[Sansir]
There was only one day left before the ceremony.
In the month of preparation and speculation that led up to it, an avalanche of troublesome matters had fallen squarely on my shoulders.
Ever since the western continent began to rise again, the world had started unraveling in strange, inconvenient ways.
Monster activity had tripled. Funding had become an absolute mess to manage, and I was practically bleeding resources trying to keep regional governors from panicking.
Between unexpected creature incursions, nobles begging for protection, and the high council's infuriating demands, I barely had time to sleep, let alone think.
Against my better judgment, I had also been forced to train His Majesty himself.
Why I agreed to that, I still have no idea. The boy's passion was admirable, but his patience was nonexistent.
Honestly, I was not sure if I was shaping a king or babysitting a sword hungry lunatic.
And as if all of that was not enough, I had somehow become the coordinator of the royal funeral for Nicole Anstalionah.
That event would take place tonight.
I had spent the last three nights arguing with soldiers, maids, and musicians about the structure of the procession.
But none of that mattered right now.
Right now, I was focused on one task alone: convincing this woman to listen to me.
She stood in the middle of the garden, wearing an outfit so sparse it made me question whether she had confused ceremonial rehearsal with some backroom cabaret.
A black bra and barely there undergarments clung to her, accented by chains and trinkets of gold and silver draped loosely around her waist.
Veronica.
Tan-skinned, long curly brown hair that danced with every spin, and deep blue eyes that gleamed like a storm bottled in glass.
Her body was hypnotic, every movement fluid and calculated, and yet utterly chaotic in spirit.
She moved like a flame teasing the wind, unpredictable, beautiful, and dangerous.
As her performance came to a close, I rose from the stone bench, brushing dust from my coat, and sighed.
"I told you, the ceremony requires more flair. It is meant to reflect grandeur, not whatever tavern performance this is supposed to be."
Her eyes snapped to mine, flashing with mischief and something darker. "And what would you know, soldier boy?"
I scoffed, folding my arms. "For your information, I used to be a dancer. That is why my swordsmanship surpasses most others."
"Balance, grace, control, it all comes from understanding motion, that is swordmanship," I said calmly.
She let out a laugh. "Yeah, yeah, soldier boy. Just tell me exactly what you want me to do."
I stepped forward and took both her wrists. "Like this," I said.
I began to move, guiding her through the rhythm I envisioned. Her body tensed at first, unsure, but then her instincts took over.
She followed me as we spun, feet gliding over the stone and grass, turning sharply on rhythm and then smoothly arching into flowing steps through the air.
By the time we stopped, her breath was ragged, her body shimmering with sweat as she collapsed to the ground.
"I cannot do that," she panted. "Not alone, at least."
I crossed my arms, staring down at her while she glared back up at me.
"Seems this 'soldier boy' has you beat."
She groaned. "Alright, fine. But you are going to have to join me."
I blinked. "Join you? I would not dare get caught up in whatever chaos you plan to unleash."
She grinned, rubbing her fingers together. "Did you forget?"
"Forget what?" I said, confused.
Rising to her feet like a predator preparing to pounce, she tugged her bra back into place and smirked.
"I am getting one hundred gold coins for this performance."
I raised an eyebrow, pretending to think. "Hmm. I will need thirty if you want my help."
She tilted her head. "I was going to offer half."
Before I could retort, her hand wrapped around mine, dragging me forward again.
"Alright then, soldier boy. Show me that dance once more."
I sighed. I was the one who started this, was I not?
Guess I might as well see it through.
Our feet moved again, spinning, gliding, bending, and rising with the silent rhythm of a song only we could hear.
Her grace became mine and mine hers, our movements blending into one.
It was hypnotic, exhausting, and strangely exhilarating.
We danced for hours, rehearsing, practicing, refining every motion. Discussing formations, gestures, patterns, and posture.
And somehow, I still made it to the ceremony on time.
I slowly buttoned up my suit as I made my way through the castle halls and out to the back courtyard.
There, His and Her Majesty, the Duke and Duchess, Novastia, and a host of other nobles had gathered.
The most important guest other than them had not come, Ouroboros, the keeper of the treasury.
All were dressed in black, white roses pinned to their lapels like silent symbols of mourning.
A black carpet stretched the length of the garden path, dusted faintly with petals and dew.
Lanterns hung in stillness along the hedges, their gentle flames casting long, flickering shadows.
At the far end of the courtyard stood her coffin.
Though it was empty, it rested in honor among the tombs of her ancestors.
The stone markers surrounding it bore the names of former kings and queens, and now hers joined them in solemn succession.
His Majesty stepped forward to the altar, a modest stone dais dressed with silks and crowned with silver candelabras.
He looked out across the silent crowd.
After a moment of stillness, now the subject of quiet debate, he began to speak.
"My sister was a selfish woman. Envious and prideful, cruel at times, and a little unhinged."
He glanced up at the darkened sky. The clouds held tight, veiling the sun as if mourning her with us. His voice softened as he continued.
"Yet despite all that, she was gentle. And when the moment called for it, kind."
He paused. The air felt heavy as if even the garden had stopped breathing.
"Those self righteous bastards took her from us. For that, I make a vow. Here, with all of you as my witnesses, they will be slaughtered."
His mana flared violently. A wave of heat and pressure rippled across the courtyard.
Gasps rose from the nobles, though a few stood quiet, clearly already aware of what he had planned.
"My growth, my evolution, my strength beyond weakness, it is her death that will guide me to a world beyond."
He drew his sword. The cloth that wrapped its hilt burned away as though consumed by his fury.
"This marks her death. And my true resurrection."
He turned around as the casket was carried slowly toward its resting place.
He watched as it was lowered into the earth, his expression unreadable.
Not even grief seemed allowed on his face. Only silence and resolve remained.
One by one, the nobles bowed their heads as the soil began to fall, a soft, steady rhythm that marked the closing of a chapter.
When the last handful of dirt was patted down, Her Majesty gently pulled him into her arms. He stood motionless, his gaze still locked on the fresh grave.
Her tombstone bore her name, her age, and the sigil of the royal line. No grand epitaph. No final words.
Only silence. Complete and total silence.
The sky gave no light, and the wind refused to move.
In that stillness, all that remained of the princess was memory. Not even a body remained to govern his grief.
Only absence. And resolve.
I remained at the edge of the crowd, palms slick with the aftertaste of the dance and the faint ache of too many sleepless nights.
Every obligation I had carried into this courtyard felt suddenly small and brittle beside the black, shaped hole at the center of it all.
The rehearsals, the budgets, the late-night arguments with marshall captains, the careful placings of flowers, the merciless lists of callers and petitions. They were paper in a storm.
Grief was not a tidy thing that fit the lines of his speech. It was ragged, unfair, and alive.
When the crowd began to disperse, voices low and tight, I watched him walk away from the grave as if a part of him had been left behind to rot beneath that fresh soil.
I wanted to follow. I wanted to stop him and tell him that killing their enemies would not stitch the missing places together.
I wanted to tell him that promises forged in blood only make new chains.
But I kept my hands to myself. I had a duty that did not include softening a king's resolve.
Instead I let a small, bitter sorrow settle in my chest, a sorrow that tasted like the coal dust from the lanterns and the iron tang of spilled tears.
The night swallowed the garden, and the silence that remained felt less like peace and more like punishment.