Chapter 68- princess
Achille
The hall was already full when the doors opened.
Not crowded.
Full.
There was a difference.
Crowded implied disorder. Bodies pressed too close.
Voices overlapping without purpose. People standing where they had not been instructed to stand because no one important enough had noticed them yet.
The imperial court did not permit that kind of chaos when foreign rulers were present.
Every person had been arranged with the same obsessive precision used for military formations, only dressed in silk instead of armor and made infinitely more irritating by the expectation that I smile at them.
Nobles had arrived from every region of Elysium.
Lords from the northern mountains stood beneath banners embroidered with silver thread, their coats heavy with black fur despite the warmth of the hall.
Families from the southern coast wore pale fabrics bright enough to compete with the candles.
Dukes, governors, military commanders, judges, ministers, and ambassadors lined the long aisle leading toward the throne.
Beyond them stood kings and queens from neighboring lands.
Some had crossed half the continent to witness two infants receive names they would not recognize.
Others had come because refusing an invitation to the imperial court after the birth of an heir would be interpreted as either disrespect or weakness.
Most had brought gifts extravagant enough to purchase small villages.
Gold cradles.
Jeweled boxes.
Silk woven with protective prayers.
Ceremonial blades that neither child would be permitted to touch for years.
One foreign queen had sent a crown small enough to fit into my palm, though I doubted either daughter would tolerate anything heavier than a ribbon on her head.
Ophelia said the gifts were kind.
I said most of them were political declarations wrapped in velvet.
She informed me that both things could be true.
I disliked when she was reasonable before ceremonies. It removed several of my arguments.
The herald stepped forward as the doors opened wider.
Every voice inside the hall stopped.
The silence reached us slowly, moving from the people nearest the entrance toward those gathered around the throne. Heads turned. Fans lowered. Backs straightened.
The herald drew in a breath.
I immediately regretted allowing Elias to approve the official wording.
"His Imperial and Royal Majesty, Achille de Elysium, Sovereign Emperor of the Elysian Dominion, High King of Elysium, Lord Protector of the United Provinces, Keeper of the Northern Crown, Warden of the Eastern Marches, Shield of the Imperial Realm, Defender of the Throne,
Commander of the Crown Armies, and First Guardian of the Imperial Blood."
I hated my title.
Not the authority.
The title.
It was unnecessarily long.
By the time anyone finished saying it, wars could have begun, ended, and required another title to commemorate them.
The herald continued.
"Her Imperial and Royal Majesty, Ophelia de Elysium, Empress Consort of the Elysian Dominion, Queen of Elysium, Queen by Blood and Right of Kyrian, Mother of the Imperial Heirs, and First Daughter of the Kyrian Royal House."
Ophelia moved beside me with the composure of a woman who had not spent the previous hour threatening to refuse the ceremony because Lysandra disliked her formal dress.
No one looking at her would have known.
Her gown was pale blue, the fabric falling softly over her body before trailing behind her in a long embroidered train.
Silver thread formed small ravens and flowers along the edges.
Her crown rested lightly against her dark hair, though I knew she had complained about its weight twice while dressing.
Lysandra lay against her chest.
Not sleeping.
Observing.
Her face remained half-turned toward the hall while one small hand gripped the fabric near Ophelia's collar. Her formal gown was softer and considerably less elaborate than the clothing the court had attempted to place on her. The first version contained pearls.
She tried to eat them.
The second had lace around the sleeves.
She screamed until it was removed.
The third was the simple white gown she wore now, with only a thin band of silver embroidery around the hem.
She approved by not protesting.
That had become the standard by which most decisions involving Lysandra were judged.
The herald raised his voice again.
"Their Imperial Highnesses, Princess Lysandra de Elysium, Firstborn Daughter of the Imperial House, Crown Princess of Elysium, Heiress Presumptive to the Imperial Dominion, Princess of Kyrian"
A short pause followed before he continued.
" princess Elowen de Elysium, Second Daughter of the Imperial House, Princess of Elysium, Princess of Kyrian."
The entire hall bowed.
Kings.
Queens.
Nobles.
Commanders.
Men who had led armies and women who controlled courts lowered themselves before two children who could not yet crawl properly.
Elowen stared.
She sat in my arms with her back supported against my chest, her head turning slowly as hundreds of people bent at once. Her eyes widened.
Then the crystal chandeliers caught the light.
The reaction was immediate.
Her mouth opened.
A delighted sound escaped her.
Her arms stretched toward the ceiling as though she had personally discovered light and intended to claim it.
I adjusted her higher against me before she could throw herself backward in pursuit of a chandelier.
"That is not for you," I murmured.
She laughed.
Loudly.
The sound traveled farther than I expected in the silence.
Several nobles smiled.
One foreign king laughed softly beneath his breath.
Elowen kicked both legs and reached again, fascinated by the crystal hanging above us.
Thousands of reflected flames scattered across the polished walls and marble floors.
Gold covered nearly every surface that had been left unprotected.
The columns had been wrapped with pale flowers.
Long banners displaying the imperial raven and Kyrian crown hung between the windows.
It was excessive.
Beautiful, according to Ophelia.
Painful, according to my eye.
The crystals reflected too much light. Gold caught every flame. Every noble appeared determined to wear the brightest jewelry they owned. The room glittered so violently that it seemed designed to punish anyone possessing vision.
Elowen oved everything.
Every necklace.
Every jeweled clasp.
Every embroidered sleeve.
She turned toward each new flash of color with an expression of pure wonder, smiling as though the entire court had dressed itself for her amusement.
Perhaps they had.
We crossed the aisle slowly.
People remained bowed until we passed them. I felt eyes following us, though for the first time it rested on the children rather than me.
I had spent my entire life being watched by courts.
As a child, I was watched because people wanted to know what kind of ruler grief would produce.
As a boy, I was watched because every mistake became evidence that someone had failed to shape me properly.
As emperor, I was watched because everyone needed to determine whether I was angry, ill, distracted, weak, pleased, offended, or considering execution.
No one in court simply looked.
They assessed.
Calculated.
Measured.
It was why normal conversation had always felt unnecessarily difficult.
In court, words were weapons. Tone mattered more than intention. A request could be interpreted as command. A compliment might become an alliance. Silence was rarely silence.
I had learned to speak clearly because ambiguity created danger.
Unfortunately, speaking clearly outside court made people believe I was giving orders.
Ophelia said I often sounded commanding even when asking simple questions.
I sat carefully.
Elowen shifted in my arms.
Her head turned toward the crowd, eyes following a woman wearing an emerald necklace large enough to injure her neck permanently.
Elowen reached.
The noblewoman looked delighted.
"You really like this spectacle " I muttered.
Ophelia glanced toward me as she sat. "What?"
"Elowen appears impressed."
"She likes shiny things."
"I have felling that will be a problem one day."
Ophelia's mouth curved. Lysandra remained against her chest.
Unlike her sister, she showed little interest in the room's decorations. She looked toward me instead.
Her eyes followed as I adjusted Elowen across my lap. Then moved toward the herald. Then toward the first noble approaching the throne.
Curiosity remained in her face.
Not excitement.
Attention.
Elias had been complaining about that expression for six months. I refused to encourage him by agreeing it was unusual.
Though it was.
The presentations began.
One family at a time.
Names were announced.
Titles recited.
Gifts described in exhausting detail.
The Duke of Arven presented two matched bracelets made from white gold and moonstone.
His wife bowed and spoke about loyalty between the northern provinces and the imperial house.
Their eldest son stared at Elowen with the frightened expression of someone recently warned not to breathe incorrectly near the emperor's daughter.
Elowen stared at the moonstones.
She did not care about the speech.
Good.
Neither did I.
A queen from the western isles presented silk dyed in colors visible only when the fabric moved. Elowen laughed and tried to grab it. The queen smiled as if the child's approval represented a diplomatic victory.
Lysandra watched her without expression.
One nobleman bowed too low and remained there too long.
Lysandra frowned.
Elias, standing several steps behind the throne, noticed.
When The noble finally stood.
His gift was a golden horse.
Not a real horse.
A statue.
Large enough that four servants carried it forward on a platform.
I stared at it.
Ophelia admired the craftsmanship.
Elowen attempted to climb from my arms.
"No."
She reached toward the statue.
"No."
Her fingers opened and closed.
The gold reflected candlelight directly into my eye.
I disliked the horse immediately.
Elowen squealed.