Chapter 35: A Night of New Traditions

A few days had passed since Seraphine learned she would soon become a mother, and thus far the pair had not breathed a single word of it.

Today brought the long-awaited day of the official betrothal. All the invited noblewomen from across Ardenia had arrived in Karsfeld, and the heir had been entertaining the guests over a shared breakfast since the crack of dawn, keeping little Rosalie close at her side.

Over the preceding days, Seraphine and Vivienne had refined the plan to frame Cordelia down to the finest detail. They were set to put it into action this very night.

The younger sister's sixteenth birthday fell in less than a month, so Vivienne intended to force an immediate wedding under the pretext of an accidental slip, if only to conceal the pregnancy from her strict mother, Countess Eleonora.

If all went smoothly, the only souls aware of the true parentage of the child would remain Seraphine and her stunning favorite.

The distinguished ladies of Ardenia had already completely forgotten the malicious rumors of old. In place of a sickly weakling, they beheld a dazzling, confident heir standing before them.

Seraphine wasted not a single moment - between pleasantries, she struck several splendid bargains for shipments of steel and textiles, filling the ancestral coffers. Adelgarde watched her firstborn with mounting pride, and it was clear that the moment of formally proclaiming her the official regent of Karsfeld lay just around the corner.

Over the course of the meal, Seraphine struck up a conversation with her betrothed's mother, the mighty Countess Margarethe von Rosenfeld:

"I assure you, my lady, that production is proceeding at full steam. We are erecting a second bank of furnaces and converters in the riverside manufactory. We will double our steel output at any moment."

Margarethe smiled with genuine approval. She eagerly purchased every single ton of the metal, as it utterly eclipsed anything offered by other armorers across the empire.

At one point, the Countess of Rosenheim lowered her voice, inquiring point-blank:

"And my little Rosalie? Does she attract you as a woman?"

Seraphine nearly twitched. The young lady sat right beside her, listening intently for the response.

The young betrothed had long fretted that Seraphine saw her merely as a little girl rather than a true partner.

"She is a delightful lady," the heir replied smoothly, weighing her words. "And with each passing year, her charms will blossom even more beautifully."

Margarethe nodded in satisfaction, but sharp-witted Rosalie caught the diplomatic evasion instantly, pouting her lips and muttering under her breath:

"Incorrigible Seraphine..."

The Countess chuckled heartily:

"And rightfully so! There must be a spark between two souls. I would never have wed my own wife had she looked like a mare!"

Seated beside the Countess, her wife - who was also Seraphine's aunt - shot her spouse a reproving yet amused look.

Aunt Wanda, a woman in her thirties with sapphire eyes and fair tresses from whom Rosalie had inherited her beauty, still cut an exceptionally alluring figure.

Around midday, Seraphine slipped away from the taxing parlor chatter for a moment to catch her breath.

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Come evening, the entire gathering relocated to the town square in the outer bailey, where tables groaning under the weight of roast meats, casks of ale, and flagons of wine had been arrayed. The spring air was crisp, and across the square stretched a massive, polished wooden dance floor illuminated by hundreds of candles.

Seraphine shed her earlier tunic and donned evening attire of velvet, which shamelessly accentuated her firm bosom, narrow taper of her waist, and shapely hips.

She stepped up to Rosalie, who was dressed just as elegantly, and extended her hand with a courtly bow:

"Will you grant me the honor of this dance, my lady?"

Taken aback, Rosalie flushed a deep crimson, but with a fluttering heart, she placed her hand in hers. As they stepped onto the dance floor beneath the inquisitive stares of dozens of noblewomen, the opening measures of a waltz swelled from behind the curtain, performed by the hired orchestra.

The young maiden initially stumbled over her steps, but Seraphine's strong, confident hands guided her across the smooth floorboards with remarkable grace. Beneath the gaze of the moon and a thousand flickering flames, they danced together as if stepped straight from a fairy tale.

The elder ladies initially huffed in scandalized indignation at this novel, sensual dance, but the younger noblewomen instantly yearned for the very same.

Before long, couples began crowding onto the platform, whirling to the traditional rhythms, while the townsfolk of Karsfeld shook their heads with fond smiles at yet another wild fancy conjured by their young mistress.

Following the dance, a radiant Rosalie sat beside her betrothed at the banquet table.

Cordelia Karsfeld immediately tried to ask Vivienne to dance, but the stunning noblewoman turned her away flatly, declaring with a haughty sneer that such prancing was childish and beneath her dignity.

The simple truth was that Vivienne craved nothing more than to writhe in Seraphine's embrace.

Seraphine decided the hour had come to spring the trap. She called for two heavy clay tankards of potent ale and set one down before her sister:

"Let us drink, Cordelia! A toast to my betrothal, and to the prosperity of our house!"

Cordelia narrowed her eyes suspiciously. She knew full well that her elder sister was aware of her schemes.

Whence this sudden warmth? She subtly checked whether the tankard harbored poison, before taking a generous swig.

The past few days under a constant barrage of rebukes from Countess Eleonora had left her nerves frayed - she eagerly welcomed the draught.

The tankards were drained in short order. Seraphine promptly ordered another round, remarking with a roguish smirk:

"How about a little wager, dear sister? Whichever of us collapses under the table first shall run naked around the castle courtyard come daybreak!"

Cordelia snorted disdainfully.

She remembered the Seraphine of old as a frail weakling who fainted after a single goblet of wine. She deemed this an exquisite opportunity to publicly humiliate the firstborn.

Little did she know that within Seraphine's frame dwelled the spirit of Evelyn, thoroughly seasoned in barracks carousals of the twenty-first century. Such a military constitution could take in liters of brew without losing composure.

The drinking duel commenced, and the tipsy ladies gathered around began cheering loudly. Seraphine drained each vessel with a stone-faced expression, while Cordelia began slurring her words and swaying in her seat by the sixth tankard.

Noting her glazed stare, the elder futa only egged her on to subsequent rounds. By the fifteenth tankard, Cordelia was literally sliding beneath the bench, slipping away from reality.

At that moment, Vivienne approached the table, remarking with feigned concern:

"Enough of this, my ladies. Let us call it a draw before you make spectacles of yourselves. The night grows late."

Cordelia mumbled something incoherent, nodding limply:

"Y-yes... draw..."

Seraphine chuckled softly:

"So be it, a draw. Escort her away; let her sleep off this great wisdom."

The heir rose to her feet without difficulty and escorted Rosalie, who was utterly enraptured by the evening, back to the castle. The rest she left in the hands of her trusted favorite.

Vivienne effortlessly hoisted her dead-drunk betrothed and hauled her to her bedchamber. There, she stripped Cordelia down to the skin, spilled a few drops of blood from a nicked finger onto the white sheet, shed her own gown, and settled in naked right beside the unconscious younger sister.

Come morning, Cordelia would face not only a murderous hangover and a total blank in her memory, but also raw panic at the thought that she had unwittingly taken a maiden of noble blood.

And within the Duchy of Ardenia, two new traditions were born this night - lavish betrothals and sensual ballroom dancing.