The silence between them settled like a warm blanket, awkward, a little sweet, but slowly fading as the hall breathed around them.
Neither spoke. Neither looked up.
They just stood there, trying to pretend they hadn’t nearly planned an entire future family on the spot.
Then the emperor stepped onto the highest platform.
His boots touched the marble with a quiet echo, and the entire hall straightened at once.
Even the chandeliers seed to glow a little brighter.
When he lifted his hand, everyone stopped talking.
"Today’s celebration," he said, voice steady and calm, "is held specially for my daughter, Charlotte... and the heir of the Zenithara House, Vivian D. Zenithara."
The words hit like a bell ringing through stone.
Vivian’s heart jumped. Charlotte’s eyes widened.
Their embarrassnt vanished in a heartbeat as both looked up at the sa ti.
Whatever strange mont they had just shared was wiped clean by the emperor’s voice.
The emperor t their eyes and smiled, calm, gentle, almost teasing.
Vivian felt Charlotte shift beside him, just a tiny step, like she was bracing herself.
They both had the exact sa thought:
Wasn’t today supposed to be about the war announcent?
The empire had been preparing for a clash with the Tramplin dukedom.
Everyone expected the emperor to speak of battle, soldiers, and borders.
Yet here he was, focusing on them instead, Charlotte and Vivian.
The question ford in both their minds at the sa ti.
’Why?’
And then, like a spark running down a wire, the answer clicked.
The parliant. The emperor had ntioned rewarding them there.
This must be connected to that.
Vivian let out a slow breath, shoulders calming. Charlotte’s face settled back into a composed royal smile.
They had understood the sa thing at the sa mont.
Neither showed their surprise.
Neither asked anything out loud.
They simply stood still under the bright hall lights, waiting for whatever ca next.
The emperor didn’t give the hall even a mont to settle.
He lifted his hand and snapped his fingers, crisp and sharp.
Servers moved instantly, gliding through the crowd with practiced grace.
In monts, every noble held a glass of wine, deep red, clear as polished ruby.
Vivian took his glass. Charlotte took hers. The hall glittered with hundreds of raised cups.
When the emperor saw that everyone was ready, he lifted his own.
"I would like to formally congratulate Vivian," he said, his voice carrying through the hall, "for reaching the Swordmaster stage at such a young age."
A wave of murmurs rolled through the nobles, surprise, awe, envy, but all respectful.
Vivian felt Charlotte glance at him, pride flickering across her face.
The emperor gave a small nod, and the hall drank.
Vivian drank. Charlotte drank. The wine was smooth and warm, sliding down like liquid fire.
They lowered their glasses together, setting them aside with quiet clinks.
Then the emperor spoke again, calm, steady, as if announcing the weather.
"So, this celebration was held to announce that my daughter, Charlotte von Indrath, will be engaged to Vivian D. Zenithara..."
Vivian almost inhaled the rest of the wine. Charlotte nearly choked beside him.
They both froze, eyes widening, throats burning as they tried desperately not to spit anything out.
A few nobles turned toward them, but they managed, barely, to keep straight faces.
Inside their minds, the sa thunderclap echoed:
’Wasn’t this already decided?’
They stood there with stiff backs, burning cheeks, and hearts suddenly beating much faster, trying to collect themselves while the hall exploded into shocked whispers.
Before either of them could pull their souls back into their bodies, the hall erupted.
Clapping burst out like a wave crashing through the room, loud, cheerful, unstoppable.
It rolled across the nobles in a single sweep, and suddenly everyone was smiling as if this were the grandest surprise of the century.
Vivian just stood there, lost.
Why were they reacting like this was brand-new?
Half the empire had either known or guessed this months ago.
It wasn’t a secret. It wasn’t even subtle. Anyone with eyes, and half a brain, could see where things were heading.
He turned to his mother, hoping for at least one person who shared his confusion.
But she was clapping too.
Hard.
Her eyes were wet, shining with joy that felt way too dramatic for the mont.
Vivian stared, baffled.
He couldn’t understand why she looked like she had just won a decade-long war.
She understood well enough.
Her son’s engagent was no longer a whispered plan or a quiet ambition, it was official.
Declared by the emperor himself. Unshakeable.
Her dream of marrying off her eldest son had finally stepped into the sunlight.
The applause faded little by little, turning into soft chatter.
Then, like bees drawn to honey, the nobles approached in groups, smiles bright, hands outstretched, voices full of congratulations.
One after another, they surrounded Vivian and Charlotte, offering blessings, complints, and polite envy.
Vivian tried to smile back, even though his mind was still spinning.
Charlotte, still pink at the ears, kept her posture delicate and calm.
And the line of nobles kept coming, each one eager to greet the newly announced future couple while the hall buzzed with excitent that neither of them had been prepared for.
The last of the nobles stepped away, and the emperor’s voice rose once more, steady, carrying through the hall with the weight of command.
"The date will be announced at the end of the celebration. For now, everyone, enjoy!"
As soon as the words left his lips, the musicians moved.
Strings humd, soft at first, then blooming into a rich lody that spread through the hall like warm light.
Drums joined in, then flutes, each note weaving into the next until the whole room seed to breathe in rhythm.
Couples drifted toward the center floor.
Hands reached out, fingers intertwined, and the first dancers began to sway under the golden glow of chandeliers.
Dresses twirled. Shoes slid across marble. Laughter rose, mixing with the music.
Those without partners quickly started searching.
A ripple of excitent passed through the younger nobles, an unspoken race to find soone before the dance fully began.
Vivian watched the movent for a mont, then turned.
Charlotte had shifted her head away, pretending to admire a flower arrangent that didn’t even exist.
But the tiny movent of her foot, the way her shoulders held just a bit too straight, made it painfully obvious.
She was waiting for him.
And expecting him.
Vivian let out a small sigh, part nerves, part sothing warr.
He walked toward her, each step slow and steady. When he reached her, he went down on one knee.
Not too dramatic. Not too loud. Just enough to make her breath catch.
He lifted his hand toward her.
"May I have this dance with you," he said softly, "my gentle fiancee?"
Charlotte spun toward him so fast her hairpin almost slipped.
Her entire face went red, ears, cheeks, neck, everything.
She looked like she’d been dipped in rose petals.
But even through the embarrassnt, she reached out her hand. Slow. Shy. Delicate.
Vivian took it with care, his fingers warm against hers.
He rose to his feet, still holding her hand, as the music swelled around them and the hall opened like a stage ant just for the two of them.
Vivian guided her onto the dance floor, their steps falling into the rhythm as if the music had been written just for the two of them.
The hall faded into soft colors and blurred shapes; only Charlotte stayed sharp in his vision.
Their hands fit together with an ease that felt almost dangerous, their gazes locked like neither wanted to look away.
While they turned, Vivian leaned in a little and whispered, "Are you feeling shy?"
Charlotte lifted her chin, trying to look cool even though her cheeks were still faintly pink.
"Why would I feel shy? You’re my fiancé. And soon you’ll be my husband."
Vivian laughed under his breath, a warm sound that stirred the air between them.
"You know... you look good in buns." He said.
Her fingers twitched lightly near her hair.
"You think so?" she asked, pretending not to know.
But he knew she did, she always wore her hair in a bun whenever the two of them went sowhere, and she never bothered with it for anyone else.
Vivian didn’t reply.
His eyes lingered on her, taking in the soft strands framing her face, the bright look in her eyes, the way her steps matched his perfectly without a single mistake.
He forgot the hall, forgot the nobles, forgot everything except the girl in front of him.
The music carried them across the floor, slow and smooth, like the world had slipped into a gentler ti.
It felt too short, far too short.
When the final note faded, everyone around them stopped.
So nobles were panting lightly, sweat glistening at their temples.
The dance had clearly taken effort from them.
Vivian and Charlotte stood still, breathing steady, almost disappointed.
Charlotte frowned, her lips dipping into a tiny pout.
"Don’t you think that was short?"
Vivian glanced around.
People looked like they had just run a small race. But he understood her feeling perfectly.
"What can we do?" he said. "Sotis ti feels as short as a breath... and sotis it stretches out like eternity."
His voice trailed off for a mont, caught on a mory sharp as broken glass.
That white void.
Her crying.
The blade in her hand..
His helplessness before he regressed.
The wound from that mont hadn’t healed, not really. It lived quietly in the back of his mind.
He looked at her again, softer this ti.
"But when I’m with you," he said quietly, "I wish ti would stop."
Reviews
All reviews (0)