Chapter 68- princess #2
"At least someone appreciates it," Ophelia murmured.
"She has no standards."
"She is six months old."
"That is not an excuse."
Ophelia laughed quietly.
Court ceremonies distorted time. Every speech sounded longer than the last. Every family brought something expensive and explained its symbolic value as though symbolism made the object less inconvenient to store.
A jeweled music box.
Two ceremonial daggers.
A miniature throne.
Rare books neither daughter could read.
A set of porcelain dolls that looked unsettlingly lifelike.
Lysandra stared at those.
Then looked toward Elias.
He looked back.
"No," he whispered.
She continued staring.
"I had nothing to do with them."
Her expression did not change. Elias moved farther from the dolls. I watched from the corner of my eye. Perhaps their feud was not entirely one-sided.
I would never admit that aloud.
Elowen remained delighted for most of the afternoon. She smiled at bright fabrics, reached for crowns, and laughed whenever someone bowed close enough for their jewelry to move.
Several nobles mistook this for affection.
It was not.
She wanted their necklaces.
Lysandra remained against Ophelia, occasionally shifting her head or gripping the edge of her mother's gown. She watched faces. Voices. Movement. When someone spoke too loudly, her brows tightened. When Ophelia smiled, she relaxed. When I looked toward her, her eyes found mine.
Each time, I felt something inside my chest pull.
I had not expected fatherhood to feel like constant injury.
Not pain.
Exposure.
My daughters looked at me without knowing what I had done, who I had killed, what people whispered when I passed. They did not know emperor. Tyrant. Conqueror. Scarred king. They knew warmth. Voice. Hands.
Elowen knew I lifted her toward chandeliers.
Lysandra knew I came when she cried.
It was terrifying.
Because one day they would know everything else.
By late afternoon, Elowen began rubbing her eyes.
The excitement faded slowly.
Her reaching became less coordinated. Her laughter softened. She rested against my chest for longer periods between each attempt to claim something glittering.
I adjusted her against me.
She sighed.
Her fingers curled around the edge of my coat.
The final delegation approached.
I did not hear most of what they said.
Elowen's breathing had begun to slow.
One moment, she watched the ruby clasp at the ambassador's throat.
The next, her eyes closed.
Her head fell against me.
I looked down.
Sleep softened every part of her face. Her mouth remained slightly open. One hand rested against my chest, fingers still curled as though she had fallen asleep in the middle of reaching for something.
The hall continued.
Voices.
Music preparing somewhere beyond the doors.
Servants moving.
Court watching.
None of it mattered.
My daughter slept in my arms.
I brushed one finger over the edge of her sleeve.
Ophelia looked toward us.
Her smile changed.
It lost the formal warmth she had offered the court all day and became something smaller. Private.
Lysandra had fallen asleep too.
She remained tucked against her mother's chest, face turned inward, one hand resting near Ophelia's collarbone.
For several moments, we simply looked at one another.
Two thrones.
Two daughters.
An entire court waiting.
I had never imagined this.
The weight of a sleeping child.
The warmth of her breath through my coat.
The way Ophelia looked beneath candlelight with our daughter resting against her heart.
The helplessness of loving something that could be harmed by almost anything.
Two maid appeared near the throne.
the few permitted into the nursery.
They bowed as one spoke. "Your Majesties, shall I take the princesses to their chambers?"
Every part of me rejected the question.
I looked down at Elowen.
The ceremony had ended. The formal introductions were complete. The court had sworn loyalty. Their titles were recorded. The public portion of the evening was over.
The celebration would continue in the ballroom.
The girls needed rest.
I knew that.
Still, I did not move.
Ophelia watched me.
"They are tired," she said softly.
"I can see that."
"You cannot dance while holding her."
"I do not need to dance."
"You promised."
"I do not remember promising."
"You nodded."
"That is not legally binding."
"It was to me."
I looked at her.
She smiled.
The maid waited.
Elias stepped forward before I could refuse again.
"I will watch them."
"No."
He placed a hand against his chest. "Your lack of trust wounds me."
"You called Lysandra unsettling this morning."
"She was being unsettling."
"No."
"Fine. Observant."
"No."
He sighed. "I have kept the empire alive for six months. I can keep two sleeping infants alive for an evening."
"The empire does not put everything in its mouth."
"You would be surprised."
Veronica appeared beside him.
"I will be there."
That changed the calculation.
Elias looked offended.
"You trust her more than me?"
"Yes."
"Immediately?"
"Yes."
"No consideration?"
"None."
Veronica smiled.
Ophelia shifted Lysandra carefully toward the waiting maid. The child stirred but did not wake. The maid supported her head and settled her against one shoulder.
I watched every movement.
Too closely.
The maid's posture stiffened beneath my attention.
Elowen remained asleep in my arms.
I handed her over only after checking the maid's hold twice.
Then once more.
"She sleeps better on her left side," I said.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"If she wakes..."
"We will bring her to you," Veronica said.
I looked toward her.
"They will be safe."
I knew that.
Knowing did not silence fear.
Elias leaned toward me.
"Try to have fun."
I stared.
He smiled. "Even though you are antisocial, unpleasant, and possess the conversational skills of an armed border guard."
"I speak perfectly well."
"You issue statements."
"I communicate directly."
"You asked a visiting prince whether his presence was necessary."
"It was not."
"You were at his wedding."
"He was standing near the food."
Ophelia covered her mouth.
Veronica turned away, though I saw her shoulders move.
Elias looked delighted.
"See? No people skills."
He was not wrong.
That made him more irritating.
He followed the maids toward the private corridor, walking backward long enough to point at me.
"Dance with your wife. Drink something. Pretend to enjoy your own celebration."
"I am enjoying it."
"You look like you are attending a military funeral."
"This is my pleasant expression."
"That is deeply unfortunate."
Then he disappeared through the doors.
The greetings shifted into celebration.
Musicians began playing before we reached the ballroom. Servants opened the connecting doors, revealing another room filled with candlelight, crystal, and enough flowers to trigger several unpleasant memories.
I checked each arrangement.
No white blossoms.
Veronica had made certain of that.
The ballroom filled quickly. Formal lines dissolved into conversation. Foreign rulers gathered in small groups. Younger nobles moved toward the dance floor. Servants carried trays of wine between the guests.
Ophelia stood beside me near the edge of the room.
Without the girls in our arms, the space around us felt wrong.
Empty.
My hands had adjusted to holding weight.
Now they had nothing to do.
I took two glasses from a passing tray. I drank from both cups first to ensure they were safe. Satisfied, I handed one to Ophelia and kept the other for myself.
She accepted without looking.