The Regressed Princess - Chapter 47

Chapter 47: The Wedding; Moon Rise and Sun Set, the Warm Tent Like a Polar Night…

What is the most luxurious wedding in this world like? Eleanor already knew from her past life.

A jubilant capital, guests arriving from all directions. Everyone dressed in their finest, fully immersed in the day.

Noble horses and fragrant carriages carrying beautiful youths paraded through the streets, laughing freely amidst the flowers and coins scattered by wealthy merchants.

Servants of the Gods stood on high platforms watching the ceremony in silence, every priest longing to step down and personally offer blessings to the couple.

Everyone was smiling—priests, farmers, nobles, scholars, slaves, merchants, citizens, and soldiers…

And in her eyes, there was only one person, just as in her lover’s eyes, there was only her silhouette.

It was a belated wedding, yet neither of them had arrived late in each other’s lives. They had experienced their best years together and, on that day, truly believed they would walk hand-in-hand in happiness forever.

Clack, clack-clack.

The bells adorning the roof of the carriage jingled, and the hairpins in the Princess’s hair made a pleasant clinking sound.

Eleanor sat expressionless on a magnificently decorated flower carriage, drawn by four white horses with coats as smooth as silk. The driver was a high noble of Hetuya, said to be a relative of Andra.

Behind the flower carriage followed dozens of others, forming a long convoy laden with gold, silver, and jewels to be presented to King Andra.

Among them were sponsorships from nobles, and the “Princess’s Dowry” that Ophelia had taken from the national treasury according to protocol. Originally, the people of the Goldenseal Chamber of Commerce wanted to contribute as well, but Eleanor had fiercely scolded them back.

She was merely going to exchange the ransom and her own body for her sister; she didn’t need the blessings of relatives or friends, nor did she need gifts, and she certainly didn’t need the now-free slaves running back to join her convoy.

The wheels rolled forward.

As the flower carriage passed the bridge piers, she heard the sounds of sobbing rising and falling. Many citizens of the capital had walked from the city to the suburbs, hurrying to this path the Princess had to take to weep aloud.

According to the rules of engagement between two equal nations, the preparation for a marriage alliance would take a vast amount of time. Setting aside everything else, the method of fetching the bride alone had several variations, and the matchmakers of both sides might spend half a year running back and forth.

The people didn’t know anything about grand diplomatic rhetoric; they only knew that Nolanna had lost the battle, and the Princess, along with those cities, would be used to exchange for captives, never to return in this lifetime.

Princess Eleanor was not some casually titled “Princess”; her status was supremely noble, and her reputation for wisdom was known to all. How could such a Princess be hauled out and sold like merchandise?

How meager her dowry was; the high officials in the palace were actually unwilling to even provide a few hundred slaves for the Princess.

Hearing the weeping of the people and their undisguised discussions, even the Hetuyan carriage driver looked troubled, lowering his head in embarrassment for them.

Eleanor, on the flower carriage, was calm. On the swaying vehicle, she thought of Andra, and of another wedding from her past life.

The wedding Andra recognized was only the one after her coronation. However, in Eleanor’s eyes, that grand ceremony was not the only wedding Andra had held for her.

Their first wedding had no witnesses and no substantial wealth. Let alone a banquet, the two young people even forgot to bring a midnight snack.

That wedding was held in the fields where mountain flowers bloomed. In her past life, Eleanor had used the pocket money given by her mother to buy a small hilltop in the suburbs. Initially, it was for planting trees and flowers, wanting to cultivate fruit as sweet as that of future generations.

Later, she and Andra spent a vast amount of time on that mountain, laughing, playing, and chasing each other, wasting their beautiful and long youth together.

That day, they played a bit late. The sun gradually set, embroidering layer upon layer of ruffles onto the clouds. Eleanor placed a woven flower wreath around Andra’s neck, and Andra picked up a leaf, pressing it to her lips to blow intermittent love songs for her.

They kissed each other in the silent garden… as the night grew thick, they crushed blossoms of evening primrose one by one.

“Andra, will you… will you always stay by my side in the future?” The hazy moonlight draped a thin veil over the girl’s porcelain skin. She held her lover’s shoulders, seeking a promise in the heat of passion.

“Of course… of course!” In her delirium, the lover wished she could carve out both their hearts. The youth with golden-red hair returned a fervent kiss, hanging the last withered flower from the wreath onto her beloved’s finger.

She swore: “We will never be apart, for all eternity.”

When the dew evaporated into white mist, Andra picked up the deeply sleeping girl in the moonlight and went to the hot spring to wash away the lingering fragrance of flowers from her.

That was truly a meager wedding.

A tear dropped from the corner of Eleanor’s eye, just as the carriage curtain was suddenly yanked open.

Ophelia appeared behind the curtain expressionless. One hand gripped the carriage door as she said coldly to her: “My dear sister… I’ve come to see you off. They’ve arrived and want to ‘inspect the goods’ now.”

Eleanor had nothing to say. She knew Ophelia hated her, and hated her quite rightly. Just as she was about to stand up, Ophelia pressed her back into the seat.

The Royal Sister, her face full of gloom, pulled a handkerchief from her bosom and wiped at the corner of Eleanor’s eye. “Don’t let them see this. Careful of the bad luck.”

Slap!

Eleanor instinctively swatted her hand away. The handkerchief fell to the floor and was stepped on by her.

Ophelia’s eyes narrowed slightly as she whispered in Eleanor’s ear: “You’d better pay more attention. You’ll have plenty of time to throw tantrums in the future. With the way Hetuya is… you won’t gain a thing unless you give birth to a lot of children.”

After saying this, she intentionally adjusted Eleanor’s earring. Oh, the newly pierced ear hole wasn’t cooperating; it was bleeding a little.

This sentence was full of malice. Eleanor perfectly understood the curse hidden within the “reminder”: she hoped Eleanor would die on the birthing bed, possessing nothing else.

She and Andra were close in age; by common logic, it would be difficult to maintain their feelings to the end. Most likely, after giving birth to the first few Royal Daughters, it would all end in vain.

Was this Ophelia’s secret to self-consolation? Fantasizing about a future for others even more tragic than her own.

Such a thought was laughable. If she wished, even without the mutual understanding and acquaintance of their youth, she had absolute confidence in becoming Andra’s closest friend and confidant.

Are you willing? I am not.

She seemed to hear that voice from her past life again, to the point where she was asking and answering herself in her heart.

The voice vanished in an instant. Eleanor gave Ophelia a deep look, without saying any of the words her Royal Sister hoped she would say.

No apology, no rebuttal, no anger. She knew that just a few words of truth could make Ophelia’s face contort with rage, but what use would that be?

She chose to get up and leave.

Eleanor was like a doll that had learned to walk automatically, heading toward the Hetuyan cavalry not far away heading toward a sea of golden-red.

The Highness had strictly forbidden Manju and Thorns from accompanying her to Hetuya, nor would she allow other personal guards to join the bridal escort.

Being the defeated party, even the atmosphere was shrouded in fear. The guards and craftsmen she didn’t know well didn’t even dare walk with her, only standing by the carriages watching from afar as the Princess, clad in her ceremonial gown, walked alone toward the King of Hetuya.

The Princess’s body seemed slightly weak, swaying instinctively as she walked. Her silhouette was like a warrior who had lost an arm but still charged the enemy, or a prisoner staggering toward their fate.

Some people, just by standing there, make their surroundings seem rich and prosperous even if the area is desolate. Even standing before an army, as long as she smiles, there is no longer a shred of danger.

In Andra’s eyes, Eleanor was exactly like that.

Her little Princess walked in the morning light, her slumped shoulders looking slender and fragile. She knew she wasn’t fragile—not allowing slaves to approach, not letting guards follow, refusing to bring more dowry, and no longer letting anyone support her even as she walked.

She was walking toward her, but only she was walking toward her. That was enough.

Andra instinctively reached out her hand while on horseback, wanting to pull the slowly approaching Princess onto her horse. But when Eleanor’s figure drew near and her face became clear and vivid, she couldn’t wait and flipped down from her horse, running toward her.

A wedding should involve dressing up, but the “finery” of the two newcomers, viewed individually, made outsiders want to laugh and cry.

Andra followed Hetuyan tradition, wearing a cloak layered with jewels, embroidered with patterns and lines specifically for celebrations in gold thread. Beneath the cloak was combat armor; a beautiful ceremonial knife hung from her belt, while a long sword for battle was strapped to her back. The King’s horse was naturally magnificent, though there were quite a few people fetching the bride a whole cavalry legion.

Eleanor’s attire was much the same. Her thick black hair was meticulously fixed with gold and silver pins, yet the shadows under her eyes weren’t covered by a speck of powder. Her beautiful little face was bare, with only a smear of blood-red on her lips.

According to Nolanna tradition, the Princess wore a white and gold ceremonial gown, but the gown was truly just draped over her body, revealing a long, moon-white skirt beneath that shone brightly in the sunlight. Even more peculiar, she seemed to have matched a ceremonial short blade at her waist according to Hetuyan tradition. But that blade wasn’t in a gem-encrusted scabbard; it hung openly at her side, cold light reflecting with every step the Princess took.

The attire of this couple was absurd, perfunctory, and untimely. Yet as they drew closer to each other, all onlookers developed a delusion that “the protagonists in the frame are perfect; we are the ones who are discordant.”

Eleanor looked up; she saw the enchantment in Andra’s eyes.

Is that so… even a version of me like this, you still love?

Bitterness welled up from her heart, because her heart was also accelerating its beat as Andra approached.

Andra walked toward her through the sunlight. This scene reminded Eleanor of far too much; even her body couldn’t help but want to lean in, to respond with an embrace.

Tap, one step. Tap, two steps…

It wasn’t until the image of Miscella’s face appeared in her mind that Eleanor stopped, stiffening in place. Andra stepped forward, encircled her waist, and lifted her gently.

“You’re so light.”

To Andra, the weight of a person was nothing even if it were several times heavier. The Princess in her arms was like a pile of fluffy feathers. The touch of the embrace wound around her heart tightly like a cat’s tail.

The crowd watched from the edge of the long bridge. Ophelia, standing among the many people saying farewell, opened her mouth. What did she want to say? Who knows. No one heard her voice, as if she were merely silently watching the Hetuyan troop slowly depart.

The moon rose and the sun set, and the warm tent was like a polar night.

“Eleanor, do you think this place is too simple?”

Golden-red strands of hair burned upon her, sparking a spreading flame.

Simple? Eleanor looked at the domed roof of the tent, her thoughts drifting away.

It’s fine… at least there’s a roof. The garden in the past life wasn’t covered.

She embraced Andra’s waist in return, whispering softly in her ear: “Have all the people been released?”

Andra’s muscles tensed, and a helpless smile immediately appeared on her vivid face. “You… can’t you just for a moment…”

She shook her head, sighing under Eleanor’s direct, emotionless eyes. “Most have been released. Some important ones will have to wait until we return to Hetuya.”

After receiving a definitive answer, Eleanor nodded. She released her hands and lay back on the pillow, spreading her arms motionless.

Seeing her both cooperative and uncooperative manner, Andra gave a wry laugh. “Alright, alright… my fault.”

The powerful King collapsed beside the pillow as if surrendering, her lips grazing Eleanor’s earlobe as if by accident.

“Rest assured. When you give birth to our first child, I will definitely make up for it with a grand wedding for you in Hetuya.”

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