey worried, she was afraid of getting crushed under his weight—rather, she was simply used to sleeping alone. Having someone next to her would be uncomfortable.
“You take the bed, wife.”
“Really? No take-backs later.”
Aracila darted toward the bed without hesitation. Her slender figure moved nimbly, like a rabbit hopping toward its burrow.
Damian let out a quiet chuckle before making his way to the sofa.
A simple spread of fruit, wine, and two glasses were arranged neatly on the table.
“Let’s take turns sleeping in the bed every other night. I’ll take tonight, and you take tomorrow.”
“You can have it every night. I doubt I’ll be here much, anyway.”
His statement did not bother Aracila in the slightest.
In fact, she found it convenient.
“Works for me. But what’s with the sword?”
Perched at the edge of the bed, she gestured toward the golden sword hanging on the wall.
Pouring himself a glass of wine, Damian answered,
“It’s not a real sword.”
“I know that. I’m asking why it’s there. It’s tacky.”
Damian paused mid-sip, his perfectly even brows furrowing slightly.
“Have you forgotten that I’m a knight?”
“And have you forgotten that I’m a mage?”
Knights treated their swords as extensions of themselves—cherishing them as if they were part of their very souls. Without a sword, a knight was nothing.
But mages? They didn’t need a staff to use magic.
Unlike knights, they had no reason to proudly mount a staff on a wall like some kind of trophy.
“If you’re going to display something, at least put up a staff too. It’d probably cost less than the sword. Don’t be stingy.”
Grumbling, Aracila pulled the covers over herself.
Even if mages didn’t have the habit of displaying staffs, this was still their bedroom. Yet, only his weapon was on display? How petty.
“Fine. I’ll order one, so drop it.”
“Good. No take-backs later.”
Satisfied, Aracila sank into the soft bed.
The plush fabric embraced her entire body.
Yet, despite the comfort, she found it difficult to sleep.
It was a new bed in a new place, after all.
After tossing and turning for a while, she rolled over toward Damian.
Seated on the sofa, he was quietly drinking alone.
“Do you like alcohol?”
“Not particularly. I’m only drinking because it’s here.”
“Are you a lightweight?”
Aracila studied him closely.
The room was dim, illuminated only by candlelight, but she could swear she saw a faint flush on his cheeks.
The loose folds of his robe revealed a glimpse of his well-defined chest, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight.
“You seem a little tipsy.”
“…I can’t drink much.”
“But you’ve only had one glass, haven’t you? Is one your limit?”
Actually, he had consumed one and a half, but when he turned to refute her, he abruptly stopped.
Half-propped up on the bed, Aracila sat in a relaxed posture.
Her robe had slipped slightly, revealing her delicate shoulders.
“If you can’t handle your alcohol, just stop drinking.”
“…I’ll manage. Mind your own business and go to sleep.”
“We’re in the same room. If you get too drunk, it’ll be my problem too. I don’t want to deal with a drunkard.”
She shot him a sharp look.
For the record, Aracila had an incredibly high alcohol tolerance.
She had never been drunk before.
Which made it all the more amusing (and slightly concerning) to see Damian, flushed after just one and a half glasses.
What if he got wasted and started rambling?
“I don’t cause trouble when I’m drunk. I just go straight to sleep, so don’t worry.”
Indeed, his eyes were already half-lidded.
Aracila scrutinized him.
He really does look like he’s about to pass out.
Hmm.
Well, she was a skilled mage.
Even if she were attacked in her sleep, she could easily protect herself.
With that thought, she lay back down and closed her eyes.
Soon, she drifted off.
Not long after, Damian set down his glass and stretched out on the sofa, covering his eyes with his arm.
Whether it was the alcohol, or the sound of someone else breathing nearby—he wasn’t sure.
But he, too, fell asleep quickly.
The wedding night passed in peace.
The morning sunlight peeked through the arched window, tickling Aracila’s face.
She frowned, stirring awake.
With a hazy expression, she scanned the unfamiliar surroundings.
Where am I?
A strange room…?
…Oh.
That’s right. I got married yesterday.
She shook her head, clearing her thoughts.
For the foreseeable future—until the inevitable divorce—this was her bedroom.
“I should get ready for work.”
Stretching, Aracila climbed out of bed.
The Magic Tower had offered her time off, but she refused.
She couldn’t afford to be absent, or her colleagues might seize the opportunity to advance past her.
Besides, people were already side-eyeing her marriage to a knight.
If she took even a single day off for her wedding, it would just give them more reason to criticize her.
“…Ugh.”
She was drinking water when a faint groan made her pause.
What’s that sound?
“…Mmm.”
The groan grew louder.
Turning her head toward the source, her gaze landed on Damian.
He was lying on the sofa, his brows furrowed, drenched in cold sweat.
Is he having a nightmare?
He looked visibly distressed.
Feeling a rare sense of concern, Aracila shook his shoulder gently.
“Damian, wake up.”
After a few shakes, his eyes slowly fluttered open.
Unfocused golden irises met her gaze.
“Are you okay?”
Still groggy, he blinked up at her.
Then, in a swift motion—his large hand snapped around her wrist like a hawk catching prey.
“Do not touch me without permission.”
“…Excuse me?”
Aracila blinked, stunned.
She had woken him up out of concern, and he responds like this?
As if unaware of her growing irritation, Damian let go of her wrist and ran a hand through his hair.
The headache from drinking two glasses lingered slightly.
Coupled with a bad dream, his mood was foul.
“For your information, I woke you up because you seemed to be having a nightmare.”
“I never asked you to. Don’t act like you did me a favor.”
“Wow. That’s really the attitude you’re going with? We literally got married yesterday.”
Annoyance flared in Aracila’s eyes.
Still seated beside the sofa, she scowled at him.
Damian sighed and covered his face with one hand.
“Fine, it’s my fault. I’ll never wake you up again. Happy?”
“Understood. Now leave.”
“I was already leaving, thank you very much!”
She stormed out, slamming the door shut behind her.
“Ugh, how insufferable!”
Her grumbling echoed through the thick wooden door.
Damian sighed.
The morning sunlight illuminated her thin silk slip, making it all too visible when she leaned over.
That’s why he had covered his eyes.
Leaning back against the sofa, he thought,
I should really stop sharing a room with her.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
