Aya Ran Away - Chapter 35

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 35
* * *
All the ceremonies surrounding the coronation of the new king had concluded.
Now Nahal had become undisputed master of Levar.
Of course, there were still those who refused to accept him.
They resented the fact that he hailed from the North.
But there was no turning back now.
The truth that Nahal had become king was something even Nahal himself could not overturn.
What remained was merely the ceremonial wedding.
The wedding was scheduled for the morning after the coronation.
Nahal, still not having properly changed out of his royal vestments, sat in the chamber the Temple had prepared for him and attended to the accumulated affairs of state.
On the same floor as Nahal, Aya greeted the morning of a day that had seemed it would never arrive.
The fortunate thing was that unlike yesterday, she had managed to snatch some sleep today.
Had she gone two nights without rest, she surely would have collapsed under the weight of tension and exhaustion.
“It won’t be so difficult.”
Yesilli, who had appeared beside the trembling Aya, spoke softly.
As she gently combed Aya’s hair, she assured her that during the ceremony she need only stand still, exchange cups with Nahal, and merely touch her lips to the rim—nothing more was required.
But the words offered no comfort.
That was precisely the problem.
Aya struggled to stand still on her damaged leg, her half-severed tongue made even the act of bringing something to her lips a burden, and she had no confidence in revealing her face openly beside Nahal without concealment.
Seized by an ominous certainty that she would somehow ruin everything, Aya surrendered herself to the attendants’ hands—bathing, being adorned with cosmetics, her lips colored.
Fine malachite dust was applied to the corners of her eyes, and her cheeks were gently touched with soft ochre.
After donning a long white gown embroidered with elaborate ornaments and stitching, a thin, flowing Veil was draped over her head.
Beneath the Veil that fell across her face, Aya released a breath.
Yet even this comfort felt hollow and fleeting.
All preparations were complete, and only the waiting remained.
When the priest called her name, she would stand before Nahal, speak her vows, and become his in the sight of all.
At last, the priest knocked upon Aya’s chamber door.
Knock-knock—
“My lady.”
At the sound of her name, Aya rose from her seat with assistance.
Her vision through the Veil was slightly dim.
The silk obscured her eyes, and the outlines of things seemed to come into focus slowly, with delay.
With Yesilli’s support, Aya stepped into the corridor.
The door to the Great Hall opened soundlessly.
It was not yet time to enter, so Aya stood at the threshold and waited quietly.
She drew in and released small, trembling breaths.
Whispered murmurs from the assembled crowd and the soft chanting of priests drifted toward her.
Aya carefully traced the path she had already rehearsed once before, checking ahead for anything that might catch her foot or cause her to stumble.
As her eyes traced the route, a golden cup came into view.
A chalice resting upon a small table.
Soon she and Nahal would share the covenant of marriage and touch their lips to its rim.
But above it, something seemed to shimmer and drift.
‘What?’
At first, she thought the Veil was deceiving her eyes.
Aya blinked several times.
Her blurred vision seemed to clear slightly, and the objects before her grew more distinct.
Yet even so, that thing above the cup did not disappear.
Rather, it grew ever more vividly present, undulating slowly.
Aya’s eyes trembled violently.
‘Mist.’
Her mind went cold.
Goosebumps rose from her nape and cascaded down her spine.
Aya knew what this was.
She had seen it once before, by the Pond Side when she first met Nahal.
That faint, shapeless form that emanated an uncanny, malevolent presence.
The moment it touched her skin, imagined pain had become real suffering.
She remembered the horrific agony she had endured when it made contact with her then.
But why.
Why in all the world was it hovering above the cup.
In the Temple, of all places—a chalice meant for the ceremony itself.
The cup Nahal would drink from.
“Your Highness?”
Yesilli called to her softly.
Aya turned to Yesilli and raised her hand, pointing at the chalice.
Her fingertips trembled visibly.
Right now.
Someone had to remove that cup immediately.
A trap.
It was unmistakably a trap.
She couldn’t know who had set it.
It could be the Deposed King’s faction, or nobles unwilling to accept Nahal, or perhaps even the Temple itself acting in secret—or it might simply be something that had happened by chance, as it had in the palace.
But at this moment, the identity of whoever had done this didn’t matter.
What mattered was that the chalice would soon be offered to Nahal.
Aya pointed at the cup again.
More urgently this time, more emphatically, willing Yesilli to understand.
Please—swap it out.
She gestured harder, more desperately.
“This way, if you please.”
The priest approached and took her hand from Yesilli’s grasp.
Aya shook her head.
No.
This wouldn’t do.
She turned her head, searching for the Walking Staff.
But it was nowhere to be seen.
They’d left it in the chamber before the ceremony—the bride couldn’t lean on a staff while walking to the altar, they’d said.
The moment that memory surfaced, her stomach twisted with dread.
Ah.
If only she could speak.
If she could, removing that cup would be simple.
Just one word.
If she could only say: take that cup away.
Aya lifted her Veil.
The attendant beside her gasped, her breath catching.
“Madam!”
Someone rushed to lower the Veil again.
Aya pushed the hand away.
And turned toward Yesilli, opening her mouth.
“……!”
As she tried to raise her voice, a tearing sound escaped from deep in her throat.
Yesilli hesitated.
On any other day, she would have understood.
She was the one person who could always read Aya’s intentions better than Aya herself could express them.
But not today.
Her eyes blinked with confusion, searching Aya’s face for meaning.
Her bewilderment seemed complete—she grasped nothing of the context.
The priest holding her arm looked deeply flustered.
“Madam, you must compose yourself.”
Compose myself?
At his words, she snapped her head around—and found herself meeting the gaze of hundreds of eyes beyond the open doors, all turned toward her.
The eyes poured in like a flood.
It was her turn to walk into the hall.
* * *
The Great Hall where Nahal’s Coronation had been held now served as the wedding venue.
Bardal, surveying the hall adorned with flowers and silk ribbons, exhaled heavily.
“I do hope this ends early.”
Lebanan, who knew the Temple rites well, shook his head beside him.
“There will be the presiding priest’s blessing.”
Ah.
Bardal groaned and pressed his forehead in his palm.
Ordinarily, there would be no need for a ceremony of such grandeur.
Royal Concubines were traditionally admitted to the palace after only a simple rite.
But as the Coronation proceedings were drastically curtailed, the Temple petitioned to conduct at least the Wedding Ceremony according to their own customs.
Nahal did not refuse their request.
Enduring a wedding was preferable to being dragged through ten days of elaborate ritual.
When the ceremony began, Nahal—dressed in abbreviated formal wedding attire—entered the hall first.
One of the high priests spoke words of blessing over him.
“May the Divine watch over the days ahead of Levar, may light accompany each step of the new king, may unshakeable authority rest in his seat, may justice temper his words, and may the bonds he forms bring peace to the realm…….”
The blessing, which he’d expected to be brief, showed no sign of ending.
Sitting beside Bardal, Lebanan found himself thinking of the Deposed King’s daughters—whom he’d seen only from behind the previous day.
This was not a Queen Consort being received, and the ceremony itself was nothing more than a formality to appease the Temple.
And yet, watching his lord in this state of affairs stirred something peculiar in him.
‘There are so many better matches to be had.’

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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