Chapter 7: The Cold Welcome

The wedding day arrived without music.

There were no firecrackers outside the Duke’s estate, no musicians lining the street, and no joyful relatives offering blessings. Even the red decorations hanging near the entrance looked old, as though they had been retrieved from storage at the last moment.

Scarlett was dressed in a wedding robe that had once belonged to a distant cousin. The silk was faded, the embroidery unfinished, and one sleeve was slightly too long.

Lady Eleanor claimed there had not been enough time to prepare a proper gown.

Scarlett knew better.

The wedding was intended to humiliate both her and Arthur.

Harrison did not appear to see her off. Tiffany watched from behind a carved window, her expression filled with satisfaction. Lady Eleanor offered a few false tears before reminding Scarlett not to disgrace the family.

No dowry accompanied the bride except for two worn wooden chests containing cheap fabric, cracked ornaments, and several objects that clearly belonged to someone else.

Mia was the only person whose sorrow was genuine.

She stood beside the sedan chair with red-rimmed eyes, clutching a small bundle of Scarlett’s real belongings.

“My lady, please be careful,” Mia whispered.

Scarlett squeezed her hand.

“Stay close to me and observe everything. Do not trust anyone from the Duke’s estate once we leave.”

Mia nodded quickly.

Scarlett lowered the red veil over her face and entered the sedan chair.

The procession consisted of only a few low-ranking servants and four indifferent guards. They complained loudly as they traveled, making no effort to conceal their contempt.

“The Regent King might throw her out before sunset.”

“Perhaps he will kill her before she even enters.”

“Then we won’t have to carry the empty sedan back.”

Their laughter followed Scarlett through the streets.

She sat in silence, reviewing possible dangers.

Marriage to Arthur could offer protection from Harrison and the imperial court, but it could also place her inside a more dangerous battlefield. Arthur was no helpless nobleman. Even poisoned and lying on the forest floor, he had radiated enough killing intent to freeze an ordinary person’s blood.

Scarlett needed to determine what he wanted, what he feared, and how much he already knew about her.

The sedan finally stopped.

Outside stood the massive red gates of the Regent King’s estate.

They remained closed.

There were no servants waiting with wedding lanterns and no ceremonial officials prepared to welcome the bride. Only armed guards stood along the stone steps.

A cold voice reached the sedan.

“His Highness is unwell and cannot participate in unnecessary ceremonies. The Princess Consort may enter through the side gate.”

The speaker was Luke.

He stood in dark military robes with his arms folded behind his back. His expression revealed nothing, but his eyes carefully studied the sedan chair.

The servants from the Duke’s estate immediately began to whisper.

“She cannot even use the main gate.”

“What did she expect? She is the Ugly Fool.”

“The Regent King probably fears that one look at her face will worsen his illness.”

Scarlett heard every word.

She felt no embarrassment.

In the customs of the Great Yuan Dynasty, forcing a lawful bride to enter through the side gate was a deliberate insult. A woman admitted in such a manner could be treated as a concubine rather than the official Princess Consort.

Scarlett, however, had not come in search of affection or ceremonial respect.

A side entrance meant fewer witnesses, fewer officials, and less attention.

For her purposes, it was almost convenient.

Before the maid assigned to open the sedan could approach, Scarlett pushed aside the curtain and stepped out.

The whispering stopped.

Although her face remained hidden beneath the veil, there was nothing clumsy or foolish about her posture. She moved calmly, her back straight and her steps measured. Even the worn wedding robe seemed more dignified once she wore it.

Mia hurried to follow.

Luke’s eyes narrowed.

According to every report, Harrison’s eldest daughter was timid, slow-witted, and terrified of strangers. The woman walking toward him displayed none of those traits.

He stepped slightly into her path.

“Princess Consort.”

Scarlett stopped.

“This estate follows military discipline,” Luke said. “The rules here are stricter than those of the Duke’s household. His Highness values silence, obedience, and loyalty.”

Scarlett tilted her head.

“Those sound reasonable.”

Luke had expected tears, confusion, or frightened agreement.

Instead, she added, “As long as the rules apply to everyone.”

A faint tension appeared in his expression.

“No one in this estate is exempt from His Highness’s commands.”

“Good.”

Scarlett moved to walk past him.

Luke shifted again, blocking her by half a step.

“There are places within the estate that you may not enter. There are questions you may not ask. Messages entering or leaving will be inspected.”

Beneath the veil, Scarlett smiled.

It was not merely a warning.

He was testing her.

“Then I assume the same inspection applies to anyone who sends a message in my name.”

Luke’s gaze sharpened.

That was not the response of a fool.

Scarlett stepped around him before he could continue.

“I like rules,” she said. “They make it easier to identify who is breaking them.”

She walked through the side gate without waiting for permission.

Mia followed, trying to hide her surprise.

The servants from the Duke’s estate exchanged uneasy glances. They had expected Scarlett to cry after being humiliated. Instead, she entered the Regent King’s estate as though the walls already belonged to her.

Luke remained on the steps.

He watched her until the red figure disappeared beyond the corridor.

One of his guards approached.

“Commander Luke, should we report anything unusual?”

Luke’s eyes remained fixed on the side gate.

“Report everything.”

He had spent years judging soldiers, assassins, and spies by their smallest movements. Scarlett’s footsteps were too balanced. Her breathing was too controlled. Her awareness of the surrounding guards was too precise.

That girl was hiding something.

Luke turned toward the main residence.

For the first time, he wondered whether the Emperor had sent Arthur a spy—or whether someone far more dangerous had entered their estate.

Chapter 8: The Silent Bridal Chamber

Scarlett was escorted through a series of long corridors before arriving at the bridal chamber.

The room was large and richly furnished, but nothing about it resembled a place prepared for newlyweds.

There were no red candles burning beside the bed. No silk banners decorated the walls. No ceremonial wine waited on the table. Even the bedding was dark gray rather than red.

The chamber felt less like a wedding suite and more like an elegant prison.

The servants who escorted Scarlett left immediately after closing the doors. None offered to help remove her veil or explain the arrangements for the night.

Mia had been taken to a nearby servants’ room, leaving Scarlett alone.

Or apparently alone.

Scarlett stood motionless in the center of the chamber and listened.

A faint shift came from the roof.

Then another.

Four hidden guards occupied the left side of the building. Three more were positioned on the right. Their breathing was slow and controlled, and the roof tiles barely moved beneath their weight.

Elite soldiers.

There was also someone near the rear window, probably watching through a narrow gap in the wooden screen.

Scarlett concealed her amusement.

Arthur had arranged a very thorough welcome.

She lifted both hands and pulled off the heavy bridal veil.

“Finally.”

She rolled her shoulders and stretched her neck until a soft crack echoed through the room.

“That thing was heavy enough to kill a weaker bride.”

One of the hidden guards shifted almost imperceptibly.

Scarlett pretended not to notice.

She examined the furniture, the doors, and the placement of every object. There were no visible traps, but the room had been deliberately arranged to reveal how she behaved when she believed herself unobserved.

A decorative sword hung on the far wall. The blade was dull, but the handle could still be used as a weapon. Two bronze mirrors offered views of both the entrance and the rear window. A large incense burner sat near the bed, though no incense had been lit.

Scarlett approached it and checked the ash.

Clean.

At least Arthur had not attempted to drug her.

On the central table sat a plate of lotus pastries and a pot of cold tea.

Scarlett had not eaten since early morning. She checked the pastries for unusual scents, broke one apart, and touched a crumb to her tongue.

No obvious poison.

She poured a small amount of tea into a cup, examined its surface, and chose not to drink it. The pastries appeared safe enough, so she sat and began to eat.

Her movements remained elegant despite her hunger.

“Since everyone expects me to die,” she murmured, “it would be wasteful to leave the food untouched.”

The guards above remained silent.

Scarlett ate two pastries before hearing movement in the corridor.

The approaching person’s pace was slow.

More precisely, the sound was slow.

Wooden wheels rolled over the stone floor at deliberate intervals. Between each turn of the wheels came the almost inaudible pressure of measured breathing.

Scarlett’s eyes narrowed.

A true invalid being pushed in a heavy wheelchair would create irregular sounds. These wheels moved with perfect control, as though the occupant were guiding them personally.

The doors opened.

Scarlett immediately pulled the veil over her face, lowered her head, and allowed her shoulders to tremble. She folded her hands tightly in her lap, transforming herself into the image of a terrified bride.

The wheelchair entered.

Arthur wore dark red wedding robes embroidered with black thread. The color made his skin appear even paler. His hair was bound with a jade crown, and a heavy fur blanket covered his legs.

Luke pushed the chair only far enough to cross the threshold.

Arthur raised one hand.

Luke bowed and withdrew, closing the doors behind him.

Silence filled the chamber.

The wheelchair rolled closer.

Scarlett kept her breathing uneven and her head lowered.

She felt Arthur’s gaze through the veil.

Cold pressure spread through the room, powerful enough to unsettle the hidden guards on the roof. It carried the unmistakable weight of a man accustomed to command and killing.

The chair stopped directly before her.

“Remove it,” Arthur said.

Scarlett remained still for one additional breath.

“There is no need to play the frightened bride in front of me.”

His voice was low and commanding.

Scarlett’s fingers paused on the edge of the veil.

That was not the greeting of a man who believed her disguise.

Slowly, she lifted her head.

Arthur leaned back in the wheelchair, watching her with eyes as dark as a moonless night.

“Or,” he continued, “are you waiting for me to remove it for you?”

Scarlett smiled beneath the fabric.

At least he was more interesting than the people in the Duke’s estate.

Chapter 9: A Game of Shadows

Scarlett pulled off the veil and tossed it onto the bed.

For the first time, bride and groom examined each other beneath the cold light of the chamber.

Arthur appeared exactly as he had in the forest and yet entirely different.

His black clothing had been replaced by ceremonial robes, and his disordered hair was now perfectly arranged. The blood and dirt were gone. His expression was controlled, distant, and severe.

The same dangerous power remained beneath the surface.

Scarlett recognized him immediately.

So the frozen stranger in the forest was Arthur, the Regent King.

The realization explained the hidden guards, the military discipline, and the Emperor’s determination to place a spy inside the estate.

It also complicated everything.

Scarlett concealed her reaction.

Arthur studied the woman before him.

The dark marks covering her face were as ugly as the rumors claimed. Yellow-brown blemishes spread across her cheeks and forehead, ruining features that might otherwise have been delicate.

Yet Arthur barely looked at them.

His attention settled on her eyes.

They were too steady.

A foolish woman might stare in fear, confusion, or childish curiosity. Scarlett watched him with the composed caution of someone measuring distance, strength, and possible attack angles.

His gaze moved lower.

Her hands appeared soft at first glance, but faint calluses marked her fingertips and the base of her thumb. Those were not the hands of a sheltered noblewoman.

They belonged to someone familiar with blades.

“You do not appear surprised,” Arthur said.

Scarlett leaned against the bedpost.

“Should I be?”

“Most brides would show some reaction upon seeing their husband in a wheelchair.”

“The entire capital knows the Regent King was poisoned and crippled.”

“And the entire capital claims the Duke’s eldest daughter is an ugly fool.”

Scarlett smiled.

“Then perhaps neither of us should believe everything the capital says.”

Arthur’s eyes sharpened.

A thin thread of inner energy spread through the chamber, almost too subtle to detect.

Scarlett detected it.

The pressure brushed against her skin like the edge of an invisible blade.

“You have steady eyes for a fool,” Arthur said.

“And you have remarkably powerful qi for a cripple.”

The atmosphere changed.

The hidden guards above the room became completely still.

Arthur’s expression did not move, but the dangerous pressure around him intensified.

Scarlett leaned closer, lowering her voice.

“Your breathing is controlled. Your shoulders remain balanced when the chair moves. The muscles in your hands have not weakened, and the qi around your meridians is strong enough to crush an ordinary man’s chest from several paces away.”

She glanced at the fur covering his legs.

“Your condition is serious, but you are not truly paralyzed.”

Arthur moved.

His hand closed around Scarlett’s throat before the final word had faded.

The speed was terrifying.

One moment he sat motionless in the wheelchair; the next, his fingers pressed against her pulse, his thumb positioned to break her neck.

Scarlett did not resist.

She could have struck the vulnerable point beneath his wrist, but seven hidden guards surrounded the chamber, and Arthur’s other hand remained concealed beneath his sleeve.

A fight would reveal too much.

More importantly, she needed him alive.

Arthur pulled her closer.

“Who sent you?” he asked.

His voice was barely above a whisper.

Scarlett met his gaze.

“Harrison? The Emperor? Or someone from the Blood Sect?”

His fingers tightened.

A lesser person would have panicked.

Scarlett’s lips curved into a mocking smile.

“If they had sent me,” she said with difficulty, “I would have brought a poison that actually worked.”

Arthur’s grip became completely still.

Scarlett felt the sudden shift in his pulse.

She had struck the correct nerve.

“What did you say?”

“The poison in your body is complicated,” Scarlett continued. “The Frost Poison damaged your meridians, but it is no longer the only reason your legs are numb.”

Arthur stared at her.

Scarlett raised one hand slowly, making certain the hidden guards would not mistake the movement for an attack.

Her fingers touched his wrist.

She tapped twice against his pulse point.

Arthur could have stopped her.

He allowed it.

“There is another substance in your blood,” Scarlett said. “It suppresses sensation, slows the circulation of qi, and prevents your body from clearing the remaining Frost Poison.”

His gaze became colder.

“What substance?”

“Sleeping Grass.”

For the first time, a visible reaction crossed Arthur’s face.

It lasted less than a second, but Scarlett saw it.

Someone inside the Regent King’s estate had been poisoning him.

And he had not known.