287: Proving trust (part 5)

Proving trust (part 5)

"P-Please, wait outside the tent for her. We have a few last-minute details to sort out before she can join you," the woman said, her voice faltering.1

Without uttering a word, the two men exited the tent, positioning themselves visibly by the door.

That's enough.

Adela made her way toward the tent's exit, her intention to leave and meet with her husband, however, was abruptly thwarted as someone once again seized her shirt.

The temptation to reprimand the persistent woman who seemed oblivious to the word 'no' surged within her, but when she turned around, she discovered it was the bride herself who was trying to stop her this time.

Teresa's fingers tightly clutched Adela's shirt, her head bowed low, her shoulders trembling with emotion.

"O-Our tribe...We don't typically ask about our guests' identities until the next sunrise... Not that you can speak in your current condition," she stammered. "My father... He leads the largest tribe in Latora, and I can't bear to bring disgrace upon him like this."

Adela's head throbbed in sync with her racing heart. The bride's predicament mirrored her own: both noblewomen caught between the expectations of the men they loved and the dread of disobeying their fathers.

"I-I promise, by Duke Rauul Corvus, and His Excellency, Kaiser de Lanark, if you'd just enter Lord Raphael's tent briefly and then exit, if you could grant me that favor, I-I-I would offer my entire dowry to you."

It wasn't the words, but the desperation in the bride's eyes that nearly swayed Adela to grant her request. She clenched her teeth tightly, recalling the pain she had caused Egon the last time she prioritized someone else.

Without responding to Teresa, Adela exited the tent.

"This way," the man on her right directed as he observed her scanning the surrounding area. In reality, she was searching for her husband.

"She seems ready to bolt," the man on Adela's left remarked.

"So, it's a tribal civil war," the man on her right concluded.

A civil war in Latora? How much influence did this Raphael truly wield?

Adela's head tilted back slowly; her gaze fixed upon the night sky where the desert stars twinkled like a heartbeat that synchronized with her own.

Could her luck possibly get any worse?

Egon... He would either swiftly prevent her from entering another man's tent or, if things took a wrong turn within that tent, he would undoubtedly come looking for her.

Should she take the chance?

"Mademoiselle," the man on her right spoke again, "We truly don't have all night. Follow us if you're willing to take part in the ceremony, or return to the women's tent. No one will harm you."

These men, despite potentially facing the front lines of a civil war if this marriage fell apart, refused to force her into going with them. That settled it. Adela knew she had to take action. She had to trust that Egon would understand the reasons behind her difficult choice, made just a day after another tough decision.

As the men began to walk, Adela followed. Their pace quickened in the direction they were headed, indicating a sense of urgency. Clearly, they wanted her inside the tent.

Coming to a halt in front of a fully black tent proudly displaying the cobra of House Corvus's emblem, the two men turned around, facing Adela.

"If the Lord removes your headpiece, you belong to him," the first man stated.

"Are you absolutely certain you wish to enter?" asked the other.

She wasn't entirely sure, but she pushed herself to step inside the tent anyhow.

The interior was significantly larger than the bride's tent, a single torch flickered dimly on the ground. The light was just sufficient enough to keep the space from being completely dark, and she could barely make out the silhouette of a man in blue Latoran robes, his face concealed, revealing only a pair of onyx eyes that swept over her.

Adela could have sworn those eyes reflected bewilderment upon reaching her face.

It took the man – the one the bride had vowed would not choose another woman, and who had offered her entire dowry for a chance to be with him – just three heartbeats to decide to advance toward Adela.

He rushed toward her, arm outstretched, his intentions crystal clear – to remove her headpiece immediately and claim her as his wife, bypassing the woman who had blindly trusted him.

In a swift motion, Adela's hand darted to her waistband where she grabbed a dagger and slashed at his extended arm.

"Ack! Wait!"

As he reached out again with his other hand, she swiftly ducked and struck back, slashing his other arm just below the shoulder.

The situation had spiraled out of control rapidly.

"Mmmmmmmmmm!" Adela screamed with all the strength in her when the grunting man seized her turban and yanked it away.

"Shhh!" the man hissed, releasing her turban as if it had stung him and unveiling his face. "It's me!"

Blinking away her fear, she finally focused on his face. If it weren't for the mustache and the two onyx eyes instead of the two differently colored eyes, she would have sworn he was Rauul himself.

"It's Rauul!" He grunted, reaching inside his eye and removing a transparent substance. "You can't go around with your hair covered now!"

She blinked repeatedly at the sight of the face so close to hers. One of the man's eyes was as blue as the sky, and the other as dark as the night. It was undeniably Rauul, but he now sported a grown mustache.

"Uuu?" Was all she managed to say.

"Open your mouth. I'll take care of you."

When she didn't respond to the request, Rauul winced, raising his injured left arm to place one hand at the back of her neck and wincing again when his right arm moved up, gripping her chin with his thumb and forefinger. 

His expert touch immediately provided a relief that had her lips parting, and when they did, he inserted his thumb into her mouth and lightly brushed over her tongue.

A sudden gust of wind swept through the tent, and the next thing she saw was Rauul pinned to the central pole , a large man in blue robes choking the life out of him.

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