Chapter 117: Before The Ceremony

  The sun had barely begun to claw its way over the horizon, painting the dunes in hues of bruised purple and burning gold, but Kah-Kamun was already awake. And it was loud.

  A rhythmic, chest-thumping boom of drums echoed from the lower city, rolling up the sandstone cliffs like a physical wave. The sharp crack-hiss of early celebratory fireworks punctuated the morning air, leaving lingering trails of sulfur that mingled with the scent of roasting meat and sweet spices wafting from the street stalls. Today was the day. The city was a living, breathing beast of anticipation, ready to witness the holy matrimony of their beloved Jewel, Princess Samira, and the young scholar, Malik.

  Inside the palace, the chaos was controlled, but no less intense.

  Servants moved in synchronized blurs, carrying trays of fruits, bolts of silk, and polished silverware. The click-clack of their sandals on the marble floors created a frantic staccato rhythm against the distant drums. Guards in ceremonial armor stood rigid at every corridor intersection, their spears gleaming under the polished lanterns.

  Leading the charge—or rather, being driven by the fear of a certain Queen—were three familiar figures. Bob, King Ahmed, and Tanvir were darting between the kitchen and the Great Hall, sweating profusely despite the cool interior of the palace. They barked orders, straightened tapestries by fractions of an inch, and inspected goblets for nonexistent specks of dust, casting nervous glances toward the Queen’s chambers as if she might materialize from the shadows to chastise them.

  But high above the frantic preparations, in a guest chamber that felt increasingly like a cell, Malik was fighting a war of his own.

  The young scholar paced the length of the room, his boots scuffing the intricate rug. Back and forth. Turn. Back and forth. Turn. He couldn't stop. If he stopped, the anxiety clawing at his throat would surely strangle him.

  His ceremonial suit, a masterpiece of white silk embroidered with gold threads that told the history of the desert dynasties, felt like a suit of lead armor. The high collar choked him. The sleeves felt too long. The room was spinning.

  Knock. Knock.

  Malik yelped, jumping a foot in the air. "W-Who is it?"

  "It's me," Raito’s calm voice drifted through the heavy wood.

  "Come in! Please, I need help!" Malik’s voice cracked, losing all its scholarly dignity.

  The door clicked open, and Raito stepped inside. The contrast was immediate. While Malik looked like a fraying wire, Raito was the picture of composure. He was dressed in an immaculate black tuxedo, the sharp lines of the foreign formal wear making him look taller, more defined. He adjusted his cufflink, eyeing Malik’s frantic state.

  "What do you need me for?" Raito asked, leaning casually against the doorframe. "This is your day, Malik."

  "I'm breaking down. I can't breathe." Malik rushed over, grabbing Raito by the shoulders and shaking him. His eyes were wide, desperate saucers. "How did you do it? How did you survive your wedding day? I need tips, Raito! Strategies! breathing techniques! Anything!"

  Raito let himself be shaken, his expression unbothered. He shrugged. "I don't know."

  Malik froze. He shook Raito faster, his desperation spiking. "What do you mean you don't know?!"

  "I don't know because I didn't get time to process it," Raito said, his voice flat.

  Malik stopped shaking him, staring in confusion.

  "One minute, Yukari and I were in Hanyuun, vaguely thinking that maybe, someday, we should have a proper ceremony," Raito explained, pulling Malik’s hands off his shoulders. "The next minute, we were dragged into a Sakura garden, dressed by force, and married off while being 'honored' by the Storm Lord. It was completely out of my hands. It just... sort of happened."

  Malik blinked. The absurdity of the statement cut through his panic for a second. "You're serious?"

  "Dead serious."

  "That is... not normal," Malik whispered.

  Raito straightened his tuxedo jacket, brushing off invisible lint where Malik had grabbed him. "My life stopped being normal a few years ago, Malik. Just take the story for what it is—proof that you can survive a wedding even if you have no idea what’s happening."

  "Okay... okay..." Malik took a staggering step back, running a hand through his hair before realizing he shouldn't mess it up. He dropped his hand to his side. "Okay."

  "Breathe," Raito commanded gently. "Just breathe."

  Malik sucked in a jagged breath, held it, and exhaled long and slow. "What now?"

  Raito looked at him, his dark eyes steady. "Remember what we did yesterday? With Old Hasan?"

  Malik grimaced. "Scrubbing the floor until my fingers bled?"

  "Exactly. Remember the rhythm?" Raito made a sweeping motion with his hand. "Don't fight the grime. Just let the motion flow. Trust in your tools." He pointed a finger at Malik’s chest. "Today, your tool isn't a brush. It's Samira. She’s your partner."

  Malik blinked again. The memory of the repetitive, meditative motion of scrubbing washed over him. Flow. Don't force it. He pictured Samira’s face, her confident smile.

  He exhaled again, and this time, the breath didn't catch in his throat. The lead weight of the suit seemed to lighten, just a fraction.

  "Yeah," Malik murmured, his shoulders dropping from his ears. "Yeah, you're right. Just let it flow. Trust in Samira."

  "Good," Raito nodded.

  "Okay. Okay, it's working," Malik said, a small, genuine smile touching his lips. "Thanks, Raito."

  "You're welcome." Raito turned toward the door. "Now, if there is nothing else, I need to go help Bob with something. I think he's trying to organize the silverware by 'shininess' and Tanvir is about to snap."

  Malik let out a short, breathless laugh. "Yeah... I think... I think I got this. Whooooo." He blew out another breath, centering himself.

  "Alright." Raito gave him a thumbs up as he backed out of the room. "You got this."

  The door clicked shut, leaving Malik alone in the silence of his room, the drums outside beating a rhythm that now felt less like a threat and more like a heartbeat.

  "I hope so," Malik whispered to the empty air.

  On the opposite wing of the palace, where the morning sun filtered through sheer curtains to bathe the room in a soft, ethereal glow, the atmosphere was vastly different.

  Samira stood on a pedestal, her arms slightly raised. She looked less like a princess and more like a deity descended from the stars. Her dress was a cascading waterfall of immaculate white silk, the fabric woven with crushed gemstones that caught the light with every breath she took, making her shimmer as if she were made of moonlight. The train flowed behind her, pooling on the floor like spilled milk.

  "I can't believe today is finally here!" Samira squealed, her hands trembling slightly in delight. "I am so happy!"

  "Hold still, child," Queen Aleena commanded, though her eyes were warm. She stood behind the flock of bridal attendants, her gaze sharp as a hawk's. "She must look perfect. Do you understand?"

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  "Yes, Your Majesty!" the attendants chorused, their hands flying as they adjusted lace, pinned hems, and dusted powder.

  Leaning against the arched window frame, trying to make herself as small as possible, was Mila.

  She was dressed in a gown of deep, royal purple—a color that brought out the sharpness of her eyes and the hidden warmth in her complexion. It was the dress the girls had practically forced her into yesterday. She tugged self-consciously at the silk sleeve, a rare blush staining her cheeks.

  "Are you... sure about this?" Mila asked, her voice low. "That I should be your bridesmaid?"

  Samira turned her head, ignoring the attendant trying to fix her collarbone jewelry. "What do you mean?"

  "I would work better as another guard for this event," Mila reasoned, gesturing to the sword she wasn't wearing. "Or surely, one of your friends from the school? They would be more fitting for a picture-perfect wedding."

  "Nonsense!" Samira puffed out her cheeks, a childish pout forming on her painted lips. "Sister Mila, who else but you deserves to be my bridesmaid? You have been with me the longest. You watched me grow up. You are practically family."

  Mila flinched slightly, her gaze dropping to her hand. "You know I never married him, Samira. I am not family."

  "No, no, no!" Samira shook her head vigorously, causing the attendants to gasp as her veil shifted. "None of that depressing talk today! This is my day, and I am forcing you to be happy with me."

  Samira’s expression softened, her eyes glistening. "You are Cousin Rami's fiancée. You never threw away his ring. Even Uncle Bob wants you to stop calling him Master. So please... just for today... be my sister. Properly."

  Mila’s hand instinctively went to the ring she wore on a chain around her neck, hidden beneath the purple silk. The metal felt warm against her skin.

  "I'll add to that," Queen Aleena interjected. She walked over, placing a gentle but firm hand on Mila’s rigid shoulder. "Consider it a Royal Order, Mila. You have been hurting for too long, punishing yourself for things beyond your control. So please, just be family with us."

  Mila looked from the pleading eyes of the Princess to the commanding yet compassionate gaze of the Queen. She let out a long, defeated sigh, her shoulders relaxing.

  "Fine, fine," Mila muttered, a small, wry smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "I can't go against both the Queen and the Princess. I'll be your bridesmaid. And your sister. For today."

  "Yay! Let's go!"

  Samira erupted with joy, jumping from her pedestal with a very un-princess-like hop.

  "Your Highness!" The attendants shrieked in horror as they scrambled to catch the train before it snagged.

  "Samira!" Queen Aleena barked, her fan snapping shut.

  Samira froze mid-bounce, realizing what she had done. She quickly smoothed her dress and sat back down on the vanity chair, folding her hands in her lap. "Yes. Sorry. Sorry."

  Mila chuckled, shaking her head. "Still the ever-present ball of energy."

  A giggle bubbled up from Samira, followed by the Queen, and finally Mila joined in. For a moment, the weight of the ceremony, the politics, and the past melted away, leaving just three women sharing a moment of pure, unadulterated joy in the morning light.

  The festivities spilled out beyond the palace walls, a tide of sound that rose up to the high balconies where the air was thinner and the breeze carried the sharp tang of humid heat.

  Yukari leaned over the stone railing, her chin resting on her crossed arms. She cut a striking figure against the sandstone backdrop. Instead of a traditional gown, she wore an outfit that mirrored Raito’s tuxedo—sleek black fabric with sharp, tailored lapels that tapered into a waist-cinching corset before flowing out into a long, split skirt. It was elegant, bold, and undeniably her.

  Beside her, standing with the poise of an ancient statue, was Zhu Lihua. The Blaze Lord wore a formal crimson qipao, the silk embroidered with white tigers that seemed to dance in the sunlight. Her posture was relaxed, a rare sight, her usual martial rigidity softened by the occasion.

  "Woah, look at that line of people," Yukari whistled, peering down at the main thoroughfare leading to the palace gates. The crowd was so dense it looked like a shifting mosaic of colors. "They look like a colony of ants from up here."

  She turned to Zhu, raising an eyebrow. "You think Bob and the King invited all of them?"

  Zhu narrowed her eyes slightly, calculating the mass. "Well... looking at the guest list yesterday, it’s not impossible. I am more worried about the palace's capacity to accommodate so many people. Logistics for food and sanitation alone would be a nightmare."

  She paused, then let out a small breath, her shoulders dropping another inch. "Although, that is for the guards and servants to figure out. I am here as a guest."

  Yukari grinned, nudging Zhu’s arm with her elbow. "Look at you, Mother. Finally relaxing."

  Zhu blinked, then a faint, rueful smile touched her lips. "I guess I am. What we did yesterday... what Madam Yinzi told me... and perhaps not having to be a General for once, might have helped me."

  Yukari chuckled, the sound bright and clear. She turned back to the view, her expression growing thoughtful as she watched the banners fluttering in the wind. "Royal wedding, huh."

  "You would definitely have had something like this back in Jinlun," Zhu noted quietly, her gaze fixed on Yukari’s profile. "Considering Lei is of noble descent, and you are the 'Snow Flower'."

  Yukari flinched. A visible shiver ran through her, despite the rising heat.

  "Don't give me those bad memories again," she murmured, her voice losing its playful edge. Her fingers gripped the stone railing until her knuckles whitened. "I genuinely hated that nickname. Being used as a tool... being displayed as a possession to be bartered for influence."

  She looked down at her hands, then out toward the horizon where the desert met the sky. "Mother may be of noble descent, but that doesn't mean I liked being one. The stiff clothes, the fake smiles... it felt like a cage."

  A softness entered her eyes, and she smirked, a genuine, warm expression. "Being with that idiot is more than enough for me. Yeah, a royal wedding does not suit me."

  Zhu watched her, the pride swelling in her chest so intensely it almost hurt. "You have grown," she whispered, the words barely audible over the wind.

  Yukari blinked, turning her head. "Huh? What? Did you say something, Mother?"

  Zhu shook her head, her face smoothing into a mask of serene calm. "No, nothing. Must have been the wind."

  "Hey! Yukari!"

  A familiar voice shouted from the courtyard below. They looked down to see Raito waving frantically, his tuxedo jacket already discarded and slung over one shoulder.

  "Let's go! Bob is calling us for something!" Raito yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth.

  "Coming!" Yukari shouted back. She turned to Zhu. "Duty calls."

  "Go," Zhu said with a firm nod.

  "Alright then. Later, Mother!" Yukari flashed her signature smirk, spun on her heel, the tails of her black-dress flaring behind her, and dashed off toward the stairs.

  Zhu stood alone on the balcony. The noise of the crowd seemed to fade into a dull hum. She looked up at the vast, cloudless blue sky, her eyes shimmering with unshed emotion.

  "Lei... Aster..." she whispered to the empty air, a tender smile gracing her lips. "Your daughter has become a fine woman."

  Raito and Yukari didn't have to go far to find the source of the summons. Near the grand archway leading to the outer courtyard, they came face to face with the trio of chaos: Bob, Tanvir, and King Ahmed.

  The three men were dressed in their own unique brands of formal wear. King Ahmed wore a sleek, midnight-blue tuxedo with gold lapels, Tanvir was in a sharp grey number that accentuated his scholarly hunch, and Bob... Bob was wearing a tuxedo the size of a small tent, black as pitch, with a bow tie that looked comically small against his broad neck.

  They looked dapper, undeniably. But they also looked more exhausted than any servant or guard in the castle. Their ties were slightly askew, sweat beaded on their foreheads, and their eyes held the haunted look of men who had seen too much silverware in too short a time.

  "Uh, Bob? Do you need us?" Raito asked, eyeing the tremor in the merchant's hand.

  Bob panted, leaning heavily against a marble pillar. "Yes... hold on... a moment." He wheezed, wiping his brow with a silk handkerchief. "Can you two help us? We don't know who else to ask for this."

  Yukari crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. "Uh, sure. We will obviously help you, Bob. But what is it for?"

  Bob, Tanvir, and King Ahmed exchanged a look. Slowly, with the synchronization of a practiced firing squad, they raised their hands and pointed toward the palace gates. Specifically, to a small, enclosed wooden booth sitting right next to the main entrance.

  A cold sense of dread washed over Raito and Yukari simultaneously. It hit their stomachs like a stone.

  Run.

  The thought screamed in both their minds at the exact same instant.

  They spun on their heels, ready to sprint back up the stairs, back to the balcony, maybe even jump off the wall—anything was better than that booth.

  But they were too slow.

  A massive hand clamped onto the back of Raito’s collar, and another snagged Yukari’s tailored jacket. Bob, moving with a speed that defied his bulk and exhaustion, held them fast.

  "Please," Bob whimpered, his voice cracking with desperation.

  Raito and Yukari looked at each other, then back at the pleading, watery eyes of the merchant king. They slumped in his grip, the fight draining out of them.

  "Fine," they groaned in unison.

  Fifteen minutes later, the glamour of the royal wedding felt a million miles away.

  Raito and Yukari sat squeezed inside the small wooden booth. It was stiflingly hot, smelling of dry pine and ink. Outside, the roar of the crowd was deafening, separated from them only by a thin panel of wood and a small service window.

  They were the wedding receptionists. The gatekeepers. The first line of defense.

  In most normal weddings, this job was a minor inconvenience—a smile, a checkmark, a wave. But this was the Royal Wedding of Kah-Kamun.

  On the desk in front of them sat a stack of guest lists that looked less like a registry and more like an ancient encyclopedia. It was thick, heavy, and daunting. The line outside stretched beyond the city gates, a river of humanity waiting to flow in. Their job was simple yet impossible: verify every identification, match it to the list, and ensure there were no assassins, crashers, or ex-lovers hiding daggers in their bouquets.

  Raito stared at the first page of the list, his eyes glazing over. "So... where do we start?"

  Yukari pulled a second, equally massive book from under the desk and let it drop with a heavy thud that shook their pencils. She exhaled, blowing a stray strand of hair out of her face.

  "Let's see," she deadpanned, flipping the cover open. "We obviously start with the letter 'A'. Which, judging by the thickness of this section, has more than a thousand people."

  Raito groaned, sliding down in his chair until his chin hit his chest. "We should be getting paid for this. Hazard pay. Emotional distress pay."

  "Agreed," Yukari muttered, dipping her quill into the inkwell with grim determination. "Next time, let's try to run faster."

  Outside, the first roar of the crowd surged closer, the palace gate swung open, the first name on the list called in.