"Indeed," Cynthia observed, peering out of the carriage. "Her Majesty's Imperial order kept civilians indoors while the imperial soldiers marched through the capital. Had the nobility's carriages joined in, it might not have been handled so swiftly." The streets lay empty, devoid of civilian presence, replaced by the synchronized steps of the imperial guards. The marquess nodded. "I anticipated this. Disorder and unrest would hinder our efforts. It also facilitates house checks to find any harbored terrorists responsible for this chaos." His gaze remained stern as the carriage moved forward.
The city lay deserted a canvas of silence painted by imperial decree. Civilians, tucked away in their homes, followed the mandate to the letter. The streets, once bustling with life, now echoed only with distant birdcalls and the rhythmic beat of hooves on stone.
Down every cobblestone street, wreaths, and crimson roses lay scattered and trampled, a testament to the panic that had swept through the city before the group's arrival. As they wound their way through the desolate alleys, a central square emerged as a place of significance. Perched atop a nearby building, a massive, glassy crystal with a smooth surface gleamed, flanked by two cylindrical crystals. These three artifacts emitted a kaleidoscope of colors, their chiming resonating until the visual projection of a middle-aged lady materialized on the screen.
The Lady stood tall, her posture unwavering and disciplined. Her face revealed stoicism, yet an air of authority and formality emanated from her presence. Draped diagonally across her chest, a black gown was secured by a sapphire-blue sash. Adorned with badges, medals, and meticulously crafted decorations, she bore the weight of history and duty. Atop her regal head, a delicate tiara glimmered, while a pearl necklace graced her neck a symbol of lineage and grace. As her image materialized on the screen, the Marquess ordered the coachman to halt the carriage.
"Citizens of the realm" the Woman began speaking the seriousness evident in her tone she then continued
"Today, I stand before you with a heart heavy with grief and fury. Our imperial funeral, a solemn occasion that was meant to honor the departed Empress Mother, was desecrated by those who harbor malice in their hearts. These attackers, driven by hatred and Jealousy, sought to strike at the very core of our empire."
"But let me make this unequivocally clear, their actions will not break our resolve. We are a people bound by duty, honor, and an unyielding love for our nation. The blood spilled on these grounds will not go unanswered. We shall rise, not in vengeance, but in unwavering determination to protect our legacy and our future. "
"To those who dared to defile this solemn occasion, hear my words: You have not weakened us; you have ignited a fire within our hearts. We will hunt you down, expose your darkness, and bring you to justice. Our unity is our strength, and together, we shall prevail."
"Let this be a warning to all who harbor ill intentions: Our empire stands unyielding, and we shall not rest until justice is served. May the spirits of our fallen monarchs guide us and may their memory fuel our righteous fury."
"Long live the empire!"
As the speech concluded, the screen faded into a kaleidoscope of colors, with the letters "EI" shimmering briefly before the display went dark. The coachman, having received the signal, resumed the journey. The Marquess, his patience wearing thin, mulled over the unsettling message from the broadcast. Turning to his daughter, he called, "Cynthia, shall we face the impending court assembly together, or would you prefer to return home? The Empress's tone was practically seething with anger this could be a long session."
Cynthia met her father's gaze, her expression resolute. "I'll stay by your side. These gatherings are part of my duty now that I'm stepping into official responsibilities."
The Marquess nodded, appreciating her resolve.
"Father," Cynthia began, her gaze fixed on the Marquess, "I'm a little puzzled by your assertion that the Empress's voice was dripping with anger. To me, she sounded remarkably calm and composed. Am I missing part of the story?" Her curiosity hung in the air as she awaited his response.
The Marquess shifted his attention from his daughter to the passing scenery outside the carriage window. "My dear," he began, "Her Majesty is not just a ruler; she embodies the very essence of our nation. As the mother of our people and protector of our realms, her image must remain flawless firm yet benevolent, unreadable yet gracious. But," he leaned closer, his voice conspiratorial, "having served as her aide for many years, I've learned that truth is like a constellation in the night sky. We must look beyond the obvious stars to connect the dots and reveal its beauty."
Cynthia furrowed her brow. "And how does this relate to the Empress?"
The Marquess's smile deepened. "My dear, the Empress conceals her emotions well, but beneath that regal facade lies a complexity a constellation of feelings and intentions. Just as the night sky holds hidden wonders, so does she."
"Well," Cynthia began, her smile illuminating her features, "I think the reason lies in the fact that she is the pinnacle of our empire. There's more to her than meets the eye a depth beyond what the average citizen perceives."
The Marquess chuckled, shaking his head. "Ah, your unwavering favorability toward the Empress remains unchanged," he said. "But let me share a different perspective. Despite her strength and might, she is, at the core, human. Emotions course through her veins, rendering her imperfect. You see, having observed her mannerisms over the years, As I said earlier truth is like a constellation in the night sky. We must look beyond the obvious stars to connect the dots and reveal its beauty."
The Marquess leaned closer, his voice conspiratorial. "My dear, beneath her regal facade lies complexity a constellation of feelings and intentions. Even though she spoke calmly today, I sensed her displeasure. It's what makes this situation all the more daunting."
Cynthia nodded, turning her gaze back to the passing landscape. "Thank you for the explanation, Father," she said softly. "I'll keep that in mind."
As Cynthia peered out of the carriage, her eyes fell upon a magnificent monument at the center of a roundabout the Sovreign's Legacy. This golden statue depicted a mighty Drake with a rider astride its back, brandishing a trident that pointed toward the heavens.
Beyond the monument, they encountered a grand golden gate adorned with crests on either side. Imperial soldiers stood sentinel at each column. As the carriage came to a halt, the guards approached the window to verify their identities. Satisfied, they returned to their posts, tapping their spears on the ground. The gate swung open, and the guards bid them a good evening.
As the horses passed through the gate, an opulent building came into view. Its classical architecture boasts numerous windows and statues gracing the rooftop. Before the palace lay a meticulously manicured garden, its hedges geometrically shaped, and a central fountain glistening in the fading light. The sky above blended apricot and rose hues, signaling the approach of dusk. This scene radiated grandeur and precision, hinting at a place steeped in historical significance or cultural heritage.
The carriage came to a halt, and the coachman opened the door, allowing the Marquess and his daughter to step out. They made their way toward the front entrance, where another pair of stationed imperial guards stood. With a respectful nod, the guards swung open the doors, bidding them a pleasant evening.
As Cynthia wandered through the palace, she couldn't help but marvel at its timeless splendor. The coffered ceiling, adorned with intricate wooden panels, drew her gaze upward. Crystal chandeliers hung like suspended tears, casting rainbows across the marble expanse. Along the walls, tapestries told a woven saga of victories and defeats knights clashing with valor, and regal figures whose eyes seemed to follow her every step. And there, the statues stood sentinel, their alabaster forms frozen in eternal grace.
Cynthia enveloped in the palace's opulence, reached her destination a grand door flanked by vigilant guards. The Marquess's voice resonated, introducing them: "Horace Rochester and Cynthia Rochester have arrived." The guards, synchronized and unwavering, grasped the handles and swung the door open. Beyond lay a room teeming with nobles, their gazes curious and expectant.
As the doors closed behind them, the room revealed its grandeur. Two long rectangular tables stretched horizontally on either side, their chairs aligned along the walls, leaving an open expanse in the center. At the head of each table stood an elevated platform, adorned with a luxurious armchair. The chair's high backrest, upholstered in opulent blue velvet, exuded regal comfort. Its ornate design featured a gold-colored wooden frame, intricately carved and embellished with letters "EI," lending it an antique or baroque allure. Above the throne, a blue canopy held golden trims centered around the Imperial Family's crest
The marquess strode toward the table on the left side of the room. Before he took his seat, he gestured for Cynthia to sit in a chair placed at the end of the table, her back against the wall. As she settled into the seat, Cynthia noticed that someone else occupied one of the chairs.
"Good evening, Cynthia," said a young man seated to her left. His black hair framed silver irises and his toned build suggested he was in his early twenties. "I hope you and the Marquess have been well since our last encounter."
"Ah, little Duke Pendragon," Cynthia replied, smiling. "It's a pleasure to meet you again. Yes, we've been doing well."
The young noble nodded. "I see you're finally embracing your official role as heir apparent by attending the Imperial Court Assembly."
"Yes," Cynthia affirmed. "It's time to transition smoothly into my public responsibilities."
Curious, she asked, "Will Duke Pendragon be joining us? You seem to be searching for someone."
The little Duke's expression shifted. "Something beyond the recent terrorist incident is afoot. Three weeks ago, the Empress urgently dispatched my father on a mission. This meeting holds national importance."
Cynthia considered his words. "While I understand your concern, there's no need to be overly tense. It'll only inconvenience you."
As they conversed, more nobles arrived, each accompanied by their heir apparent. The room buzzed with socializing until the doors swung open, releasing a sudden wave of mystical pressure. A guard's voice echoed through the silence:
"ANNOUNCING THE ARRIVAL OF HER IMPERIAL MAJESTY, EMPRESS ELIZABETH THE SECOND, RULER OF BRITTANOR, ACCOMPANIED BY CROWN PRINCESS ANNE AND THE VANGUARD COUNCIL."
All nobles stood, bowing or curtsying with great effort as the figures entered the room.
As the figures entered the room, their expressions remained fixed either stoic or marked by extreme fatigue. In stark contrast, the nobles who had been socializing moments ago now displayed signs of stress and discomfort, a consequence of the residual pressure emanating from the Empress.
Proceeding down the center aisle, the Empress took her seat on the throne. Flanking her were two ladies-in-waiting, poised on either side. Meanwhile, the Crown Princess occupied the head of the table to the right. As for the Vanguard Council, three members sat at the head of the left table, while the final councilor stood near the Empress on the platform.
With a graceful wave of Her Majesty's hand, the lady-in-waiting to her left stepped forward. In a calm and steady voice, she declared, "Let the Imperial Court General Assembly commence." Having delivered her statement, she retreated to her position behind the Empress's throne.
The Imperial Court Assembly convened in hushed anticipation. One of the Vanguard Council members, previously seated, rose to address the assembly. His voice carried authority as he revealed, "The attack on King's Street earlier today was orchestrated by the Yomans."
The room buzzed with tension. Nobles, who had been socializing moments ago, now wore expressions of concern. A noble, positioned near the end of the right table, interrupted. "How can we be certain it wasn't someone framing Yome to escalate tensions between the global powers Field Marshal Ironcrest?"
The Vanguard Council member met his gaze. "Viscount Maximus, the army investigates and reports its findings. Based on eyewitness descriptions and recovered garments, the evidence points to the Tijex region of the Yoman Empire."
Viscount Maximus remained unimpressed. "Prudence is essential. We must consider all angles."
Before Viscount Maximus could continue, intense pressure filled the room. The Vanguard Council member beside Her Majesty stepped forward. "Viscount, intriguing questions indeed. But before you finish that thought, Her Majesty will reveal hidden affairs intentionally kept from us for three weeks."
As the lady-in-waiting stepped forward, a chest cradled in her arms. The Empress extended her hand, and upon touching the chest, it glowed with a soft green hue. The lid opened, revealing a long parchment.
In a solemn voice, the Empress addressed the assembly: "What you see here is a binding agreement a pact between myself and King Sevar of Veilmond. In the event of his demise, due to his lack of heirs, his kingdom shall become a territory of the Brittanor Empire. This agreement bears our signatures, notarized by the Lumenoth Supreme Court and witnessed by Marquess Rochester. It is irrevocable."
She continued, her gaze steady: "Some may find King Sevar's actions perplexing. However, he confided in me. A powerful senatorial family demanded he sell them mining rights to his country's precious mines. He refused, knowing their retaliation was inevitable. This agreement was his safeguard."
Her final words hung heavy in the air: "When the agreement was sealed, I received a life lamp for King Sevar. Never did I imagine its flame would extinguish so soon."
The room grew somber as the Empress continued. Three weeks ago, the life lamp extinguished, prompting my urgent orders to Fleet Admiral Marquess Bloodborne and Marshal of the Imperial Airforce Duke Pendragon. Their report revealed troubling news.
Kneeling before the assembly, the Vanguard member sought permission to ask a specific question. The Empress nodded, granting her request. Countess Alexandria inclined her head in gratitude.
Facing the assembly, Countess Alexandria cut through the tension with her incisive inquiry: "Viscount Maximus, your mother hails from a Yoman senatorial family, correct?"
The viscount shifted uncomfortably, fidgeting with his fingers. "Yes," he replied, his uneasiness evident.
The countess pressed on: "Given this clear conflict of interest your family's close ties to your maternal Yoman lineage why should we accept your words at face value? How can we trust your concerns?"
The viscount stammered, sweat now beading on his forehead. "I am a loyal citizen of the empire," he insisted. "My allegiance lies here; I'd never endanger our nation."
Countess Alexandria remained unconvinced: "Interesting. In my eyes, your motives remain uncertain. Perhaps you harbor a desire to protect Yome. Field Marshal Ironcrest, as the Imperial Army's leader, is bound by Draethan's oath never to deceive Her Majesty or the people. To question my fellow council member's competence displeases me."
"Viscount Maximus," Countess Alexandria's voice cut through the tension, "I perceive Yome as a group of brazen and arrogant individuals unsupervised manchildren who feign wisdom and depth. Their delusion warrants study; they're woefully out of touch with reality."
The Viscount, visibly uncomfortable, retreated to his seat.