"Don't touch your cheek," Susan scolded, catching Eilika's wrist before her fingers could graze the freshly powdered skin. "The makeup has only just been applied. What if you ruin it?"
Eilika froze and slowly lowered her hand back into her lap. Her fingers curled nervously over the folds of her gown as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. The reflection of her seemed unreal.
Susan's voice softened, though the sharpness didn't fully leave it. "Your father will be upset if you appear careless," she added, adjusting the last pin near Eilika's ear. "And the people… They'll only find another reason to taunt us."
Eilika didn't reply. She kept her eyes forward, watching Susan's hands move, straightening the lace at her shoulders, smoothing the fabric, pulling the veil into place.
Not many guests had been invited. The Duke had insisted the wedding remain private, a quiet ceremony meant to bind two families without spectacle. Still, Eilika could already imagine the whispers outside these walls, the judgment that would follow her no matter how perfectly she walked, how politely she smiled, or how dutifully she bowed her head. She knew people would still gossip about the scar on her cheek.
Susan stepped back to examine her work, then reached forward to fix the veil once more, ensuring it draped neatly over Eilika's hair.
"Being your stepmother, I don't hold grudges against you," she said at last. "Perhaps I couldn't be a good mother to you. But at least I never deprived you of what you needed."
She leaned closer, her eyes narrowing with a warning that didn't need to be spoken aloud. "All you must do now is fulfill your duties properly. Don't bring complaints back to this home. Don't invite shame."
Eilika swallowed and nodded.
Susan then finally said, "Your husband's house will be yours. Remember that."
Another woman stepped forward and placed a small bouquet in Eilika's hands, tiny flowers bound with ribbon. Eilika clutched it tightly, as if holding on to it was the only thing keeping her steady.
Then she rose to her feet and stepped out of the room, moving down the corridor. Her gown felt heavier with every stride. She walked straight toward the open yard where the ceremony had been arranged, where, in a few moments, she would exchange vows with Damian.
The few guests had already gathered in neat rows, their murmurs blending with the soft rustle of fabric and the distant chirping of birds. At the entrance to the aisle, she stopped.
Her father stood there waiting.
For a brief moment, Eilika's chest tightened. Without a word, she hooked her arm around his, gripping him as gently as she could, and together they began to walk down the aisle.
Eilika kept her gaze lowered, trying to ignore the watching eyes that followed her. Her fingers tightened around the small bouquet in her hands as she neared the altar, and then she froze.
The space where Damian should have been standing was empty.
Her brows drew together, confusion flickering across her face. Guests exchanged glances, and the whispers rose in the air.
Before Eilika could speak, a woman stepped forward.
Damian's mother, Georgia, wearing a composed expression, offered a thin smile. "The Duke couldn't come," she announced, loud enough for the guests to hear. "He received an urgent call from the palace."
Eilika frowned slightly, her heart sinking with unease. The explanation sounded rehearsed, yet the crowd reacted immediately. Their murmurs grew louder, and more brazen with time.
"I saw the Duke drinking last night," someone whispered, not bothering to hide the accusation.
"He must be lying. He was seen with his mistress in the morning," another voice scoffed. "Why else would he skip his own wedding?"
A few snickers followed.
"And have you seen the bride?" a woman muttered. "She isn't even beautiful… And she bears a scar."
Eilika's throat tightened. She kept her head still when her father spoke.
"So… how will this marriage proceed?" Wilfred asked in disbelief.
Georgia didn't falter. With the calm poise of a woman accustomed to controlling situations, she replied smoothly, "The rings will be exchanged at the Duke's residence, of course. As for the vows—" her gaze shifted briefly toward Eilika, "—Eilika can recite them while standing before the Duke's portrait."
A brief silence followed.
Wilfred's jaw clenched, his pride wounded, yet his answer came too quickly, too resigned. "Very well," he agreed at once, as though refusing were not an option.
Eilika's heart pounded painfully against her ribs. Her legs felt unsteady beneath the weight of her gown, and for a second she wanted nothing more than to turn around and run, far from the staring eyes, the cruel whispers, and this humiliating farce of a wedding.
She realized the rumors were true.
He hadn't come because he didn't want to. Because he could. And perhaps because, at this very moment, he was spending his time with his mistress instead of standing beside his bride.
A bitter ache spread through Eilika's chest, but she swallowed it down. There was no space for rebellion, no room for pride, not for someone like her.
This was her fate.
Silent and obedient, she did as Madam Georgia instructed. After all, Georgia was not just Damian's mother, she was a respected lady of Varos, someone whose influence could silence complaints with a single look.
Without protest, Eilika allowed herself to be guided away from the yard after she took the vows.
And soon, she was taken to the Duke's residence, the place everyone insisted was her home now.