The palace courtyard gleamed beneath the afternoon sun, its cobblestones swept clean and lined with soldiers in gleaming armor. Carriages stood in perfect formation — lacquered in deep crimson and gold, their silken banners fluttering with the crest of the Empire.
One by one, the royal ladies stepped forward to be escorted.
Kiara and Tando were the first to take their leave, their laughter echoing softly as they disappeared behind the velvet curtains of their carriage.
Next came Mirha and Suni. Though Mirha had been meant to ride with Gina, plans had changed when word arrived from Duke Rnzo — he would ride alone with his fiancée. Suni helped Mirha into her seat, arranging the folds of her gown as the carriage door closed gently behind her.
Gina remained behind, waiting quietly beside her maid. Her emerald gown shimmered beneath the sunlight, yet her gaze stayed fixed on the palace steps.
The sound of boots against marble turned every head.
General Kain appeared first, his hand extended toward Princess Goya, his fiancée. She placed her hand delicately in his, her crimson gown catching the light as they descended together. A collective hush swept over the courtyard; even those already seated in their carriages leaned out to catch a glimpse of them.
And then — the air shifted.
The Emperor emerged, his regal presence commanding silence without a word. Lord Kaisen and Duke Rnzo flanked him, their steps measured, while Heman, the imperial aide, followed closely behind.
Arvin and Heman entered their carriage first, the imperial crest glinting in the light before the door shut.
Kaisen moved toward his own carriage, his expression calm, unreadable.
Only Rnzo and Gina remained.
He paused, glancing at her — his face unreadable, but his silence heavy.
When she finally whispered, "Are we not going?" her voice barely carried over the horses' steady snorts.
He didn't answer. Instead, he looked at her for a long moment, as if words failed him completely. Then, quietly, he extended his hand.
His actions spoke louder than any vow.
Gina placed her hand in his, and he led her to their carriage. The door closed softly behind them, and with a signal from the guard captain, the procession began to move.
The line of carriages rolled forward — one after another — the rhythmic clatter of wheels against stone echoing through the grand gates. Soldiers rode behind them, their armor flashing like liquid gold beneath the setting sun.
They were bound for the Coronation Banquet of Crown Prince Kalan of Lamig — a night that would be remembered far longer than any of them could have imagined.
Goya fiddled with the edge of her sleeve, her cheeks turning a soft pink as she glanced toward Kain. He, in turn, kept his hands awkwardly at his sides, shifting from one foot to the other. Neither spoke for a moment, the hum of laughter and music from the ballroom around them filling the silence.
While in the carriage,
Finally, Kain cleared his throat, his voice barely above a whisper. "Goya… uh… save me a dance later?"
Goya's eyes widened in amusement and how that sounded like an order and she nodded so quickly she almost stumbled. "O-Of course… I'll save it just for you," she murmured, Kain raised his eyebrows at the at her stummer.
They shared a quiet laugh, a tiny, intimate bubble of warmth amid the grandeur of the evening, before slowly letting the crowd pull them apart again.
The massive gates of the Palace of Lamig swung open, revealing the glittering courtyard beyond. The first to step forward were the announcers, their voices carrying across the stone expanse as they strode in with ceremonial precision. Once they reached their positions on either side of the gates, they raised their arms in unison, signaling the start of the grand introductions with their right titles.
"Bow down!" one called.
"The Emperor of Èvana, His Majesty, Emperor Arvin!" the other proclaimed.
The nobles and guests bent in respect, the sound of their synchronized movements echoing through the palace walls. One by one, each noble was announced with the same flourish.
"Duke Rnzo and Duchess Gina of Magili," one announcer declared, though she was still officially Duke Rnzo's fiancée. She gave a poised nod, her composure flawless as she acknowledged the crowd.
"Prince General Kain and Princess Consort Goya!" came next, drawing murmurs of admiration from the gathering. Kain's posture was rigid, regal, while Goya's cheeks colored slightly under the attention.
"Count and Lady of House Sapphire, Magili," the announcers intoned, presenting Tando and Kiara to the court. They walked side by side, a graceful pair representing their house with quiet dignity.
"Marquis Kaisen of Malvi, Magili," another voice rang out, the announcement echoing off the marble walls.
Finally, the attention turned to Mirha and Kanha. "Ladies of the Empress," the announcers said.
A small, proud smile tugged at Mirha's lips. She held her head high, pleased simply to be acknowledged. Kanha, on the other hand, felt a flicker of irritation. How could she, of all people, be grouped under the same title as the low-born Mirha? She clenched her hands subtly, reminding herself that her true elevation would come once Kaisen formally asked for her hand. Until then, she would remain composed, letting no hint of her frustration escape.
The palace courtyard buzzed with anticipation as the final names echoed through the air. Every noble had been presented, and now the ceremony could begin.
As the last of the nobles were announced and the echoes of "Ladies of the court" faded, a hush settled over the courtyard. All eyes instinctively turned toward a figure already seated near the ceremonial dais—Queen Mother Raina.
She sat with effortless elegance, her posture regal yet relaxed, as a group of young dancers twirled and leaped before her. Her ladies-in-waiting attended closely, fanning her and whispering softly, ensuring every detail of her comfort was attended to. The scene exuded a charm that softened the formality of the palace, drawing quiet admiration from those entering.
Arvin and Kain exchanged a glance, a subtle mix of respect and amusement passing between them but they know their mother loved being early. Raina's eyes sparkled as she clapped in rhythm to the dancers, clearly enjoying the display, her presence alone commanding attention without a single word.
Even Mirha felt a flutter in her chest as she observed the Queen Mother. There was something magnetic about her—a combination of authority and warmth—that made the grand palace seem even more alive. She understood, in that fleeting moment, why both Arvin and Kain carried the weight of her expectations so naturally in every gesture.
Once the last noble had been announced, a respectful silence fell over the courtyard. One by one, the guests dipped into a deep, formal bow before Queen Mother Raina, honoring her presence and authority. Even those who carried the highest ranks in Èvana—the princes, generals, and dukes—complied without hesitation, the clatter of polished shoes against marble echoing softly as they moved to their assigned seats.
Mirha felt a quiet thrill as she took her place among the ladies of the court, the pride of simply being acknowledged warming her chest. Kanha, ever poised, followed without a hint of her earlier irritation, concealing her thoughts behind the practiced grace of a noblewoman.
The courtyard hummed with expectation, every noble waiting in anticipation. All eyes were now fixed on the grand doors leading to the Temple of Lamig, where the new king, King Kalan, was completing his sacred vows. The soft murmur of the crowd faded into a reverent hush as the moment approached.
Even the dancers, still near Queen Mother Raina, seemed to hold their energy in check, as if sensing the gravity of the occasion. The palace, with its towering columns and glimmering arches, seemed to lean in along with the crowd, waiting for the emergence of the man who would soon rule Lamig
The deep toll of the temple bells silenced the murmurs of the crowd. Every head turned toward the great doors of the Temple of Lamig as they slowly opened, releasing a stream of golden light.
From the radiant glow stepped King Ren Kalan, the elder monarch of Lamig, his presence commanding respect even in his age. His robes of deep indigo and gold shimmered faintly with each step, and though his movements were measured, his gaze was steady—filled with the quiet pride of a father passing on his legacy.
Behind him followed Prince Kalan, the new heir—tall, composed, and every bit the image of his youth and vigor. Yet beneath his solemn expression was that unmistakable spark of mischief known well to those who had grown up within the palace walls.
The announcers' voices rang out, clear and reverent:
"His Majesty, King Ren Kalan of Lamig — and His Royal Highness, Prince Kalan of Lamig!"
The crowd rose to their feet, bowing deeply as the two men made their way to the dais where the gilded throne awaited. King Ren turned to his son, his voice solemn yet tender.
"From this day forth, Lamig shall follow your hand and your heart, my son."
With steady hands, Ren lifted the crown from his own head—the crown that had ruled for decades—and placed it upon the brow of Kalan, now kneeling before him. The air seemed to still as the weight of gold met the new king's dark hair.
When Kalan rose, attendants stepped forward bearing the Royal Ornaments of Lamig—a ceremonial blade, a golden scepter, and the sacred seal. Each was presented in turn, and Kalan laid his hand upon them to swear his oath before the gods, the people, and his lineage.
The herald's voice boomed across the hall:
"Behold, by oath and crown, by blood and vow—King Kalan of Lamig, sovereign of the realm!"
The hall erupted in applause and cheers, banners fluttering, the once-still air alive again with celebration. Yet amid the formality and grandeur, Kalan's serious expression softened. The corners of his lips curved into that familiar grin that made the court love him all the more.
"I, King Kalan," he declared, his voice ringing with warmth and mischief, "command Lamig to dance and feast until sunrise!"
Laughter rippled through the crowd before exploding into thunderous cheers. Musicians struck their instruments, dancers began to whirl, and the solemnity of the coronation gave way to joyous celebration.
For a moment, it felt as though even the palace itself rejoiced—its marble halls alive with song, laughter, and the echo of a young king's first decree.
The feast of Lamig shimmered beneath a hundred suspended lanterns, their golden light rippling like sunlight over water. The long banquet tables gleamed with polished silver and crystal goblets, the air alive with laughter, chatter, and the scent of spiced wine and roasted game.
At the royal table, Princess Goya leaned lazily against her chair, eyes sparkling with mischief as she teased her brother—the newly crowned King Kalan.
"Careful, Your Majesty," she said with a grin, "one night as king and already your head is swelling. What next? Turning Lamig into your personal harem?"
Kalan nearly choked on his drink, shooting her a playful glare. "You mock me now, sister, but when I do, I'll be sure to assign you the task of finding some my great wives"
"Not Happening " Goya replied sweetly, "And lowered your voice you will trigger the women to migrate from Lamig."
Their cousin, Lady Aru, the governor's daughter, burst into laughter. "Goya could never be more right!" she said, giggling so hard she nearly tipped her cup.
The table around them erupted in laughter, even a few servants hiding their smiles behind lowered heads. Kalan's grin softened as he raised his goblet toward his sister and cousin. "Very well then, Princess."
"You'll thank me later," Goya said, her tone teasing but her affection unmistakable.
A few seats down, Lord Fahit, their father, was deep in conversation with Former King Ren and Lord Hosha, the king's right hand. Between them, the air carried the weight of both humor and history.
"So tell me," King Ren asked with a curious smirk, "how has our Goya fared among the Èvana nobles? No trouble, I hope?"
Hosha chuckled. "She's more than fine, Your Majesty. In fact, she's flourished—no complaints, no tears, and from what I hear, quite a few hearts left behind."
King Ren turned to Fahit with a raised brow, and Fahit laughed. "That sounds like my daughter indeed."
Kalan, catching the words, looked to Hosha with exaggerated suspicion.
As the laughter subsided, Lord Fahit glanced across the hall. "Speaking of Èvana," he mused, "where have their ladies gone? They were breathtaking earlier, but now they've vanished entirely."
Before anyone could answer, Goya, still wiping a tear of laughter from her eye, spoke up. "They'll return for the dance, Hiti. Don't worry—you'll get your chance to flatter them then."
Fahit's eyes twinkled as he raised his goblet toward King Kalan. "To Lamig's new dawn."
Kalan smiled, the flickering candlelight catching in his crown. "And to Èvana." he replied warmly.
Their goblets met with a soft chime that lingered in the air, mingling with the hum of music, laughter, and the promise of the night still young.
On the other side of the banquet hall, the atmosphere was decidedly rowdier. Prince Arvin, General Kain, Duke Rnzo, and Lord Kaisen had taken their seats together, their laughter louder than the clinking of silverware. Goblets of wine and brandy lined the table, some half-empty, some dangerously full, and the air carried the spicy tang of alcohol.
Heman, known for his disdain for drink, remained stoic at the edge of the group, arms folded as he watched the others with mild exasperation. "You all are going to regret this tomorrow," he muttered, though his tone was more amused than critical.
Rnzo scoffed. "And that a problem for tomorrow"
The musicians struck up a lively tune, signaling the start of the evening's dance. Courtiers rose from their seats, twirling onto the polished floor with skirts and coats flaring. The nobles of Lamig and Èvana alike followed suit, bowing and curtsying in practiced rhythm, laughter ringing above the music.
Kaisen, cheeks flushed from wine, suddenly pushed back his chair and raised his goblet high. "It is time!" he declared, his voice booming across the table. "Time to find me a wife!"
The table erupted into cheers, whistles, and laughter. Even Arvin and Kain had to lean back, grinning at the rare show of audacity from the usually reserved Kaisen.
"You hear that, ladies?" Kain called, smirking. "Lord Kaisen is accepting applications!"
Rnzo raised his goblet in mock solemnity. "We should all take notes—he's usually so quiet, he'll probably forget this by morning."
Kaisen waved a dismissive hand, too caught up in the moment to notice the stares of the dancing nobles turning toward him. "No, I mean it! A wife! Now! Where is she!!?
The court erupted in laughter again. Even sober Heman couldn't help a small shake of the head, though he muttered, "This is going to be a long night."
Meanwhile, the dance floor shimmered as couples swirled gracefully. The music, full of energy and promise, set the pace for the celebration. Kalan and Goya watched from the far side of the hall, their earlier jokes still lingering in smiles, as the younger nobles—drunk or bold—made their declarations of love, loyalty, and mischief.
As Kaisen swayed precariously on his chair, Heman finally stepped forward, exasperation written across his usually stoic face. "Come on," he muttered, placing a steadying hand on Kaisen's shoulder. "Let's get you somewhere you can sober up before you fall off the floor—or embarrass yourself further."
Kaisen leaned heavily into him, grinning, and slurred, "But Heman… I must confess… I love her. Mirha. I've loved her for… forever!"
Heman froze mid-step, his dark eyes widening just slightly at the unexpected declaration. For a long moment, all he could do was stare, his usual calm broken by the sheer audacity of Kaisen's drunken honesty. Then, despite himself, a chuckle escaped—soft, knowing, and entirely uncharacteristic of his normally serious demeanor.
"That… makes two of you," Heman said quietly, letting the words hang in the air without any further explanation. He guided Kaisen toward a quiet side chamber, keeping him upright and steady, though his mind lingered on the confession, amused and contemplative all at once.
Kaisen, too intoxicated to notice the nuance in Heman's words, simply leaned into the support, muttering happily, "Good… good… then she'll have to love me back… eventually…"
As they walked, the sounds of the feast and the dance faded slightly behind them, leaving only the hum of music and the subtle clinking of goblets in the distance.
It was a small, fleeting moment in the chaos of the night—but one that carried more weight than any cheer or toast in the hall.
The ladies of the court followed Queen Mother Raina into a side hall set aside for the evening's performances. Candles cast a warm, golden glow across the gilded walls, making the polished floors shine and lending the space a sense of quiet intimacy amid the grandeur of the palace.
The performers began to tell a tragic love story—lovers torn apart by fate, their movements precise, graceful, and brimming with emotion.
Gina and Kiara sat close together, fingers clutching their skirts, eyes wide with emotion as tears began to form. Each dramatic gesture and sorrowful note struck deeply, the heartbreak of the tale pulling at their hearts.
Kanha, ever deliberate, leaned forward slightly, letting her gaze sweep over the performers. Her face remained composed, though the intensity of the drama did not escape her. She allowed herself a fleeting appreciation, careful to maintain her poised exterior, already planning how she could leverage the evening's events to her advantage.
Mirha watched silently, her eyes fixed on the stage. Questions stirred in her mind, subtle thoughts about love, fate, and choice, yet she said nothing, keeping them to herself. Even in the midst of tragedy, she remained calm, absorbing the performance with quiet contemplation.
The maids, standing respectfully behind the ladies, mirrored their attention, hands clasped, eyes wide with awe at the artistry before them.
As the final act concluded, polite applause filled the room. Queen Mother Raina gave a small, approving nod, signaling the next part of the evening.
"It is time for the dance ladies go have fun the drums are blasting, i will stay right here and watch the next performance." she said gracefully, her voice carrying effortlessly.
Kanha, Gina, Kiara, and Mirha rose, smoothing their gowns and preparing to return to the ballroom. Mirha allowed herself a small, amused smile at the thought of the music and movement awaiting them. The maids followed closely, ready to assist as they rejoined the festivities, the promise of the night ahead shimmering in the air like the candlelight around them.