Extra: Yandere Milfs Obsessed with me!-Chapter 180: Funeral at the Donoghan Duchy
*Donoghan Duchy*
About a week after the supposed assassination of Isabella, the sky over the duchy was dark.
Thick black clouds smothered the light, allowing only a pale and cold clarity to filter through. The wind rushed in brutal gusts, announcing persistent rain. Already, a few drops were splattering onto the slabs of the manor’s rear courtyard.
The courtyard, a paved space of stone. In its center, a wooden platform covered with a black cloth supported the coffin. It was closed, Isabella’s body being completely disfigured. Its surface was adorned with a silver plaque engraved with her name.
A few wreaths of lilies and white roses, placed on the lid and at the base, defied the grayness with their fragile glow. Their sweet, heady perfume clashed relentlessly with the smell of soaked earth and damp moss. Torches, planted in wrought-iron holders, crackled and hissed around the platform; their yellow flames, tugged by the wind, cast shifting and uncertain shadows over the assembly.
The attendees were divided into two distinct groups, separated by a silent space as much as by their rank. On one side, the family and nobility of the duchy; on the other, the guests who had come to offer condolences.
In the front row stood Dyana Donoghan. Wrapped in a black velvet dress with wide sleeves and a high collar tight around her neck, she seemed to shrink in on herself. A black lace veil, too light to hide her devastated face.
Her face was pale with red and circled eyes. She pressed a handkerchief to her mouth, stifling the sobs that, almost regularly, lifted her frail shoulders.
To her right, Randal Donoghan, her husband, faced the coffin with rigidity.
His features were drawn, his jaw clenched. His gaze, cold, did not leave the coffin, as if he were defying the reality it contained.
A little further back, their son Kris seemed foreign to the scene. Dressed in a black suit similar to his father’s, a heavy cape over his shoulders, he had a somewhat lost face. His vacant eyes fixed on a point in the void beyond the coffin. A lock of his hair at the root had turned white, a brutal contrast with the rest of his red hair.
His hands were wrapped in bandages, a sign of his days of training; one could see he had injured himself from relentless practice. They trembled slightly. He exuded a dark aura, with his distant gaze, giving the impression he was at the bottom of an abyss. The protagonist had received his power-up.
Facing them, slightly apart from the group of guests, Prince Adrian Dantalion observed the scene. His tall stature and short silver hair immediately distinguished him.
He wore a black doublet enhanced with discreet silver embroidery and a coat edged with velvet of the same tone. A thin gold chain shone faintly at his neck. His handsome face, with noble features, was strangely frozen, lips tightly pressed. His pale golden eyes were fixed on the coffin. His gaze did not leave the place where Isabella rested, as if he refused to believe in her death.
A few steps away, his elder brother, Prince Julius Dantalion, Isabella’s official fiancé, stood closer to the center of the platform. His silver hair was much longer than his younger brother’s. His attire was identical to Adrian’s, but with a far more imposing build after all he was the leader of the Paladins.
A silver ring adorned his finger, bearing the empire’s seal. Hands clasped behind his back, heterochromatic golden and silver eyes fixed on the coffin, his face with regular features was marked by a complex emotion.
They were present both as representatives of the Emperor and, officially, to pay a final tribute to Isabella.
On the side of the assembly stood the Paragon house, affiliated with the Donoghan. Count Paragon and Kaiser wore a fitted black doublet and a coat. His blue eyes swept over the gathering, his face displaying detached calm.
A priest in a black wool robe then stepped forward; with a slow gesture, he opened a book and began to chant the prayers for the deceased. His voice, deep and monotone, reached them in snatches, carried then muffled by the wind.
"May the eternal light of the Seraphs shine upon her..." he declared, the words partially lost in a new distant roll of thunder.
"I wonder what faces they’ll make when they discover the truth," Kaiser breathed, hands sunk in the pockets of his coat, watching the scene.
The rain then decided to fall, passing from scattered showers to a dense and cold downpour. The torches arranged in a circle crackled and hissed, their flames wavering under the assault but holding on. In the assembly, an almost collective movement occurred: the nobles raised their hoods or accepted the small black silk umbrellas that servants handed them. Only those closest to the coffin, the family, remained exposed.
Dyana did not move. Water streamed down her veil, mingling with the silent tears flowing down her cheeks. Her gaze did not leave the coffin, her lips forming inaudible words.
"My daughter..." she whispered, her voice broken by a sob she was holding back.
Beside her, one could feel the anger radiating from Randal. He undoubtedly wanted to tear apart those Pendragon dogs.
The priest continued. He spoke of eternal rest, divine peace, the mercy of heaven. His litany seemed to struggle against the unleashed elements, the rolls of thunder growing closer, more threatening. Kaiser, still in the same place, detached his gaze from the priest to rest it on the coffin. A small smile, fleeting and ambiguous, appeared at the corner of his lips, drowned by the rain streaming down his face.
"You are now free from all constraints, Isabella," he murmured to himself, before casting a furtive glance toward Prince Adrian. "I hope you are enjoying this freedom."
The ceremony continued like that, under the intensifying rain. The wreaths of lilies and white roses placed on the coffin became laden with water, their petals turning translucent and heavy before sadly sticking to the wood.
Finally, the priest closed his book with a definitive gesture and made the sign of the cross before bowing. That was the signal. Four servants seized the coffin’s handles, lifting it from its catafalque. The procession set off toward the family crypt, whose door opened in the granite wall of the manor.
Dyana took a step forward, instinctive, to follow the coffin carrying away her daughter. But her legs, stiff and cold, buckled. She staggered.
An arm reached out to hold her, but it was not a hand of comfort. Randal firmly grasped her elbow and held her in place. His gaze met hers, hard and imperious. 𝚏𝐫𝚎𝗲𝕨𝐞𝐛𝕟𝚘𝐯𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝗺
"Let them do it," he said in a low voice. The tone left no room for discussion. "It’s over now. You failed in your duty as a mother; no need to playact."
The bearers disappeared into the dark opening.
