"I'm sooo full… now I feel sleepy," Rui mumbled, swaying as she clung to Ray's arm like a sleepy koala.
Ray tightened his grip so she wouldn't topple over, though it looked more like he was trying to stop a toddler from face-planting.
"Just stay up a little longer," he said. "We'll go to bed soon enough."
"Huh? What was that?" Ruiasked,eyeshalf-shut,pretendingnottohear.
"I know you heard me," Ray snapped, glaring. "Quit pretending!"
"I'm not pretending," Rui said with a sleepy grin. "I'm just ignoring you."
That earned a barely stifled laugh from the guards, one of whom had to cough into his fist to keep it in.
Meanwhile, Grace remained blissfully unaware of the miniature hurricane of sibling chaos swirling right behind her— far too engrossed in her conversation with Welfred to notice Ray desperately wrestling with the patience of a saint as his drowsy little sister tried her best to melt straight into the floor.
.
.
She was going over the duties that remained: seeing the nobles off and ensuring each of them returned safely to their estates.
In Elenor, law and order were always upheld with utmost strictness. Crime was rare, and the streets remained safe even at night. The capital— home to the Elenharts— was considered the safest place in the realm. Still, during grand occasions like this, security within and around the palace was doubled to prevent any mishaps.
"By the way, where's Uncle Dasmon?I haven't seen him since dinner," Grace asked.
"No clue, Madam," Welfred replied.
Grace's gaze shifted sideways, her expression sharpening with quiet focus. "(I never really cared where he went, who he met, or what he did), she thought. (He's always been that way since I was a child. And I understood— he had his own kingdom to run.)"
She let out a soft sigh. "(Even so, he always made time for us. He used to visit twice, sometimes even thrice a week. When I was younger, he helped with palace matters too. He's always had more experience in ruling, being a king himself.)"
Her thoughts drifted further. "(But lately, he's been more on edge. Especially since last year, when Welfred became the second minister— or really, the first. I did that so he would have less to worry about. Managing two kingdoms is no small task. And besides, Welfred deserved the role.)"
"(But I think he took it the wrong way. He pretends it doesn't bother him, but knowing his pride— and his position as a king— I doubt that's true. He visits less often now… once every two weeks, sometimes even just once a month.)"
She glanced down the hallway, her expression darkening. "(Even tonight— during the grand dinner— he walked out halfway through.)"
.
.
.
"You're done?" Grace asked.
"Yeah," Dasmon replied.
"But all you had were a few side dishes and a couple cups of stout tea."
{ Stout tea was a strong black brew, popular among the higher-ups for its bold flavor and for keeping people awake during long nights or late travels. }
"I don't have much of an appetite."
Grace's eyebrows knitted together. "Are you sure? You told me you traveled eight hours straight to reach the capital. You're really not hungry?"
"It's all right. I'm used to it."
Grace's gaze drifted to Dasmon. (He isn't wrong), she thought. (Even back when he visited more often, he would skip meals, eat barely anything… always busy, always rushing... But he never left midway through a family dinner. Not once).
Her eyes dropped to her plate. She turned a piece of food on her fork, her lips tightening into a small, disappointed grimace. The fork hovered, uneaten.
"Fine," she said quietly, the displeasure unmistakable. "Suit yourself."
Dasmon paused. For a heartbeat his face was unreadable— blank, distant, as though he were already somewhere else. Then he offered a thin smile.
"Very well. I'll be off, then."
Rui and Ray exchanged looks with Grace; the same shadow of unease crossed all three of their faces, as if his departure carried more weight than he let on.
.
.
.
Welfred paused, noticing the tension in Grace's eyes— sharp, guarded, almost exactly like the narrowed stare she wore whenever she was overthinking.
"Is something the matter?" he asked.
"Oh, I was just thinking about the guests' safety," she replied, voice steady. "I only hope they reach their palace without trouble. Within Elenor's borders they're fine, but once they're out… who knows." She finished with a bright, carefully composed smile. "(That much should convince him)", she told herself, making sure her expression stayed pleasant.
"I see," Welfred said with a nod. "Then I shall fulfill the duty you have assigned to me."
"(Sorry for lying, Welfred)," she thought. "(But telling you everything would only make you blame yourself— and I won't let you do that)."
"Then I'll be on my way," he said, bowing. "Have a good night, Madam."
He turned, intending to wish Ray and Rui goodnight as well— but the siblings were so absorbed in whatever ridiculous whisper-argument they were having that he stood there for a moment, blinked twice, then quietly accepted defeat and slipped out like a man fleeing danger.
Grace's gaze trailed after Welfred as he strode down the hallway, soon swallowed up by the royal staff flocking around him. With a soft sigh, she turned to Rui and Ray— still locked in their completely pointless, sibling battle.
She seized them both before the next round of their battle could begin and steered them through the doorway with practiced ease. Grace hardly batted an eye; by now, their silent clashes were as ordinary to her as the weather— an everyday irritation she'd long since given up trying to understand.
.
.
.
The sky hung low with heavy, exhausted clouds. It had clearly rained moments ago— the air carried the deep, comforting scent of wet soil, and every leaf and stone in the vast garden glimmered beneath scattered droplets. In the distance, the palace stretched across miles, its silhouette softened by the lingering mist.
Eleheart— the main palace of the Elenharts— rose proudly at the heart of the estate. It was known across all the lands as the largest and most resplendent of the great palaces, a marvel of architecture and ancestral power. The central structure sat encircled by sweeping gardens and interwoven pathways, each meticulously shaped over centuries. Of them all, the front pathway was the grandest: a broad, straight avenue leading toward an enormous golden gate.
Welfred stood at that very gate, fulfilling the duty assigned to him— seeing off the nobles as they departed the evening's gathering. Beyond him, the palace's outer walls formed a solid ring of pale stone, their surfaces darkened slightly by the rain. Further ahead were the smaller buildings of the outer palace— residences, halls, and guest quarters— each enclosed within their own set of walls, guarded by a silver gate that gleamed faintly in the dim light.
It created a world divided in two: the inner palace at the center, sacred and heavily protected, and the outer palace beyond it, a bustling space where guests prepared their departures. Vine-carriages stood lined up along the road, their lanterns glowing softly as one carriage after another rolled forward into the night.
Welfred remained stationed at the gate, offering farewells and courteous bows. On either side of him stood the royal commanders— one man at his left, one woman at his right. Their armor caught what little moonlight filtered through the torn clouds, giving them a quiet, steadfast radiance. They stood as still as sentinels, backs straight, eyes sharp, the chill of the post-rain air curling faintly around them.
Together, they watched the nobles depart, the night calm yet charged with the lingering weight of the storm.
The palace grounds were alive with movement. Guests drifted along the pathways in clusters, their silks whispering as they walked. Guards paced in steady patterns, attendants hurried to and fro, and servants carried out their final duties of the night. The clatter of departing carriages mixed with overlapping footsteps, scattered laughter, and polite farewells— an orchestra of noise that marked the close of a long gathering.
Yet Welfred heard none of it.
His thoughts had wandered far from the golden gate where he stood.
"Madam", he sighed inwardly, "you've grown taller, wiser… but you still cannot lie to me, not truly. I can see something troubles you. It concerns Sir Dasmon— that much is clear. Yet I have no right to pry, nor do you seem inclined to confide in me. Whatever burden you carry, I pray you find your answer soon. I trust you, and I know well that you can shoulder matters on your own."
He paused, the weight of his next thought pressing heavier than he admitted aloud.
"And I hope your bond with your uncle mends. Whatever it may take to reconcile… even if it means stripping me of my post as minister..."
His quiet reflections scattered when he noticed a guard approaching the commander at his right. The man's stride was brisk, his expression tense. He leaned close and murmured something low into the commander's ear.
Welfred saw the change immediately— her composed, sharp gaze wavered. Surprise flashed across her face, tightening her posture. She dismissed the guard with a curt nod, then made her way toward Welfred, her armor whispering with each step.
When she reached him, she lowered her voice to a near-whisper, just enough for him alone to hear.
"Sir… there has been an intrusion."