CHAPTER#23:Wedding Ceremony?

The Stygian Fortress was not adorned with the grandeur one might expect for a royal wedding. There were no lavish decorations, no jubilant celebrations, and no music to mark the occasion. Yet, the halls were abuzz with quiet anticipation. Servants and knights alike whispered among themselves, eager to witness the marriage of their lord—an event none had thought possible.

But for the bride and groom, it was a ceremony devoid of joy.

Luciana stood in front of a tall, cracked mirror, her reflection an image of solemn resignation. The wedding was nothing more than a formality, a strategic move suggested by Jafar to align with Amanécer's customs. It was, at best, a courtesy meant to soften the transition, ensuring she did not feel entirely isolated in a foreign land. Yet, neither she nor Erebus harbored any illusions about what this union truly was.

"My lady, you look breathtaking!" Mina, her ever-enthusiastic maid, beamed as she adjusted the simple veil cascading down Luciana's back. "The Lord will be speechless!"

Luciana cast a glance at her reflection. The dress was modest—too simple even by commoners' standards in Amanécer. White silk draped her figure, its only embellishment a delicate lace trim along the neckline and bodice. Her footwear, a pair of unadorned silk sandals, and the tulle veil did little to elevate the ensemble. It was clear that the demons had little experience in crafting wedding attire. Perhaps they had done their best.

She wore no crown, no family jewels—only a pair of earrings she had kept since her departure from Amanécer. The small pouch filled with the imperial treasures remained untouched; in her current situation, it was far too risky to reveal its existence.

Mina handed her a bouquet—a collection of flowers both beautiful and deadly. Luciana recognized them immediately: crimson and blue spider lilies, demon orchids, datura, and wild tribulus. Every bloom was toxic. Whether the choice was intentional or a mere oversight, she could not say. She held them delicately, grateful for her mother's teachings in botany and medicine.

With a steadying breath, she followed Mina out of the chamber.

---

The Great Hall

The guards, momentarily stunned by her beauty, hesitated, forgetting their duty. Only when Mina cleared her throat pointedly did they snap to attention, pushing open the heavy metal and wooden doors to allow the bride to enter.

Luciana stepped forward into the largest chamber in the fortress, a vast hall capable of holding at least four hundred guests—by her estimation, comparable in scale to the grand halls of her palace in Amanécer. The grey stone walls were adorned with aged tapestries, and banners hung high from the ceiling, each bearing the emblem of the Stygian lineage: a black, three-eyed wolf baring its fangs, twin battle axes crossed over its neck, with a small crescent moon embroidered at the center. The sight was both imposing and ancient, a reminder of the fortress's enduring legacy.

Her shoulders tensed as she took in the assembled demons. Their forms loomed in the dim torchlight, their expressions ranging from intrigue to quiet reverence. Her gaze, however, was drawn to one figure who remained entirely still—Erebus. Unlike the others, who occasionally murmured or exchanged glances at her presence, he stood unmoving, his dark eyes unreadable.

Mina, undeterred by the tension in the air, held her tulle veil with pride, her steps unwavering as she followed closely behind.

Luciana's own steps, however, felt heavier with each passing second. Her heart pounded against her ribs, its rhythm a deafening drumbeat in her ears. Cold sweat prickled at the nape of her neck. The weight of countless eyes upon her made the air feel thick, suffocating. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to turn back, to run—but she pressed on, forcing herself forward.

She could not falter now. Not here.

She clenched her jaw, blinking back the sting of tears. This was the path she had chosen—or rather, the one forced upon her.

The moment she stepped into the vast stone hall, all conversation ceased.

Luciana's grip on the bouquet tightened as hundreds of eyes bore into her, a mix of curiosity and silent appraisal. The demons—towering, sharp-clawed, and unfamiliar—lined the walls, their presence a constant reminder that she was an outsider here.

Before her, at the end of the aisle, stood Erebus Stygian. Dressed in black from head to toe, his expression unreadable, he remained still as stone amid the murmuring crowd.

The guards, momentarily stunned by her presence, hesitated before opening the heavy doors. Mina, unfazed, cleared her throat sharply—a subtle prompt for them to move. With a creak of iron and wood, the doors swung open, and she stepped forward onto the old red carpet.

Each step she took felt heavier than the last. The silence pressed in on her, the sheer gravity of the moment suffocating. The fortress itself seemed to breathe with an eerie stillness, and for the first time, Luciana truly felt the weight of her fate.

Her mother had once told her that a bride's wedding day should be the happiest of her life. That love should blossom at the altar, and the future should feel boundless.

But as she reached the dais, her heart pounded—not with excitement, but with quiet dread.

Erebus extended his hand.

Luciana hesitated. His hands were larger than hers, rough and calloused, his nails black—a mark of his demonic heritage. She glanced at Derran, the elderly physician officiating the ceremony. He nodded, encouraging her forward.

Steeling herself, she handed the bouquet to Mina and slowly placed her trembling hand in his. The whispers in the hall died down instantly.

Erebus said nothing, merely tightening his grip slightly as they ascended the stone steps.

Derran smiled, clearing his throat before beginning.

"On this day, under the eyes of those who witness, we unite—"

Luciana barely heard the words. Her mind drifted back to their previous conversation, the one in which Erebus had flatly refused her suggestion of a divorce. He had agreed to nearly all her demands—her freedom within his territory, her ability to make her own choices—but leaving was out of the question.

"There will be no running," he had told her.

There was no going back now.

"Cut it short, old man," Erebus interrupted, drawing her out of her thoughts.

Derran sighed but obliged. "Do you, Lord Erebus Stygian, take Luciana se Amanécer as your lawfully wedded wife?"

Erebus gave a curt nod.

Derran then turned to her. "And do you, Luciana se Amanécer, take Lord Erebus Stygian as your lawful husband?"

She swallowed hard.

The hall was suffocatingly silent, every demon present waiting for her response.

"Yes," she whispered.

The word barely left her lips before Derran made his final declaration.

"Then I pronounce you man and wife. You may now seal your vows with a kiss."

Luciana stiffened.

She had witnessed many weddings in Amanécer, had seen brides blush and grooms beam with affection. But this was different. This was not a union of love—it was duty, politics, survival.

Erebus moved closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over her.

Her breath caught.

But instead of claiming her lips, he took her hand, bowing slightly as he pressed a firm yet surprisingly gentle kiss to her knuckles.

A murmur rippled through the crowd.

She exhaled softly, caught between relief and confusion. His eyes met hers, searching for a reaction, but she quickly averted her gaze.

Erebus straightened and turned away without another word.

The weight of his absence settled on her immediately.

In Amanécer, it was tradition for the groom to escort his bride down the aisle after the ceremony. To leave her standing alone was a sign of rejection.

Jafar stepped forward, sensing her unease. "Apologies for his rudeness, my lady."

Luciana forced a small smile. "Please, don't apologize."

Perhaps Erebus was unaware of the tradition.

Or perhaps, this was his way of reminding her that she was still a prisoner in his domain.

The demons began to disperse, the ceremony concluded. Only Derran remained, his aged face kind as he approached.

"Congratulations, my lady." His voice was warm, his smile genuine.

Luciana returned the gesture, though it was faint. "Thank you, Master Derran."

Her wedding was over.

And with it, the last remnants of her old life.