The air is thick with anticipation as the day of Vivianne's union with the Grand Duke of Borgia dawns. Liselotte stands by the window, her piercing gaze fixed upon the grand manor's gilded entrance, waiting with bated breath for the arrival of the illustrious nobleman.
Vivianne, ever the pragmatist, has insisted that the occasion be a quiet affair, eschewing the lavish spectacle of a traditional wedding ceremony. Instead, the Grand Duke will come to the Rothschild estate to claim his prize, whisking her away to the local church to sanctify their bond before the eyes of the divine.
Red furrowed his brow, his gaze flickering with uncertainty as he regarded the Grand Duke before him. "Are you certain about this union, my lord? The rumours I've heard of this Vivianne paint a most curious portrait – an omega of unparalleled beauty, yet afflicted with some unique...condition."
Roxanne's eyes narrowed, a hint of menace glimmering in their crimson depths. "What are you implying, Red? Do you doubt my judgement?"
Red swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the Grand Duke's intense stare. "N—not at all, my lord. I merely...worry that this Vivianne may not live up to the lofty expectations. What if she turns out to be..." He hesitated, carefully choosing his next words. "Hideous, with a terrible personality? Is that why her condition was deemed unique? Red said.
Roxanne's full lips curled into a derisive smile. "Then we shall dispose of her." She leaned in, her voice dropping to a soft, dangerous purr.
"I see." He paused, then added cautiously, "And...if she is merely ugly with a great personality, rather than outright hideous?"
"And do you think I look good?" Roxanne asks, making Red cringe.
He stares at the Grand Duke; her features are sharp and striking, with high cheekbones, full lips, and intense, smouldering eyes ringed with kohl. The intensity of her gaze is almost hypnotic, the crimson hue of her irises lending an otherworldly, dangerous quality to her appearance.
Her complexion is porcelain-like in its flawless, alabaster perfection, contrasting dramatically with the inky cascade of her luxurious, raven-black hair. The way the strands fall around her face in a tousled, windswept manner adds an air of sultry allure to her look.
"It is either those who are visually impaired or those who harbour the greatest disdain for you who will perceive you as unattractive, my lord," Red replied. Red replied.
"In my demonic figure?" Roxanne said, Red didn't say anything. "Didn't I look that good?"
Roxanne's brow arched, a hint of amusement dancing in her crimson gaze, seeing there's no answer from her aide's mouth. "Then I suppose I shall have to make do." Her lips curved in a sardonic smile. "As you so aptly pointed out, Red, it is only the blind or those who despise me the most who would find me unattractive in my human form."
"Yes, my lord," the aide responded obediently.
Roxanne's eyes gleamed with a touch of mischief. "Then let's proceed with our plan." She paused, a sly smile playing at the corners of her lips. "It would be great if we knew the true nature of my bride before I married her, right?" she said, glancing at the imposing figure of Maxim Renhardt.
Maxim's massive presence filled the room, his towering frame and heavily scarred physique a testament to the trials he had endured. At over two metres tall, he had a broad, muscular build and thick, powerful limbs. He cut an intimidating figure. Deep, jagged scars crisscrossed his body, a testament to his battles, and a large scar running across his bald head only added to his fearsome appearance.
Despite his daunting looks, those who knew Maxim understood the soft and delicate heart that lay beneath the surface. Which is why his wife, one of the great beauties of the North, was a proof of the gentleness that could be found in the captain of the guard's soul.
And Roxanne wanted to let Maxim greet the count family first, to see their reaction before personally introducing herself as the Grand Duke. "It would be great if we knew the true nature of my bride before I married her, right?" She expressed this sentiment to Red and Maxim prior to their arrival at the count's residence.
-
As Genevieve looked at her creation, she smiled proudly. Within an astonishingly short time, she had turned Vivianne's mother's wedding gown—a treasured family relic discovered among the late Count's most valuable belongings—into a gorgeous, contemporary gown that matched the newest fashions in the city. She could not permit Vivianne to wed the distinguished Grand Duke in an antiquated gown.
The North had long served as an uncompromising barrier, shielding the city and the surrounding areas from the terrible dangers that awaited them beyond its boundaries, despite the recurring rumours of the Grand Duke's cruelty and even ugliness.
The Grand Duke was a powerful individual who was said to be wealthier than the royal family or any other noble house in the Empire, and they were even said to be stronger than their alpha emperor himself.
The Grand Duke, a monarch in their own right, is the real ruler in the North. The Grand Duchy's laws and regulations even applied to the Emperor; they had unrivalled power and respect, also possessing the largest territory and land in the entire Empire.
The empire gave the Borgia territory the status of a grand duchy and a principality, which gave the people who lived there a lot of freedom. This choice was based on strategy. The current Grand Duke still has blood from the prestigious Erengrad royal family.
These family ties to the prestigious Erengrad lineage are very important because they give the Grand Duke a sense of legitimacy and power that even the emperor has to respect. The Grand Duke's reputation for being cruel and intimidating may very well be true, but their noble background makes them a very powerful and important person in the empire's hierarchy.
"Honestly, if the Grand Duke isn't as dreadful as the rumours suggest, marrying him might prove far more advantageous than being wed to the Emperor himself," Genevieve remarked with a casual air, though the glint in her eyes betrayed a deeper, more calculating intent.
"Why on earth should I bind myself to an ugly man?" Liselotte scoffed, her gaze fixed disdainfully on Vivianne, who stood resplendent in her wedding gown. The sight of her sister in such a magnificent dress only served to amplify Liselotte's simmering jealousy.
"I said, if he's not as terrible as the rumours portray," Genevieve retorted, her voice edged with amusement. Sometimes she's amused with how her own daughter can be so oblivious and idiotic. "You'd do well to keep an open mind, my dear daughter. His power could elevate our family's status beyond your wildest imaginings. Plus, they're stronger than the emperor."
"Sure, whatever," Liselotte muttered, her tone dismissive, yet her eyes flickered with curiosity as they roamed over Vivianne's gown. "But this dress is truly exquisite. Where does your mother hail from, to possess such a sumptuous fabric?" Her fingers glided over the smooth surface of the gossamer silk, betraying a hint of admiration even as her envy bubbled beneath.
The fabric texture is utterly smooth and supple, gliding effortlessly across the skin with a luxurious caress. It drapes with a graceful fluidity, moulding to the contours of Vivianne's in a way that accentuates the wearer's natural elegance. The bodice is intricately adorned with intricate floral embroidery, the petals and leaves seemingly brought to life by the skilled craftsmanship.
Liselotte's eyes narrowed as she traced the delicate embroidery of the dress, her fingers clenching ever so slightly against the gossamer silk. "So jealous of this dress. I should've been the one to wear it, not you," she spat, her voice laced with undisguised envy.
Vivianne regarded her stepsister evenly, unfazed by the open hostility. "It's my mother's dress, Liselotte. You should have worn your own mother's gown if you desired such finery." Her tone was cool, devoid of the heated emotions that flared in Liselotte's countenance.
The halter-style neckline creates a graceful, sweeping line that accentuates the model's slender neck and elegant shoulders. The gown's voluminous, ruffled skirt cascades in sweeping layers of luxurious fabric, giving the impression of a blossoming flower. The ruffles and folds catch the light, imbuing the dress with a soft, ethereal glow.
Genevieve's lips curled into a disdainful sneer as she regarded the shimmering gossamer gown adorning Vivianne. "My wedding dress was far better than this one, Liselotte," she scoffed, her gaze sweeping over the intricate details with thinly veiled contempt.
Liselotte's eyes widened momentarily at her mother's bold pronouncement, the haughty dismissal of Vivianne's dress striking a chord within her. Sensing the brewing storm, she quickly averted her gaze, her voice small and demure. "Yes, Mother."
A sharp rap at the door interrupted the tense exchange, the butler's sombre voice carrying through the ornate frame. "My ladies, the master requests your immediate presence. The carriages of the Grand Duke draw near to the count's residence."
Liselotte's lips curled into a sneer, her eyes glinting with disdain. "It's time for you to marry that ugly oaf," she whispered harshly to Vivianne, her words dripping with venom.
Yet Vivianne remained unfazed, a serene smile gracing her features. Though she had never laid eyes upon the Grand Duke, the tales that circulated throughout the empire did little to align with the man she had known in her previous life – Maxim Renhardt.
Warm and compassionate, Maxim had been a far cry from the ruthless, imposing figure that populace described. Even when he's the Grand Duke, he's far better than Dietrich Erengrad.