the Villainess they took for granted

Chapter 158: Chapter 158: Wedding Plans III

Marian looked back at the page.

The date.

The venue.

The beginning of their wedding plans.

Then she froze.

Her eyes moved slowly from one line to the next.

First Saturday of October.

Capital Cathedral.

She looked toward the calendar.

Then back at the page.

"Oh."

Cassian glanced at her.

"What?"

"It’s less than three months."

He smiled.

"I know."

"No."

She sat straighter.

"Less than three months."

"Yes."

"Cassian."

"I heard you the first time."

She stared at him.

"We have to plan everything."

"We do."

"The invitations."

"Yes."

"The guest list."

"Yes."

"The dress."

"Yes."

"The flowers."

"Yes."

"The ceremony."

"Yes."

"The reception."

"Yes."

"The musicians."

"Yes."

"The food."

"Yes."

"The decorations."

"Yes."

She looked at him.

"And you’re sitting there smiling."

"I like seeing you excited."

"I’m not excited."

"You are."

"I’m panicking."

He laughed softly.

Marian gave him an offended look.

"This is serious."

"I know."

"You don’t understand."

"I probably don’t."

She gestured toward the page.

"I was supposed to become Crown Princess."

"I remember."

"I was trained for this."

"I remember that too."

"Which means I know exactly how much work this is."

Cassian smiled.

"Then why are you surprised?"

"Because I forgot."

"You forgot that weddings require planning?"

"I forgot that our wedding was going to be a wedding."

He laughed.

She narrowed her eyes.

"Don’t laugh."

"I’m sorry."

"You aren’t."

"Not particularly."

Marian sighed.

Then looked back at the paper.

The panic slowly settled into something more manageable.

She had done this before.

Not personally.

Not for herself.

But she had sat through lessons on court protocol.

She had attended royal functions.

She had watched wedding preparations.

She had been taught how invitations were ranked, how seating was arranged, which houses received formal invitations first, which dignitaries required personal correspondence, how the imperial family was addressed, how the cathedral was prepared, how the reception was organized.

She knew this.

She simply hadn’t expected to need the knowledge so soon.

Marian straightened.

"Fine."

Cassian smiled.

"Fine?"

"We’ll do it."

She pulled a fresh sheet of paper toward herself.

"Guest list."

Cassian leaned closer.

"How many?"

Marian stared at the blank page.

"That’s what we’re going to determine."

She began writing categories.

Imperial Family.

House Valmont.

House Ashford.

Court.

Nobility.

Vassals.

Friends.

She stopped.

Then added:

Foreign dignitaries.

Cassian raised an eyebrow.

"Foreign guests?"

"If they’re in the capital."

"Fair."

Marian began counting beneath each heading.

The imperial family alone.

Then her father’s immediate household.

Then the Ashford household.

Then the senior members of court.

Then the great noble houses.

Then the lesser houses who held direct allegiance to Valmont or Ashford.

Then their vassals.

Then the families of those vassals.

The numbers climbed quickly.

Marian frowned.

"That’s already six hundred."

Cassian looked over her shoulder.

"That’s not bad."

"That’s without the lesser nobility."

"Ah."

"Don’t say it like that."

He smiled.

She continued.

Another hundred.

Then another.

She stopped.

"Eight hundred."

Cassian nodded.

"Continue."

"You’re enjoying this."

"Very much."

She continued counting.

By the time she reached the end of the principal noble families, the number had passed a thousand.

Marian stared at it.

"One thousand three hundred."

Cassian looked impressed.

"That’s a respectable beginning."

"Beginning?"

He smiled.

She glared at him.

"Don’t."

"Don’t what?"

"Say everyone again."

"Everyone."

"Cassian."

He laughed.

She returned to the list.

There were the vassals.

Their families.

The military commanders who held rank appropriate to the occasion.

Senior officials.

Foreign representatives.

Old family connections.

People who would be insulted if excluded.

People who would create gossip if excluded.

People who probably didn’t even want to attend but would nevertheless expect an invitation.

The number climbed.

One thousand five hundred.

One thousand seven hundred.

Then—

"Two thousand."

Marian put the pen down.

Silence.

Cassian looked at the page.

"Two thousand."

She stared at him.

"That’s the ceremony."

"Yes."

"Two thousand people."

"Approximately."

"That’s enormous."

"It is."

Marian leaned back.

Then slowly covered her face with one hand.

Cassian laughed.

"You’re panicking again."

"I’m calculating."

"Those are very different things."

"Not when I’m the one paying attention to the logistics."

He smiled.

"You don’t have to handle everything yourself."

"I know."

She lowered her hand.

"But someone has to."

"We’ll have staff."

"Of course."

"Planners."

"Of course."

"Household officials."

"Of course."

"Secretaries."

"Of course."

Cassian smiled.

"You’re not personally arranging two thousand chairs."

Marian looked at him.

"I know that."

"Good."

"But someone has to tell them where to put the chairs."

"Someone will."

"And someone has to organize the reception."

"Yes."

She looked at the page again.

"The reception."

Cassian nodded.

Marian’s expression changed.

"Oh no."

"What?"

"The reception."

He laughed.

"That’s what you’re worried about?"

"Do you know how many people two thousand guests are?"

"Approximately two thousand?"

She gave him a look.

"You are enjoying this far too much."

"Perhaps."

She picked up the pen again.

"The ceremony can be open."

"Yes."

"People can attend the cathedral without being invited to the reception."

"Exactly."

"Then we need a smaller number."

Cassian nodded.

"How much smaller?"

Marian stared at the page.

She began calculating again.

Family.

Close friends.

Senior nobility.

Important vassals.

Court.

Imperial household.

People whose presence was politically necessary.

People whose absence would be considered an insult.

She wrote another number.

Then frowned.

"Eight hundred."

Cassian considered it.

"That’s reasonable."

"Eight hundred people."

"Yes."

"At the reception."

"Yes."

Marian looked at him.

"You call that reasonable?"

"We’re having a grand wedding."

She sighed.

"Of course we are."

He smiled.

She looked back at the page.

Two thousand at the cathedral.

Eight hundred at the reception.

And suddenly the sheer scale of what they were planning became real.

This wasn’t merely a wedding.

It was going to be an event the capital remembered.

Perhaps the entire Empire would remember it.

Marian stared at the numbers.

Then slowly smiled.

Because despite the headache—

despite the calculations—

despite the impossible amount of work waiting for them—

she wanted it.

She wanted the cathedral filled.

She wanted her family there.

She wanted Cassian’s family there.

She wanted the people she had known since childhood to see her marry him.

And, perhaps most of all, she wanted to see him waiting for her at the end of that aisle.

Marian looked at Cassian.

He was already looking at her.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You keep saying that."

He smiled.

"I was just thinking."

"About?"

"That this is going to be quite a wedding."

Marian laughed.

"Quite?"

"Very."

She leaned closer.

"You’re not frightened by the number?"

"No."

"Why?"

Cassian took her hand.

"Because when I imagine it, I don’t see two thousand people."

"What do you see?"

"You."

Marian’s expression softened.

"Walking toward me."

He smiled.

"That’s all."

For a moment, she forgot the guest list.

Forgot the numbers.

Forgot the invitations waiting to be designed.

Then she looked down again.

"Fine."

Cassian smiled.

"Fine?"

"We’ll have our two thousand."

"And eight hundred."

She pointed the pen at him.

"Don’t make me regret this."

"Never."

She returned to the list.

The Crown Princess training had not prepared her for everything.

But it had prepared her for this.

For the scale.

The protocol.

The endless details.

The impossible number of names.

And, perhaps most importantly—

for smiling through all of it.

Marian drew a line beneath the final number.

Ceremony: approximately 2,000.

Reception: approximately 800.

Then she looked at the mountain of work ahead.

"Next."

Cassian leaned closer.

"Invitations?"

Marian nodded.

"Invitations."

-tbc

AN: for a wedding at their level, 2,000–3,000 people at the ceremony is plausible for the story, while the reception can be substantially smaller, perhaps around 600–1,000 guests depending on how grand we want it.

Since the opening reception of the Season already draws hundreds of the Empire’s elite, their wedding—between two dukes, one being the Emperor’s nephew—can reasonably become one of the largest social events of the year.

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