The morning after the Emperor's declaration, the mood in the imperial palace was a peculiar mix of political exhilaration and sheer panic. They had an Empire to reform and a wedding to execute—all in a terrifyingly short timeframe.
Vaelorian, now the Emperor-Designate, sat at his desk, surrounded not by ledgers, but by fabric swatches and calligraphy samples. He looked utterly overwhelmed.
"I thought going on missions as the future leader of the empire was the most challenging task of my life. I was dead wrong. My parents want this done in three weeks, Riven. Three weeks!" Vaelorian lamented.
Riven, looking much calmer, leaned against the desk with a sigh. "It's not without the advantages, Your Highness. A fast wedding gives the Senate no time to mount a protest. We strike before they can schedule a single motion to form a committee to review appropriate laws and traditions regarding the matter.'"
Vaelorian, groaning in defeat, sat up with a pout. "Don't mention laws and traditions, please. Willow has already traumatized me enough of that. We need to deploy the team, Riven. Our secret team members aren't just for espionage; we're using them for wedding planning too."
The first sign of the inevitable chaos arrived with the Empress. She swept into the room, followed by two highly stressed individuals: Master Elan, the Imperial High Ceremonialist, and Madam Antoinette, the Palace's most decorated Event Coordinator. These were not the strategists Riven and Vaelorian were used to; these were career professionals who ran on pure, high-octane etiquette.
"Darling, I have brought the experts." The empress began with a clap of her hands. "Master Elan insists we must adhere to the Thirty-Six Rules of Imperial Betrothal even with the expedited timeline, and Antoinette will ensure the seating plan reflects the current political power structure—not the historical one. Master Elan, the schedule!"
Master Elan, a thin, frantic man, bowed low, clutching a quill. "Your Highness, the minimum time for hand-stitching the coronation robes alone is five weeks! And the official proclamation script requires twenty-two hours of illumination! We are structurally unsound!"
Madam Antoinette, fanning herself dramatically. "And the seating! If we elevate House Ashbourne to the second row, we risk insulting House Durnhall's historical precedence! This is a diplomatic tightrope!"
Vaelorian closed his eyes, telepathy to Riven: I am losing the will to keep calm, my love. These two are worse than the Senate. We need our people to create a buffer.
Riven chuckled quietly before replying: Agreed. They need to fight chaos with chaos. I'm calling the team.
A moment later, the team was summoned. They arrived preparing for a strategy session on Senators activities but they were met instead with Master Elan screeching about the proper weight of the veil and Madam Antoinette stabbing a tablecloth with a pin while muttering about House precedence.
Barron, whispering to Willow "Is this a new form of interrogation? But those two don't look like they belong in the Senate." Willow shrugged with a blank look as she tried to understand what she was looking at.
Barron was the first to speak out loud. "Your Highness? We thought we were discussing the Imperial Appropriations Law. Did Aldrin concede already?"
"Aldrin is irrelevant for the next three weeks. We have a new mission: Operation get the Crown Prince Married Before He Has a Nervous Breakdown." Riven said before stepping forward with a grin. "I'm sorry to break the news this was but our wedding date has been dramatically accelerated. The Emperor is retiring and we need to plan an Imperial Wedding in three weeks. We are designating you all to the Imperial Wedding Planning Committee."
Vaelorian stepped forward with a tired look and took control of the room's energy. "Welcome to the Imperial Wedding Planning Committee. We have a strict timeline, and we need your talents to make this happen flawlessly."
"He's right," Riven supported. "Willow, you handle all vendor contracts, permissions, and guest transport logistics. Master Elan is your primary contact. Help him manage his schedule, and please ignore his discouraging gaze."
Willow, eyes glittering with challenge. "Master Elan, I heard your minimum time for the coronation robes is usually five weeks. I shall compress it for ten days. Prepare the raw materials. I'll personally run the bolt of fabric to the seamstresses in the North and back every evening."
"That's my girl!" Riven praised, giving her a high-five.
"Mira Lune, you are our Chief Aesthetic and Protocol Officer, working with Madam Antoinette. She knows the rules; you handle the styles." Vaelorian told Mira Lune and she smiled triumphantly while doing a little dance like she'd been waiting to hear those words all her life.
"And Anya, the Palace Gardens need to be absolutely stunning, and they need to be in bloom like yesterday. You are in charge of all floral arrangements and venue atmosphere. You will work with the Royal Gardeners." Riven informed Anya with a smile which she nodded happily, already planning what to do.
"Barron, your job is the most crucial: Security, Traffic Control, and Guests Placement. We need to monitor the Senators every movement that day." Vaelorian told Barron.
"Understood." Barron replied with a nod.
After their meeting, the Imperial Palace immediately descended into delightful, organized chaos. Vaelorian, trying to oversee both the wedding and the Senate reform, was fielding telepathic reports while tasting their wedding cake.
Riven, telepathy to Vaelorian: Ahh, babe? Master Elan just fainted because Willow returned with the commissioned coronation boots in under an hour. And Madam Antoinette is currently locked in a closet arguing with Mira Lune about the appropriate level of candelabra heat. What should I do?
Vaelorian couldn't help chuckling before replying: Choose the boots with the silver buckle. And tell Mira Lune to go with the medium heat—we don't want to melt the ice sculptures, please.
The Empress, now acting as the unofficial Matron of Ceremonies, found the chaos thrilling. She walked into the suite to find Barron disguised as a gardener, whispering security details to Riven, while Anya coaxed a reluctant rosebush to bloom in the fireplace.
"Magnificent! This is what the Imperial Family needed!" The Empress exclaimed. "Willow, darling, did you tell the orchestra from the Northern Holds to prepare their travel forms?"
"No need for that, Your Majesty. I already ran them here and back five times to practice. They are currently practicing in the East Palace music room. Speaking of practice, they'll be needing dinner soon.
Vaelorian looked between Willow and his mother, utterly defeated, yet with a fond smile. "At least my coronation will be less stressful than this wedding. Right, Mother?"
The Empress just patted his cheek. "Nonsense, dear. The wedding will cement your power more effectively than any crown. Now, about the official Imperial seal on the invitations—let's go find the Grand Master Engraver. I think Mira Lune and Madam Antoinette have successfully negotiated the candelabra dispute."
After a while Riven found Vaelorian sitting alone in the garden, just staring into space. He quietly sat beside him and took his hand into his, giving it an encouraging squeeze without saying a word.