The day of Erdene and Arkan’s wedding dawned bright and clear.

From dawn, small birds flitted from branch to branch, chirping vigorously, and the streams of light seeping under the curtains were white and pure.

Erdene’s petulant wish before sleep—that it would pour rain—had not come true after all.

The castle’s courtyards and halls were bustling with nobles from the capital and those who had come up from the provinces.

The corridors were even more crowded as people, whether acquaintances or strangers, exchanged polite Betorian greetings when their eyes met, and stood around asking after each other at length.

Though they all wore different expressions and appearances, they shared a single common interest.

“…Is the Imperial Princess really that enormous?”

“I heard her hands are so rough that when she holds a fan, it looks like a toad holding it in its mouth…”

“I wonder if the Betorian ceremonial robes will even fit her…”

“Surely she won’t enter the ceremony hall wearing a sword…”

The wedding guests, regardless of age or gender, were solely interested in Erdene, the notorious Imperial Princess said to command Hirschsten’s fearsome soldiers with a single finger.

Among them, there were also such opinions:

“His Majesty Arkan is as gentle as the spring breeze, how will he manage with such a queen…”

“No matter how I think about it, His Majesty is too pitiful.”

“How heartbreaking it will be to see him trembling in fear throughout what should be a happy newlywed life?”

There were other opinions as well:

“Though I disliked seeing the Marchioness Fiddlers strutting about, Lady Sophia was truly an excellent young lady…”

“How heartbroken Lady Sophia must be, if she had feelings for His Majesty.”

These words, which would have made the three concerned parties—Erdene, Arkan, and Sophia—fall backwards in shock had they heard them, passed from mouth to mouth, growing like a snowball.

Thus, just before the wedding ceremony began, almost all the guests wore forlorn expressions, lost in worry.

‘What is this atmosphere?’

Arkan, who had advanced to the altar first as per custom, looked around in confusion at the heavy atmosphere weighing down the hall decorated with flowers, silk, and fragrant candles. Misunderstanding his bewildered gaze, some of the guests sniffled and wiped away tears.

As the trumpets announced the entrance of the bride-to-be queen, the atmosphere in the hall sank even lower.

This time, sharp hostility mingled with the sympathy. Arkan became even more flustered.

For a moment, all the guests looked like damp hedgehogs to him…

But the change in atmosphere came in an instant.

It was literally in the blink of an eye.

The people who had been unable to withdraw their prickly gazes even as the flower children entered with candles and flowers, opened their mouths as if someone had yanked their chins.

And they remained agape until Erdene took her place beside Arkan.

“Goodness, what happened? Is that person… that lady really the Imperial Princess of Hirschsten?”

“Look at that hair! Such lustrous black locks. How much brushing must one do to have hair like that?”

“Could they have sent someone else in her place? A lady-in-waiting perhaps…”

“I heard she was enormously big…”

“Wasn’t it said her face was bright red and her teeth were black?”

The murmuring voices pierced through the orchestra’s music and reached Erdene’s ears.

Most were nonsense not worth listening to, but at the part about ‘face bright red and teeth black’, she had to bite her lip to keep from bursting into laughter.

‘Ah, there was such a rumor, wasn’t there.’

It was five years ago, a brief war.

It had been so trivial that she couldn’t even remember what tactics were used, but the most terrifying and absurd rumor about herself remained vivid in her mind.

[Your Highness, it’s too much for you to take the field in this condition. Please rest in the tent and leave it to us… Ouch! You shouldn’t really throw stones!] [Quiet, Telma. Go and have my sword reforged. Making such a fuss over a mere cold…]

She had called it a mere cold, but when she mounted her horse, her fever was so high she felt dizzy.

Wearing a helmet seemed to make her even hotter, so from halfway through she rode with her long hair flying wildly about, swinging her sword almost deliriously.

In the midst of this, her hair stabbed her eyes and got in her mouth, but she paid it no mind.

In other words, the rumor that ‘her face was bright red and her teeth were black’ arose because Erdene, sick with a cold and feverish, had no time to remove the hair that had gotten into her mouth.

Lost in old memories, Erdene snapped back to attention at the clear sound of bells.

The orchestra’s music stopped, and the elderly nobleman selected to officiate the ceremony—so old he seemed burdened even by his ceremonial robes—ascended the platform.

‘Come to think of it, Betor has no state religion. Even among the inland kingdoms, there are several that still maintain religions… It’s strange that the central country does not.’

Originally, royal events were to be presided over by the most authoritative figure in the religious world, but Betor was an exception.

For quite some time, it had been tradition for the king to choose from among multiple candidates recommended by officials to officiate the ceremony.

Whether due to the officiant’s stamina or custom, the ceremony was not long.

After briefly explaining the solemnity and importance of marriage as defined by the kingdom’s laws, he went on about the duties of the king and queen.

In truth, most of the sermon barely registered in Erdene’s ears, and she would likely never dwell on it again.

“Your Majesty the King, and Your Highness the Queen, please sign your promise to solemnly fulfill the duties of marriage.”

Arkan picked up the pen first.

The decorative feather attached to the pen was almost as long as an adult’s arm, swaying this way and that with each stroke.

“Sign it.”

Arkan whispered softly as he passed the pen to Erdene.

Erdene stared blankly at the empty space with a slightly bewildered expression.

“What’s wrong?”

Arkan whispered again.

Noticing her holding the pen motionless, some people began to murmur again.

However, when Erdene began to sign, the assembly fell silent once more.

The elderly officiant, waiting for the signing to finish with the support of a flower child, widened his eyes.

Then, looking at Erdene with disbelief, he said in a low voice,

“Your Highness, please write in the common language.”

At his words, Arkan quickly glanced down at her signature.

The name Erdene Baatar was written in the Imperial script.

Just as Erdene was about to respond, Arkan took the pen from her hand.

To others, it appeared as if he was naturally receiving the pen from Erdene who had finished signing.

“It’s fine.”

Arkan whispered.

As he quietly nodded, the officiant, though flustered, concluded the ceremony.

Erdene turned to face the guests, her expression as impassive as when she entered.

The guests, still bewildered by her beautiful face visible beyond the long veil trailing the floor, sent forth thunderous applause.

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Though the reception continued late into the night, Erdene had to leave early in the evening.

She danced once with Arkan when told the newlyweds must have their first dance, and afterwards her throat was hoarse from individually responding to the insincere congratulations of countless nobles whose names and faces she didn’t know.

“Did you not command with an even louder voice on the battlefield?”

Erdene turned sharply to Sophia as she complained.

“On the battlefield, I don’t use my throat to command. I project sound from my belly and head.”

“I’ve heard that famous singers produce sound from their belly and head. Perhaps Your Highness has a talent for singing?”

Erdene was about to reveal that she was terribly tone-deaf, but decided against it.

The reason she had to leave the reception early was, of course, to prepare for the wedding night.

She bathed, changed out of the dress she had already changed several times—Erdene thought it might be better to wear all the dresses layered and remove them one by one—and carefully applied fragrant oil to her fingertips, toes, collarbone, and the hollow of her lower back.

“Your Highness, you don’t look well. Shall I call for the court physician if you’re unwell?”

Sophia, who had been closely observing Erdene’s complexion, asked.

Despite the gentle candlelight illuminating the room, Erdene certainly looked unwell.

Shaking her head, Erdene said,

“No, there’s no need to make a fuss. I’m not ill.”

“Your complexion is pale.”

Erdene’s expression became more serious. However, she was reluctant to explain why.

Even when Sophia dismissed all the other maids, Erdene stubbornly kept her mouth shut and tied the sash of her robe with a loud snap.

Sophia said,

“Your Highness, forgive my impertinence, but by the time His Majesty undoes that knot, tomorrow’s sun will be high in the sky.”

Erdene, who had unconsciously tied the knot as tightly as she would secure a military tent, looked down with a startled expression.

The soft silk sash was tied so tightly that it looked difficult even to pull on it.

Waving her hand, Erdene said,

“Fine, let him not untie it if he can’t. If he really wants to undo it, he can cut it. Anyway, what am I supposed to do now?”