When the dance concluded, and a lazy calm began to settle over the hall, Kulgan approached me, moving like a shadow through the guests.
“He’s coming,” he murmured.
So, it seemed Ramtak had made his decision to walk headfirst down the road to his own ruin.
“Tia,” I said, turning to my wife, “let’s move.”
From the corner of my eye, I could already see him striding our way, his chin held high, posture arrogant, every inch radiating self-satisfaction.
It wasn’t as though I couldn’t deal with him here, but the royal couple and the crown prince and princess were seated closer to the front. That would make things smoother, especially once the farce began in earnest.
Aleis and Lysonna would certainly find it easier to intervene from there when the time came.
“Move? Where to?” Bertia asked, tilting her head adorably, confusion written across her face.
I wanted to explain things to her, but if Ramtak reached us before we moved, all of this would be pointless.
It was better to pretend not to notice him approaching and take our positions before he could intercept us.
“Don’t turn around, all right? We’re heading to the front.”
I took Bertia’s hand in mine and placed my other at her waist to guide her forward. The motion was firm and almost too assertive for a ballroom, but time was short. She stumbled slightly, startled by my sudden lead, yet followed without protest.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Crown Prince Aleis lean toward Lysonna, murmuring something under his breath as we approached. Lysonna twitched faintly, but her composure didn’t falter. She smiled as though nothing unusual were happening.
“Your Highness Cecil! Lady Bertia!”
Right on cue.
Ramtak’s voice rang out behind us, cutting through the hum of the hall. Whether he was afraid we wouldn’t hear him or simply wanted every pair of eyes in the room on him, I couldn’t say. The result was the same.
The crowd quieted slightly, and the sound carried clearly across the marble floor.
Beside me, Bertia flinched hard, her fingers tightening around my arm. I could almost feel the tension coiling inside her like a startled rabbit ready to bolt.
I turned calmly, bringing us face-to-face with him.
“Ah, Prince Ramtak,” I said with a pleasant smile. “What’s all this shouting for?”
There was still a polite distance between us, but he closed it eagerly, almost bouncing on his heels as he came nearer.
At the throne, the king’s face dimmed. Izlarich’s, too. They had known that this moment was coming. Their lips pressed into tight lines as they steeled themselves to watch.
“Your Highness Cecil,” Ramtak began, chest puffed with self-importance, “I have a request to make of you.”
I tilted my head slightly, my tone mild but my pulse steady with anticipation. “And what might that be?”
From the very first words out of his mouth, he started with a request. It was almost impressive how utterly blind he was to how the world worked.
No, not blind. He simply refused to see anything that didn’t align with his fantasy.
I felt the muscles between my eyebrows tighten. The longer he spoke, the harder it became to conceal my disgust.
Beside me, Bertia trembled faintly, pressing closer, her hand clutching at my sleeve. Poor thing. Even knowing this was coming doesn’t make it any easier to endure.
“I know this isn’t the proper way to go about it,” Ramtak declared, his voice swelling like a stage actor’s, “but once this party ends, you’ll return to your country! I must seize this moment. Please, listen to my heart, my wish!”
Every movement of his was deliberate and overdone, a performance meant for an audience rather than for me.
The nearby nobles exchanged uneasy looks; some frowned, others leaned in to whisper behind fans.
At the throne, the king and Izlarich both wore the same hollow expression of resignation, while the queen, who knew nothing of what was to come, watched with visible alarm.
And then, the inevitable came.
“Prince Cecil!” Ramtak cried, throwing out his arms for all to see. “Princess Consort Bertia and I, though fate kept us apart until now, are bound by true love!”
The words hit the air like glass shattering on marble.
Silence.
Even the orchestra froze mid-note. One poor violinist, unaware of what was happening, played a few more bars before realizing he was alone. The last trembling note echoed through the hall.
The entire ballroom turned to ice.
Then, the queen’s chair scraped violently against the floor as she stood.
“R-Ramtak! Do you even realize what you’re saying?!”
Her voice wavered between outrage and panic. A mother’s instinct to protect, futile though it would be tonight.
Were I in her place, I might have done the same. But nothing could save him now.
“Mother, please listen!” Ramtak pressed on, undeterred, gesturing dramatically toward Bertia. “We met too late, and though she is now wed to Prince Cecil, destiny itself decrees that she and I are meant to be together!”
He turned slightly, angling himself so the crowd could see his noble profile.
He really thinks this is his grand, tragic moment, doesn’t he?
For starters, you’ve spent the last week becoming famous under the nickname “Mr. Thousand-handed Cheater,” I thought drily. When a man with that reputation talks about “true love,” credibility crashes through the floor.
“Eh? I-I…”
We had rehearsed this outcome, but the sudden weight of every gaze in the room shattered Bertia’s composure. She froze, flustered and wide-eyed, then panic spiked into the older fear that I might abandon her. She clutched my arm tight, shaking her head with tearful eyes.
My poor wife.