The Emperor’s entrance officially began the evening. He swept his gaze across the banquet, smiling with satisfaction at his position; he seed especially pleased to see Astrid and Bastian together. However, his expression changed when he saw ; I suppose he thought the person he had sent should have already killed .
Everyone took their seats at the assigned tables. These were divided according to rank; the dukes and foreign delegations sat closest to the throne.
A notable exception was Elizabeth. As the sole representative of her house and possessing power equivalent to or greater than a duchy, she was seated much further forward than us, at the sa table as the most important figures of the empire.
It also likely helped that the Emperor had shown constant signs of wanting to take Elizabeth as his wife. But as she was a widow and seed to pay no attention to his subtle hints, things remained in a tense balance.
The Emperor rose to his feet, instantly silencing the murmur of the hall. He raised his golden goblet and scanned the attendees with a look of satisfaction.
"Tonight we celebrate not only my birth, but the strengthening of our great Empire," he declared in a deep voice. "It is an honor to have the delegations of our allies with us, especially that of Lucratis. Their presence here marks the beginning of an era of shared prosperity."
He made a deliberate pause, and his gaze shifted toward the main table, lingering on a single figure.
"And, of course, I cannot fail to ntion the Marquess Elizabeth Vane. Her tireless work in comrce is the engine of our coffers. It is a privilege that a woman of her elegance and vision joins us today."
A tense silence swept through the hall as the nobles exchanged glances. The Emperor’s words were almost a public proposal, but Elizabeth rely inclined her head with a courtesy so cold it bordered on contempt.
Bastian, who seed unable to bear the attention being on anyone but himself, stood up before the Emperor had even finished sitting down. He tapped his goblet with a silver knife, producing a sharp sound that shattered the tense silence left by the ntion of Elizabeth.
"A magnificent toast, Father!" he exclaid with a rehearsed smile, though his eyes glead with poorly concealed ambition. "But let us not forget what truly makes this night historic."
Bastian took Astrid’s hand and forced her to rise with him. The princess of Lucratis kept her back straight, though her jaw was clenched.
"To the union of two empires and to my future wife," Bastian continued, raising his goblet toward the crowd. "May this alliance be as splendid as the reflection of my own lineage."
The announcent landed like a bomb among the delegations from Pradiles and Midvern, whose faces turned pale as they confird their worst fears were true. Bastian, oblivious to the political weight of his words, simply reveled in being the center of every gaze.
Bastian’s announcent fell upon the Windsteel table like a death sentence. Cassane’s father paled, and for a second, his mask of the implacable noble cracked, revealing deep anguish.
If Bastian and Astrid’s engagent was official, it ant the deal with the Lucratis Empire was sealed. And the bargaining chip was her: the Emperor had already agreed to hand Cassane over to Lucas Wyrne, Astrid’s brother.
Cassane did not move, but the light in her eyes went out instantly. Her hand, which had been holding the goblet with elegance, began to tremble almost imperceptibly. She knew her fate had just been sealed at a negotiation table where her will counted for nothing.
The Emperor raised his goblet once more, this ti with a smile that did not reach his eyes, savoring the expectant silence that had taken hold of the hall.
"But the blessings for our empire do not end with my son," he announced, projecting his voice so that every corner of the room could hear. "As proof of our unyielding will to seal this alliance with Lucratis, it pleases to announce a second bond that will strengthen our borders and our blood."
He made a dramatic pause, and his gaze fixed directly on the Windsteel table.
"Cassane Windsteel, one of the jewels of our nobility, shall be joined in marriage to Lucas Wyrne. May this union be the pillar that sustains peace between our peoples for generations. To the future of our houses!"
The thunderous applause of the courtiers erupted imdiately, but for the Windsteels it sounded like the noise of an execution. Cassane rose with chanical grace, offering a perfect curtsy while her face, pale as marble, showed not a trace of the storm raging inside her.
The silence that followed the announcent was broken by a clear, icy voice that did not need to shout to be heard.
"Wasn’t the young Cassane already betrothed, Your Majesty?" intervened Sylvia Sterling, elegantly resting her fingers on the table. Her gaze, sharp as crystal, pierced directly at the sovereign. "Breaking a blood contract between noble houses is not sothing that should be taken lightly."
The Emperor let out a dry laugh, dismissing it with a vague wave of his hand.
"For the good and stability of the Empire, dear Sylvia, a simple engagent to the son of a count is sothing that can be set aside," he replied, his tone bordering on mockery. "There are priorities that outweigh minor agreents."
Those words fell like a bucket of cold water over the middle nobility. The counts and barons present exchanged glances filled with resentnt. If the Emperor could so easily trample on a Windsteel contract, it ant none of their own agreents or lineages were safe from the throne’s whims.
The murmur of discontent was brief but intense — a small crack of distrust opening in the middle of the banquet.
The Emperor, with a smug smile, prepared to drink from his goblet to conclude the discussion.
However, before the wine could touch his lips, an icy voice filled with absolute authority cut through the air of the hall, stopping the toast cold.
"Emperor..." said a figure whose silhouette stood out at the table of the highest hierarchies. Her voice was not a plea, but a silent command. "If you will allow to say sothing before this matter is completely closed."
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