Chapter 2.4

The declaration of marriage was neither too long nor too short.  

As proof of the union, Livie took the ring presented to her and slipped it onto her finger with an expression as if she were being shackled.  

“The bride shall sign the marriage contract.”  

At the bishop’s command, Livie dipped the quill into the ink and looked down at the marriage contract.  

The name of her husband, the Duke of Resette, was already written on it.  

Whether it was due to laziness or the current trend among nobles, the signature was scribbled in an almost illegible style. The blank space was where Livie was to sign.  

‘Once I sign here.’  

She would truly become the Duchess of Resette.  

She would travel to the southern region of the Kingdom—a place she had never been to, far away even by carriage—and become the wife of a Duke who ruled there like a King.  

That was what Livie understood in her head.  

But her heart said something different.  

‘I wish someone would kidnap me.’  

The sudden thought made Livie shudder.  

Kidnapping?  

What kind of bride wished to be kidnapped?

Livie tried desperately to correct her thoughts.  

No, what am I thinking? I’m going to be a Duchess. There’s nothing to lose.  

She repeated the thoughts she had clung to throughout her wedding preparations. Meanwhile, the ink on the tip of the quill dried up.  

“The bride shall sign the marriage contract.”  

Unable to bear watching Livie frozen with the quill, the bishop cleared his throat a few times. Jolted back to reality, Livie dipped the quill into the ink again and finally began to sign.  

Drip.  

Just before the ink could touch the paper, a breeze blew it away, leaving only a faint trace before it disappeared into the air.  

Everyone in the chapel held their breath as they watched. Though unseen, it felt as if the sound of their darting eyes could be heard.  

The reason for their reaction was clear.  

This was obviously a bad omen.  

“…”  

Livie paused for a moment, then dipped the quill into the ink again. But the second and third attempts ended the same way. The ink scattered into the air, leaving nothing behind.  

As a result, the sacred marriage contract remained incomplete, with only a vague smudge where her name should have been.  

“How ominous, how ominous.”  

Someone whispered in the guest seats. Though the voice was small, it wasn’t just one or two people, so Livie couldn’t help but hear it.  

For the last time, Livie dipped the quill into the ink. Every eye in the room focused on her hand.  

Whoosh.  

A sudden gust of wind blew through. The grass, standing tall, swayed wildly in the wind.  

The unexpected gale threw the gathered villagers into chaos. Hats flew off, skirts fluttered, and everyone scrambled to hold onto their belongings.  

“Ahhh!”  

Screams erupted from various directions, and the chapel quickly descended into turmoil.  

But no one was as busy as the bride.  

Holding down her flipped dress and grabbing her crown before it could fly away, Livie waited for the wind to pass.  

The wind stung her eyes, but she managed to keep them open. And then she saw it.  

A man walking confidently down the red carpet at the end of the aisle.  

A black knight, striding boldly as if he had come to claim his bride.  

“Who is that?”  

Murmurs spread throughout the crowd. Livie, too, widened her eyes and watched the scene unfold.  

The man, clad entirely in black from head to toe, looked like Death himself, save for the scythe he lacked.  

In the outdoor chapel of a rural village, decorated entirely in white cloth and flowers for the wedding, the dark knight’s presence was not only jarring but almost divine.  

In a slightly different sense.  

The man who had suddenly crashed the wedding walked straight toward her without hesitation.  

‘Sorry, darling, am I late?’  

Livie thought she heard his voice in her head. The man looked as if he would apologize at any moment.  

If not for the armor he was wearing, one might have mistaken him for the groom who was late to his own wedding, given his composed and relaxed demeanor.  

His confidence caused Livie’s friends, who were serving as bridesmaids, to instinctively step aside and make way for him.  

“…”  

Livie couldn’t take her eyes off the man who had stopped right in front of her.  

She had to tilt her head back just to see him properly—he was tall and broad-shouldered.  

If she hadn’t seen him walking, she might have thought he was a decorative statue placed there.  

“Eek!”  

Startled by the man suddenly lowering his head to look down at her, Livie stepped back in fright.  

Her “Black Knight” had exposed only his eyes, which gleamed within the shadows.  

‘Gleaming?’  

Through the veil that blurred her vision, Livie squinted to see the man standing before her more clearly.  

‘Purple, purple?’  

The flash of violet gave her an inexplicable sense of familiarity.  

It was a rare eye color. Violet eyes were often mocked as the eyes of demons or devil’s spawn.  

Beautiful, but dangerous. Mysterious, yet ominous.  

Long ago, someone had been ridiculed for those very eyes. Someone.  

Who was it again?  

Livie blinked rapidly as a faint shape overlapped with her memories.  

When the man raised his hand, gasps escaped from the guests.  

The steel-clad hand in its gauntlet reached for the helmet atop his head—a hand that looked capable of killing with a single blow.  

Grabbing the top of the helmet, he removed it. Black, glossy hair spilled down, and between the strands, his gleaming violet eyes met Livie’s pale green ones directly.  

A silence different from before descended upon the chapel.  

It began the moment he removed his helmet.  

As his hair softly fell, framing his forehead, and his sparkling eyes peeked through, the women in the chapel felt a sense of reverence and clasped their hands together.  

Only Livie stared at the man before her, her expression filled with confusion.  

“Livie, I’ve come to take you.”  

She was met with a gaze she knew quite well.  

Eyes that always curved like a crescent moon when looking at her, black hair that fell just enough to cover his eyes.  

None of it felt unfamiliar.  

“Huh?”  

She asked, bewildered.  

“I’ve come to take you.”  

The man extended his hand once more to the dazed Livie.  

“I’ve come to take you, Livie.”  

Time passed, but as the man had anticipated, the bride’s pale hand did not rest in his outstretched one.  

Instead, the bride, pale as melted wax, simply stared at him. The same was true for the guests in the chapel.  

The people, who had initially frozen in shock, gradually began whispering as if breaking free from a spell.  

“Who is he?”  

“No idea.”  

“Who could he be?”  

“I told you, I don’t know.”  

“Is he Livie’s groom?”  

“Probably not.”  

“Livie’s groom is an old man.”  

“He has multiple wives too.”  

“Did he drink some youth potion in the meantime?”  

“Don’t be ridiculous.”  

Someone rebuked the absurd speculation.  

“Well then, who is he?”  

“Why are you asking me?”  

Foolish questions and answers bounced back and forth. Meanwhile, the women seated at the front of the guest section grew increasingly interested in the man who had discarded his helmet.  

Most of them shared the common trait of having gone too long without seeing a young man.  

“He’s handsome.”  

“I can’t see clearly.”  

“His profile is striking.”  

“You even judge roosters by their looks.”  

“Anyway, he’s handsome. But something about him…”  

“Something?”  

“He seems crazy.”  

Livie heard their conversation clearly. Though she didn’t speak, she silently agreed with their opinion. Otherwise…  

“I’ve come to take you, Livie.”  

The unknown man whispered again, his voice soft and sweet. His gaze, directed at her, was endlessly kind.  

Though blurred by the veil, Livie could still feel it.  

The man’s strangely kind eyes.  

Kindness…?  

It was then that Livie realized why she thought this handsome man seemed insane.  

His inexplicably gentle tone—it was as if he were addressing a long-lost lover.  

‘How can he be so kind to me? And how does he know my name?’  

The man took a step closer, and Livie instinctively stepped back. But his hand quickly caught her veil.  

“This thing doesn’t suit you.”  

In an instant, the veil was removed, and the crown symbolizing the bride fell to the ground, rolling across the floor.  

“This doesn’t suit you, Livie.”  

Before she could react, the man plucked the red rose adorning her head.  

“You suit white roses, Livie.”  

The red rose fell to the ground and was mercilessly crushed under his foot. The rose pinned to her chest was also torn away.  

Finally, he grabbed the red rose bouquet she held and began crushing it in his hands.  

Livie stared blankly at the petals falling in clumps, her gaze vacant.  

When the bouquet had been crushed to the point of resembling dough, the man tossed it far away and smiled brightly.  

“You’re the White Rose Maiden.”  

For someone trampling on fallen petals with such force, his words were excessively romantic.  

The problem was that Livie had heard those words somewhere before.  

Someone had called her that.  

But where?