The Vampire King's Pet-Chapter 338: Identity Exposed

"I thought you would be at the—"

"Someone has to help you and stand behind you!" Aria said firmly.

She was dressed in a flowing white gown that shimmered softly in the morning light, stunning in the same way every other person attending the wedding was meant to be. White was compulsory for all guests. Red, bold and unmistakable, was reserved solely for the bride and her partner.

Rymora smiled faintly even as Aria took her hands, her grip warm and grounding, allowing her to lead her forward. Her heart pounded violently in her chest as they approached the gates. The sound of distant footsteps, murmurs, and the soft clatter of guards shifting positions echoed around them.

Even through her veil, Rymora easily spotted Gregory. He stood to the side, deliberately slouched, pretending to be nothing more than a passerby lingering too long. Her stomach tightened.

She entered the carriage first, lifting her gown carefully so it wouldn’t brush against the dust of the ground. Aria followed immediately after her, the carriage door closing with a dull thud that felt far too final.

"Drehk didn’t come home last night," Rymora said quietly.

Aria’s expression shifted instantly. She reached out and grabbed Rymora’s hands, holding them tightly between her own as the carriage lurched forward.

"I don’t think you should say a word," Aria whispered urgently. "...I’ve doubled the guards. Unless someone’s identity is confirmed, no one will be allowed into the main temple."

Her voice softened at the end, resolute yet reassuring. "I promise."

Relief washed over Rymora so suddenly she almost sagged into the seat.

That means... after the wedding, I can tell Drehk. Preferably with Aria there.

The thought lingered heavily.

Sending me away would be mercy, she thought grimly. Considering everything.

She clenched Aria’s hands harder than before, her knuckles whitening beneath the lace of her gloves, even as she silently prayed to every god she knew.

Please. Just this once. Let everything proceed like usual.

She hoped—desperately—that by some slim, impossible chance Gregory had not realized she was the one beneath the wedding veil.

The closer they drew to the temple, the more her tension eased, if only slightly. When the carriage finally came to a stop, she stepped down carefully, her movements measured. She did not look around. She kept her gaze lowered as she was ushered inside by one of the last two remaining messengers of the temple.

It wasn’t every day that a lord got married. In fact, it was something that had never happened in living memory. The lords preferred solitude, power, and distance—never marriage.

The temple had not been pleased by how late they were informed of the ceremony, but their irritation had quickly given way to excitement. Even now, they moved briskly, ushering Rymora forward with reverence while Aria followed closely behind.

Rymora’s worry for Liora—her missing sister—pressed heavily on her chest. The thought threatened to unravel her composure.

Not now, she told herself firmly. You can’t let it show.

Clearly, she had far more to worry about.

They entered through the massive temple doors, ignoring the citizens who had instantly gathered near the entrance the moment word spread that one of the lords was getting married. The floors near the doorway were already crowded with people craning their necks, whispering excitedly, their curiosity barely restrained.

Aria glanced at Rymora and found the scene amusing in a strange way. Rymora’s expression, however, remained carefully neutral, mostly hidden beneath the delicate veil that framed her face.

Rymora had barely taken a few steps inside when Aria beckoned one of the guards over. She leaned in and gave quiet but firm orders, ensuring that no one would be allowed entry without thorough vetting.

The temple hall was already filled.

It was magnificent.

Light filtered in through towering stained-glass windows, casting gold and crimson patterns across the polished floors. Flowers and banners adorned every pillar. The air smelled faintly of incense and fresh petals.

The messenger of the God of Light gestured for Rymora to follow her toward the altar.

Rymora didn’t dare look anywhere else.

Her focus locked immediately onto Lord Drehk.

He stood waiting at the altar, dressed in red from head to toe. The fabric of his attire was rich and perfectly tailored, clinging snugly to his broad frame with no sign that it had been prepared in haste. He looked every bit the lord he was—imposing, composed, and terrifyingly calm.

His red eyes were fixed on her.

She felt their weight with every step she took as she slowly ascended the stairs. The awareness of so many gazes burning into her skin was nearly overwhelming.

She risked a brief glance to the side and froze.

King Zyren was present.

It was clear he had gone out of his way to attend.

Aria moved to stand beside him, a soft smile on her face as she leaned in to whisper something into his ear. Zyren listened, then responded with a smile of his own.

Rymora couldn’t look any longer.

She hurried her steps and came to stand at the altar, her heart thumping painfully in her chest.

The female messenger of Light began to speak.

One of her arms was heavily bandaged, partially hidden beneath the flowing sleeves of her robe. In her hands, she held a small book, its pages worn with age. She opened it slowly, her gaze focused first on Lord Drehk.

"Do you, Drehk Cadders, vow to take Rymora Aden to be your shadow and your light, through endless nights and timeless dawns?" she asked.

"In every night, will you find her; in every eternity, will you choose her?"

Lord Drehk inclined his head slowly.

"I do," he said.

The messenger turned then toward Rymora.

Rymora balled her hands together beneath her gown to stop them from shaking. She couldn’t bring herself to meet Drehk’s gaze, which had remained fixed on her from the moment she reached the altar.

"Do you, Rymora Aden, vow to take Drehk Cadders to be your shadow and your light, through endless nights and timeless dawns?" the messenger asked.

"In every night, will you find him; in every eternity, will you choose him?"

Rymora nodded quickly.

"I do," she said.

Please let it be short, she thought. Just like they said.

It was public knowledge that the food festival afterward was the most important part of the ceremony.

The messenger closed the book in her hand and raised her voice, the words echoing through the silent hall.

"Then, with the authority given to me by the Lord of Light, I hereby—"

She never finished.

A sudden commotion erupted near the entrance. Several people burst into the hall, their movements frantic. They were poorly dressed, bloodied, and wounded. It was clear they had come as a group—and that most of them had not survived the journey.

They shouted at the top of their lungs, desperation etched into their faces.

"Stop the wedding! Stop the wedding!"

Gasps rippled through the hall.

"...That woman is a werewolf!" one of them screamed.

Shock surged through the temple like a violent wave as every gaze snapped to Rymora—still standing at the altar, still covered beneath her veil.