Three days after my ascension to the pinnacle of the Faith Council of Saints, the hubbub of the Trials had finally started to subside—just in time for the preparations for the Noel festivities to begin. Amid the whirlwind of activity, I found myself immersed in meticulous planning for that auspicious holiday.
From the details of the ceremonial attire to the agenda and scheduling for the day, there were countless tasks to manage, leaving little time for rest. It wasn’t just me; the entire palace buzzed with urgency, with maids and butlers briskly moving through their tasks to keep up with their tight schedules. I briefly glanced at yet another group of maids darting past before returning my focus to the book of design sketches and fabric samples spread before me. Along the wall, an array of prototype dresses and robes stood silently.
“I trust the participating nations will receive Carolina with grand festivities, so we’ll need a gown for the ceremony of greeting—perhaps a couple of choices, just to be safe,” a cool voice rang out. “Then there’s the ensemble for the performance of her Saintly duties—didn’t His Holiness present Carolina with a scepter? What color was it? White? Then her attire should be designed to match it.”
Only one person could command the situation with such grace and authority, and that was the empress herself. She stood serenely in the center of the activity around us, dispensing instructions to the clothier, who listened attentively to her every word. Her Imperial Majesty had carved time from her relentless schedule to be here, a kindness for which I was endlessly thankful. She managed every detail with an air of composure, her face betraying not a hint of dissatisfaction with me for foisting this task onto her. I was sure everyone here had breathed a sigh of relief when it had become clear that she was the one who would be delegating and directing this process rather than me.
“I believe I possess a few evening gowns that may suffice for diplomatic occasions, though none befitting the sacred part of my duties,” I offered, eager to contribute at least in some small way. “I do think we should make an effort to match the commemorative scepter, but how exactly shall we create something in a complementary design?”
Thanks to the empress, I already possessed an extensive collection of exquisite gowns and the jewelry to match. It seemed prudent, then, to focus more on crafting the holy ensemble I would wear during the Noel ceremonies I was to perform in my capacity as the Saint. I asked a nearby maid to fetch the scepter so we could scrutinize it more closely. I let out a long breath as she departed, but I did not long await her prompt return. She presented the immaculate white scepter, which the empress took at once and examined it with a discerning eye. “Hmm...” she murmured thoughtfully.
“If we consider that white will be the foundation of the color scheme, perhaps we could introduce accents of blue and pea green?” I suggested. “These could echo the colors of the robe I donned during the trials.”
“Yes, incorporating those colors makes sense—blue for purity, pea green for healing,” the empress agreed. “However, relying solely on this palette might seem a bit...lackluster, don’t you think?”
I nodded thoughtfully. It would indeed be somewhat underwhelming for my attire to closely resemble that of the Saintly candidates. To underscore the distinction of the Saint, it would be necessary to introduce at least one additional color to emphasize the uniqueness of the ensemble.
“What about gold?” I ventured hesitantly. “I worry it might be a bit too ostentatious. That and, well...isn’t gold a color linked to the high pontiff’s office...?”
The empress nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, the high pontiff wears white and gold as befits his status. Now, of course, white symbolizes the church itself, so I doubt anyone would take umbrage with the Saint herself dressing in a hue of such holiness...”
But gold was a different matter entirely, wasn’t it? I would have hated for people to perceive our choice of color as an insinuation that the Saint held a status comparable to that of the high pontiff’s. With the Faith Council being a nascent addition to the church’s hierarchy, it was crucial to avoid any misinterpretation that could be construed as overstepping. Perhaps we were being overly cautious, but in such matters, prudence was preferable. Besides, it didn’t seem as if either one of us felt all that strongly about using gold in the first place.
Just then, a knock rang out on the lintel of the open doorway.
“Pardon the intrusion,” came a mellifluous tenor. “If color scheme is the concern, might I suggest silver?”
“I’d prefer fiery, passionate red,” added a baritone.
I turned around and there they were, Teodore and Ed, each proposing their own (predictable) alternatives as they entered the room and joined our deliberation.
“Welcome back, Ed. Teodore.” I greeted them warmly.
“Returned so soon?” the empress asked. “Wasn’t that meeting with the church supposed to extend into the evening?” Her expression of outward disappointment at the interruption of our mother-daughter bonding time was subtle but apparent.
Ed merely shrugged and took a seat next to me, his gaze quickly falling to the sketches spread out before us. His expression seemed to indicate that he considered the designs well beyond his ken, and so he withheld any comments.
“Setting aside the ill-considered suggestion of a man all too eager to indelicately announce his claim over his wife...” the empress said teasingly, quirking an eyebrow at her son. The gentle ribbing sailed right over Ed’s head, and with a fond sigh, she turned her attention to the blond-haired lord. “Teodore. Silver might just work. It acknowledges a deference to His Holiness and fits well within the framework of the design.”
“I am humbled,” Teodore responded, offering a slight bow as he adjusted his glasses. Meanwhile, Ed, whose suggestion had been somewhat unceremoniously dismissed, found solace in examining his wedding ring, fidgeting with it absentmindedly while muttering, “I thought red would’ve been nice...” His expression remained stoic, yet in a manner reminiscent of a gently chastised puppy, I noticed a subtle change in his demeanor—as if his ears drooped and his tail had fallen still. In such moments, it became clear that Ed was not unfeeling; one simply had to know what to look for.