“I thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for taking time away from your respective realms to join us in our revels,” the emperor began, his voice deep and steady. “To celebrate Noel, this holiest of days, with you all is a privilege.” At this moment I swore I caught him flashing the swiftest of glances at me. “A day made all the holier by the presence of our Saint,” he added with a teasing lilt. His eyes crinkled fondly, the faintest hint of a smile playing on his lips—an unusual break from solemnity which I attributed to the festive spirit of the evening.
He paused here, holding the attention of the assembly without dismissing it, letting the expectant mood stretch for a few heartbeats longer. Then, relieving that suspense with practiced precision, he spoke again. “I have good news to share with you all on this day. Before the festivities begin in earnest, I ask for just a few more moments of your time.”
A stir rippled through the hall, but this did not give him pause.
“Gilbert Ruby Martinez, my son, join me!” the emperor called out.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Prince Gilbert replied from the other side of the dais, bowing his head respectfully before stepping forward.
It was like a scene pulled straight from my own history—the emperor’s summons, the quiet confusion written on the faces of the gathered nobles. And just like that earlier moment in my own life, one that lived etched forever in my memory, I could see the dawning realization in the eyes of a few discerning individuals, the faintest sighs of relief and murmurs of understanding stealing through the crowd.
Prince Gilbert halted just before the dais and turned to face the assembly. Though solemnity dominated his features, I thought I could detect a hint of pride peeking through.
“My joyful tidings concern none other than the fine gentleman before you,” the emperor said, his voice resonating through the hall. “My people, it is with great happiness that I stand before you today.”
He paused here, and as if on cue, he and the empress rose to their feet. They descended the dais towards Prince Gilbert and stopped right behind him. When each of his parents placed a hand on one of his shoulders, it was as if to silently declare to all present: He is the chosen one.
The emperor fixed the assembly with a steely gaze before he concluded, “I, Eric Ruby Martinez, hereby proclaim Gilbert Ruby Martinez as my successor—the crown prince of our glorious empire!”
His voice rang out with an intensity that had been yet unreached on this night, underscoring the gravity of the announcement. All around us, eyes flew open wide, and soon, murmurs began to circulate through the crowd.
“The crown prince... Finally, it’s about time!”
“Music. Just music to my ears!”
“The people will be overjoyed! Prince Gilbert is beloved by so many!”
“Oh, what a great reassurance this is. The future of our empire is bright with him as heir.”
Hands were clasped in gratitude, shoulder pats and handshakes exchanged in mutual congratulations. The reaction among the ladies in the room was the most pronounced, with some even moved to tears.
“Details on the investiture will be forthcoming,” the emperor continued, his tone once again composed. “That is all I had to share with you today. Now, let us raise our glasses in a toast!”
With a fluid motion, the emperor and empress stepped back and received glasses of white wine from their attendants. Prince Gilbert, standing proud in front of the dais, received a glass as well.
“Red or white, Lina?” Ed’s voice brought me back to the present. He had a glass of wine in each hand, one white, one red. The maid who had evidently supplied these libations moved away from us, her tray now lighter.
Honestly, I didn’t have a particular preference, but if memory served, Ed had always favored red. I often saw him with a glass of it during dinner. “White, please,” I replied.
“Here,” he said, offering me the glass with a nod. I accepted it with a smile and murmured my thanks. Our glasses now poised for the toast, we turned our attention back to the dais. The hall was filled with anticipation; every guest present mirrored our celebratory stance—glasses in hand, eagerly awaiting the emperor’s signal.
The emperor’s gaze swept over the crowd, and displaying his masterful grasp of showmanship, he raised his glass at exactly the moment that anticipation peaked. “A toast—to this most holy of nights, this most auspicious of days!” His voice boomed with regal authority, his glass held high. “Cheers!”
A ripple of movement followed as glasses were lifted in unison, and the hall reverberated with the crowd’s thunderous chorus: “Cheers!” And then, with a few notes of music from the orchestra, the imperial celebration swelled into a lively hum. As the din of the hall roared back to life, Ed and I exchanged a private toast between ourselves.
“Look, Gilbert’s already being swarmed,” Ed remarked, looking past me and gesturing.
I followed his gaze, my eyes landing on the growing throng around Prince Gilbert. “Goodness, you’re right,” I said, my eyes widening slightly. “This might be the first time I’ve seen the nobility act so boldly in front of a member of the imperial family.”
The crowd around him was composed primarily of older noblemen and their daughters, all vying for the prince’s attention. It was quite the spectacle—fathers shamelessly thrusting their daughters forward, desperate to secure for each one a possible future as the crown princess consort. Even among the nobility, where reserve was often considered the greatest virtue, the allure of power had clearly caused them to cast aside such inhibitions. They hovered around him like vultures circling their prize, eager to stake their claim.
“Well, being forward isn’t exactly a crime. I think we can let them be,” Ed said. “Until we sense any real malice, that is.”
“Agreed.” I nodded. “He should be fine. Intervening now would only cause a stir. Let’s trust our future crown prince to handle a crowd.”
Satisfied with our decision, we turned away from Prince Gilbert. I was determined to partake in the festivities for once, and so I took a bold sip of the fine vintage in my glass. However, I hadn’t anticipated the effect it would have on me—almost immediately, I felt a warmth rise to my face. Was the drink already sending color to my cheeks? Perhaps I was more tired than I’d realized.
“Lina, your face...” Ed’s voice was tinged with concern as he peered at me, quickly handing off his empty glass to a passing maid. In one fluid motion, his newly freed hand reached up to brush against my cheek. “You’re burning up. Should we delay greeting Father and step out onto the balcony? A cool breeze might help.”
Ed never hesitated to voice his concern for me. It always came swiftly, naturally, as though it was simply a part of his nature. His usually warm fingers, now cool against my heated skin, only confirmed what he had noticed. A somewhat awkward smile tugged at my lips. I was loath to admit it, but the alcohol had affected me more than I cared to acknowledge. Though my thoughts weren’t yet muddled, the idea of cooling off with a fresh breeze seemed terribly tempting.
“Yes, why don’t I go refresh myself for a moment?” I agreed. “You can stay here, darling. I’ll be right back.”
“What? No. I’m coming with you,” he replied firmly. “If something were to happen to you, I’d never forgive myself.”
An airy giggle escaped my lips. “You’re exaggerating,” I replied with a playful tone. “But all right, you win.”
We gave word to a nearby maid and slipped out to the balcony adjoining the grand hall. The sharp winter air hit us immediately, but it was exactly what I needed to clear my head. My eyes were playfully tracing the white wispy breaths that escaped my lips when suddenly, a weight—and a warmth—descended upon my shoulders.
“Here,” Ed’s voice came softly from behind me. “It wouldn’t do to shake off one ill only to catch another.”
He had draped his dress tunic over my shoulders. Though it fit him perfectly and cut a dashing figure, on me it hung like a great blanket. “It looks like a long coat when you wear it,” Ed remarked fondly. The largeness of it coupled with the lingering warmth from Ed’s body made for a very snug garment, indeed.
“Thank you,” I said. “But aren’t you cold? I’m rather worried about you catching something, actually.”
“I’ll be fine,” he replied with confidence. “Nothing in my life, short of a grievous wound on the field of battle, has given me pause so far.” With that, he gently gripped my shoulders through the tunic, giving them a gentle squeeze. His boyish gesture drew a soft laugh from me, and I relented. All right, darling, I won’t try to take it off and give it back to you.
That reminds me. Didn’t Teodore once say something about Ed being neither a wise prince nor a graceful one, but certainly a hale and hearty one? The thought tickled my mind, and I decided that if Teodore, with all his intellect, had vouched for Ed’s constitution, then I had little reason to worry. I pulled the tunic tighter around me and thanked him again, feeling a deeper warmth from his simple, caring gesture.
We stood there for a while, letting the brisk evening air cool my flushed cheeks as Ed and I fell into a pleasant conversation, something that had seemed to elude us as of late. We spoke of the trials, of Noel, of the gifts I had given to Marisa and Owen. There was so much to share, so much to recount, and with Ed by my side, I never found myself at a loss for words.
It could have been three minutes later; it could have been thirty. Either way, as I was in the midst of another sentence, the balcony door creaked open. Now, who could that be? The knights stationed outside would have escorted any ordinary guest away from our reprieve, and the quiet, unhurried entrance certainly seemed to rule out any sinister presence. Besides, if there had been even the slightest hint of danger, Ed would have shielded me in an instant.
Before I could turn to see who had joined us, a familiar voice—warm and airy—cut through the chill of the night. “Good evening, you two. Sorry to interrupt, but I was hoping for a word with my mistress.”
There he was, the future crown prince himself, standing on the threshold. He closed the balcony door behind him and took a few steps forward, though he stopped just short of where we stood, a smile fixed in place upon his lips.
Now this was a surprise. Why was he here? How had he managed to escape the clutches of the eager nobility swarming him inside? Had he done so just to speak with me? The thought sent a ripple of unease through me—not the sharp discomfort of fear or malice, but a more subtle, neutral kind of nervousness: the kind that comes when you’re utterly unsure of what to expect next.