A massive grand hall stretched beneath glittering chandeliers, it's marble floor reflecting the brilliance of countless lights. The imperial gala was in motion, attended by more than a thousand noblemen and ladies. Royal musicians filled the air with stately harmony, while pages and liveried servants drifted gracefully through the throng, offering goblets of wine and trays of delicacies. The guests glittered in silks and jewels, every fold and sparkle testifying to their wealth and rank. Yet, for all it's magnificence, the gala carried a heaviness; conversation lingered without spirit, laughter felt rehearsed, and the event seemed weighed down by the sheer solemnity of royalty itself.
Guests streamed into the hall through the wide front archway, their voices and footsteps mingling with the soft strains of music. Grace, with the others, descended the sweeping grand staircase, drawing the eyes of everyone in the room. Yet her thoughts drifted back to the hallway they had just crossed, a single— fleeting moment when she had felt someone's gaze on them. The feeling had vanished as quickly as it came, but it left her both curious and uneasy, unsure whether someone had truly been there watching or if it had merely been a trick of her imagination.
As Grace descended the grand stairway, many young man in the hall couldn't tear their eyes away from her. Thoughts of asking her to dance flickered across their minds— bold moves imagined in the thrill of the gala— but hesitation held most of them back. Only one gathered the courage to step forward, taking careful, measured steps toward her.
Before he could reach her or even extend a hand, Ray, walking just two steps behind Grace, moved swiftly. In a fluid motion, he took her left hand, while Rui already held her right. Grace lost in her own thoughts, snapped back to reality as Ray's hand touched hers. She looked at him, a soft, grateful smile curving her lips, before turning her gaze forward again. The young man froze mid-step, realization dawning instantly. He glanced at Ray searching for an explanation, but Ray's eyes were deliberately turned elsewhere, calm and unfazed, as if he had no idea what just happened.
A flush of defeat rose in the young man's cheeks. Without a word, he stepped back, accepting the unspoken claim. The crowd around them remained oblivious to the silent contest that had just played out, their eyes still drawn to Grace poised figure as she continued her descent, perfectly unaware— or perhaps perfectly aware— of the quiet tension surrounding her.
Grace guided Rui and Ray down the steps, their little hands clasping hers tightly as though they feared being swept away by the sea of unfamiliar faces. At the foot of the staircase they came to a halt before the governors, who stood in a neat cluster, waiting with patient formality.
While Grace and Welfred fell into serious discussion with them— speaking of matters like trade, security and court decrees— Ray and Rui lingered quietly at her side. Their restless fingers and shifting gazes betrayed how little the conversation belonged to their world; it was the language of power and governance, far removed from the simple curiosities of childhood.
Noticing their quiet fidgeting, Grace turned her gaze down at them with a soft smile, though concerned tinged her voice. She leaned slightly toward Welfred and asked if he might escort the children outside for a walk, to spare them the heaviness of the hall. At first both Rui and Ray shook their heads, unwilling to part from her side. Yet as the talk of taxes and council measures stretched on, the press of the solemn atmosphere seemed to weigh upon them, and at last, they relented, agreeing to go with Welfred to breathe freer air.
While Grace was conversing with the assembled governors, two men stepped forward— both bearing the unmistakable air of sovereigns in their own right, rulers of lands beyond Elenor's borders. Their interruption was as deliberate as it was insolent.
"Miss Grace," one of them spoke, his voice carrying the polished weight of authority, "Where is your crown?"
He left the question hang for a moment before adding, with a faint curl of amusement at the corner of his lips, "Was it too heavy to carry?"
The words themselves were simple, almost courteous, but his eyes betrayed the venom beneath. He was not inquiring about the crown of gold and jewels; he was questioning her right to wear it. His gaze suggested a far sharper meaning— that Grace, having so recently ascended, might already be faltering. That she was too young, too inexperienced, too untried to bear the weight of a throne.
The other man beside him did not speak, but the knowing smile that played across his face echoed the same sentiment. To them, her missing crown was not an ornament absent, but a symbol of weakness.
Grace felt the room tighten around her, every governor, courtier, and attendant silently waiting to see how she would answer— whether she would let the barb wound her pride, or whether she would rise above their challenge.
Grace turned toward the man, her lips curving into a soft, unshaken smile.
"I do not need a crown to prove I am queen," she replied, her voice calm yet edged with quiet authority.
The two men froze, their mockery caught in their throats. What silenced them was not her answer alone, but the sharp, regal gaze that followed— cold, steady, and commanding. It was enough to remind them of her authority, enough to send a shiver down their spines.
Seeing the heavy atmosphere, they forced polite smiles, murmured a few flattering words, and slipped away as quickly as pride allowed.
Grace said nothing more. Her silence was victory enough.
As Grace turned back to resume her conversation with the governors, a fragrance drifted toward her— sweet, rich, and so enticing she found herself unable to ignore it. She turned and saw a goblet resting on a golden tray, the liquid within glinting like ripened fruit beneath the soft lamplight. Believing it to be some manner of juice, she lifted the glass and touched it to her lips.
The taste was exquisite, cool and refreshing, sweeter than expected. One sip became another, and soon she was drinking in slow, savoring gulps until the goblet was nearly empty.
Her eyes flicked briefly toward the attendant who had served it, a tall woman already moving away with the tray balanced gracefully in her hands. Grace realized she had never seen her face clearly— her focus had been on the drink itself, not the server.
Even so her gaze lingered. The women towered above most in the hall, and for a moment Grace found herself half-amused, half-curious. "I thought I was tall, she mused, but she looks as though she brushes the very ceiling." A small pause, then another thought crossed her mind: "And who is she? I don't recall seeing her before. A new recruit perhaps? Someone Welfred or the the other have taken on?"
Before the thought could finish forming, a sudden commotion broke out across the hall, pulling Grace's attention sharply away.
She passed the goblet into the waiting hands of an attendant and turned toward the commotion echoing from across the hall. The sharp rise of a man's voice cut through the chatter of the gathering, rough and unrestrained. She needed no glance to know who it belonged to; the timbre alone was unmistakable. The realization made her wince, a faint crease marking her brow as she braced herself for what to come.