The Villianess story: A 100 ways to kill your husband Chapter 4: Be a true Villainess

Abrielle found herself in a perplexing predicament, wondering how she had arrived at this dire juncture. Not only had she failed to become the heroine, but she was cast as the villainess instead. She wished she could have bestowed a less tragic conclusion upon the villainess character.

The thunder had forsaken her, and she was now encircled by the regal guards. She couldn't fathom why the royal guards had been alerted to her attempted escape. As far as she recalled, the prince was scheduled to arrive closer to evening. In Darconia, weddings traditionally commence at night.

The horses formed a circle around her, obstructing any possible escape route. "We have no intention of causing you harm, Lady Abrielle," one of the royal guards stated, "but should the need arise, we may be compelled to employ force." Abrielle's escape had been in vain, and her back now throbbed from her fall.

It was a truly dreadful day; despite her profound reluctance to comply, she found herself with no alternative. There was absolutely no way she could evade their grasp, though she did possess a secret known only to Abrielle, a trump card she intended to reserve for a more opportune moment.

Her hands, fisted at her sides, betrayed her internal turmoil. Yet, despite her mounting frustration, Abrielle's resolve remained unshaken. She was determined to alter her destiny and navigate through this treacherous plot. After all, she was its architect, or so she had believed.

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Upon her return to the Nightshade mansion, Abrielle was escorted to her chambers, where, as expected, she was confined, her every movement under strict surveillance until the wedding ceremony.

"What on earth were you thinking, Elle? Do you have any idea the trouble your little scheme could have caused your father and me?" The severe voice belonged to Duchess Rebecca Nightshade, Abrielle's mother and the esteemed wife of Duke Pierre Nightshade of the Nightshade duchy.

The Nightshade duchy wielded significant political power within Darconia, and the Duke himself held the prestigious title of Holy Lord. For countless generations, their family had been the custodians of the most potent holy power, a form of magic aligned with purity.

Numerous high pontiffs had emerged from the Nightshade lineage. The current high pontiff, who presided over the sacred Temple of the Moon Goddess Nyxoria, was a testament to this legacy. The two paramount symbols of Darconia were its holy power, derived from the goddess Nyxoria, and the formidable strength inherited from the dragons.

Legend had it that the royal family traced its ancestry back to the great dragons, while the Nightshade family's origins were blessed by the Moon Goddess herself.

"I am truly sorry, Mother," Abrielle responded, unable to meet her mother's piercing gaze. She fully understood the gravity of her actions and the potential legal repercussions. Explaining her sudden aversion to marrying a man she was once infatuated with, solely because she possessed uncanny knowledge of future events, was simply impossible.

"'Sorry' is insufficient; you must reflect upon your actions for the sake of the goddess. You are well over twenty years of age and long overdue for marriage. Many women your age were wedded much sooner, but due to your insistence on marrying Prince Cedric, your father and I spared no effort. Then, you inexplicably underwent a complete change of heart one day." Each word spoken by Rebecca struck Abrielle's heart like a volley of arrows.

She had been reckless, and her carelessness had nearly endangered her entire family. She found herself unable to offer any rebuttal to Rebecca's words, for they were undeniably true. "I vow not to engage in such behavior again," Abrielle declared with newfound firmness. Rebecca let out a dismissive huff, having conveyed all she deemed necessary.

"Fortunately, the prince did not take the matter with excessive seriousness, and you will not face a trial," Rebecca added, leaving Abrielle astonished that he had overlooked her transgression. When had the notoriously cold-hearted first prince ever displayed such leniency?

After delivering a lengthy and scathing lecture, Rebecca departed, leaving Abrielle to prepare for the wedding ceremony scheduled to take place at the temple as dusk settled.

Dorothy, Abrielle's dedicated handmaid, along with a retinue of other attendants, commenced the preparations, beginning with an extended bathing ritual. Many hours of meticulous work seemed to melt away, and finally, Abrielle was declared ready.

The gown was a restrictive white corset dress that felt somewhat suffocating, yet its beauty was undeniable and perfectly suited for the occasion. Abrielle's primary concern with the attire was its excessive layering, a common fashion trend of that particular era.

Abrielle's makeup was applied with delicate precision, artfully concealing the bruises and cuts sustained during her morning's escape attempt.

Her auburn hair was styled with exquisite care, and she held a bouquet of pristine white roses. Gazing at her reflection, Abrielle no longer resembled a malevolent villain but a breathtakingly beautiful bride. Everything appeared flawless, save for the profound reluctance in her heart towards this impending union.

"You look absolutely stunning, my lady," the head maid, Rukia, offered in praise, while the other attendants simply gazed at Abrielle in admiration. "Thank you," she replied, the words lacking genuine warmth, despite the compliment.

"The Duke and Duchess have already arrived at the temple and are awaiting your presence. The carriage is also prepared for your journey," the head maid informed her. Abrielle cast one final look at her reflection, finding it hard to believe her own beauty, before departing the room.

The attending maids meticulously arranged the voluminous folds of her gown as she proceeded towards the waiting white carriage. Boarding the carriage, she stole a lingering glance back at the Nightshade mansion. This impending marriage, she knew, would mark the commencement of her personal hell.

With a tug on the reins, the coachman urged the horses forward, and the carriage began its steady progress toward the temple. The journey was somewhat jarring due to the uneven road, but in under an hour, she reached Crescentia, the grandest temple in all of Darconia, presided over by the High Pope himself, Malakai Nightshade – Abrielle's very own uncle.

The moon had ascended, casting its gentle luminescence upon the land. Abrielle alighted from the carriage and proceeded, bathed in its soft light, towards the main entrance. The grand doors swung open instantly, drawing every eye towards the figure of a lady shrouded in a white veil, a bouquet of white roses clutched in her hand.

Melodious music began to play as she commenced her procession. The aisle ahead was remarkably long, carpeted with white petals that led to an altar situated within a serene water pool. Such a setup was not the temple's usual appearance; however, the marriage ceremony mandates required the bride to traverse the path of petals, a significant tradition in Darconian customs.

As per tradition, Abrielle was barefoot, her steps feather-light upon the soft petals, which felt akin to treading on clouds. Her expansive gown trailed behind her, rustling through the scattered flower petals.

Though her movements were elegant and controlled, a heavy weight settled in her heart; she desperately wished to evade this moment, yet found herself utterly without choice. Her gaze drifted forward, spotting her groom clad in impeccably matching white attire. A mask concealed his features, but she was certain, without a shadow of a doubt, that he possessed a handsome countenance.

Cedric stood poised at the water's edge, patiently awaiting his bride. Abrielle was not the sole individual harboring reservations about this union; he too, it seemed, required the accrual of support.

For reasons she couldn't quite fathom, Cedric felt strangely familiar to her. This was peculiar, as she was quite certain that even in recollections of the past, Abrielle had scarce encounters with the first prince, who was perpetually engaged in distant wars.

Her heart thumped erratically; the nearer she drew, the clearer his features became. Only a few steps separated her from the front when she finally discerned the countenance behind the mask with absolute clarity, her eyes meeting his.

They were a striking shade of gold. Abrielle exerted every effort to suppress her reaction as the realization gradually settled in: the enigmatic stranger she had encountered was none other than the prince himself.

Upon reaching Cedric's side, she extended her hand, which he gracefully accepted. Turning, they prepared to step into the water together.

As they took their first symbolic stride into the pool, Cedric's voice, a low whisper against her ear, broke the silence. "I suppose your horse wasn't swift enough; do you recall my warning about the consequences of being apprehended? I trust you are prepared to face the repercussions of your actions."

His words, though uttered softly, reached her clearly. A sharp pang of dread coursed through her, knowing Cedric was never one to issue idle threats. In that very instant, Abrielle's resolve solidified: if escape through flight was impossible, she would personally put an end to the first prince.

She had transmigrated into the role of a villainess. It was time to demonstrate what a true villainess was capable of.