Several hours went by in a haze of melodies, strained smiles, and delicate political maneuvering. The party was in full swing, yet a palpable tension hummed beneath the surface of every interaction, a shared anticipation that none dared voice.
Suddenly, the music ceased mid-measure. The chief herald’s voice once again cut through the chatter, amplified by aura.
"Attention, everyone! His Royal Majesty wishes to address the assembly!"
The effect was instantaneous.
Conversations ceased, glasses were lowered, and all eyes focused on the royal platform. The air grew thick with a silence so complete it was deafening.
"..."
King Liam slowly rose to his feet, still leaning on his ornate staff. His face, though lined with age and strain, was set with grim determination.
His gaze swept over his children, his nobles, his entire kingdom gathered before him, and for a moment, it held a weight that seemed to still the very heartbeats in the room.
"Nobles of the court," he began, his voice raspy but clear, carrying to the farthest corners. "Guests. Family." His eyes lingered on his children arrayed before him. "I believe it is time for me to reveal the reason you have all been summoned here today."
A collective, inward gasp seemed to suck the air from the courtyard.
This was it.
The moment they have all been waiting for.
"That’s right. It’s time for me to reveal the special announcement you have been waiting for," the King continued, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "And... it is also time to settle the matter of the heir to the Crown."
Every one of the king’s children, from the composed First Princess to the brooding Fourth Prince, felt the weight of those words like a physical blow.
Inwardly, they gulped, their minds racing, their hearts hammering against their ribs. Yet, years of royal training held firm. On the outside, their facades were impeccable masks of polite attention and regal calm.
Especially Crown Prince Bane. He stood perfectly still, his sunny smile replaced by an expression of solemn, dignified respect. He looked every inch the gracious heir awaiting his father’s word, with no trace of the calculating tension that surely coiled within him.
He was the picture of serene readiness, a masterpiece of royal composure. The game was reaching its climax, and he was playing his part flawlessly.
"..."
The king Liam’s gaze landed upon his children once again.
"This special announcement," he continued, his voice gaining a firmer, more resolute tone, "is, as many of you have no doubt surmised, intrinsically tied to the matters of the succession."
He paused, his eyes traveling slowly across the faces of his progeny.
"I have been blessed with children of remarkable talent and spirit. Josephina," he began, his eyes finding his firstborn, "your mind for statecraft and your unwavering poise have been a steady hand in these trying times."
Princess Josephina inclined her head gracefully, though her knuckles were white where they gripped her skirts.
"Norvus," the king’s tone held a note of fond exasperation, "your charm and ability to rally men to a cause are gifts that have served the kingdom in its diplomatic endeavors." A faint flush colored the Second Prince’s cheeks, a mixture of pride and discomfort.
The King’s gaze then drifted to a figure who seemed to blend into the shadows of the crowd. "Aurelia," he said, his voice unexpectedly gentle, cutting through the silence meant for her. A ripple of surprise went through the crowd; many had genuinely not noticed the Second Princess was present. "Your quiet wisdom and your keen eye see what others overlook. And do not ever believe your presence is without value."
"!" Princess Aurelia, the so-called ’Ghost Princess,’ lifted her head.
Her wide eyes, usually downcast, flickered up to meet her father’s for a brief, stunned moment before she gave a deep, graceful nod, a faint, fragile hope breaking through her habitual reserve.
King Liam nodded back and shifted his gaze toward his youngest daughter.
"Clara," the king’s voice remained gentle, "your dedication to bettering yourself, your pursuit of strength and knowledge at the Empire, fills me with pride. You represent the future’s potential."
Princess Clara bowed her head, her theatrical flair gone, replaced by genuine, if nervous, respect.
"And Neron," the king said, his eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly on his fourth child. "Your strategic mind and... relentless ambition... are forces to be reckoned with. You leave no detail unconsidered."
Prince Neron met his father’s gaze squarely, his expression unreadable, accepting the backhanded compliment without a flicker.
Next, the king’s eyes scanned the crowd for a bit longer and finally landed on a young man, widening slightly.
All eyes followed his, and they too copied the gesture.
"!"
Fifth Prince Ilan, caught in the palpable tension of the moment, had instinctively sought comfort in a small honeyed pastry he had managed to procure. He was just about to sneak it into his mouth when the weight of the entire crowd’s attention fell upon him.
"..."
The courtyard went utterly silent, the absurdity of the moment clashing violently with the gravity of the occasion.
"!" Ilan froze, the pastry halfway to his lips. He slowly lowered it, offering the assembly a painfully awkward, apologetic smile.
"Sorry, sorry..."
The King’s lips twitched in a faint, almost imperceptible gesture of weary affection. He sighed, a sound that seemed to carry the exhaustion of ages.
"Ilan," he said, and the simple name held a universe of complex emotion. "I wish you always retain your... healthy appetite. And never lose that unique perspective you possess. The kingdom needs those who see the world through a different lens, even if... even if they are occasionally distracted by its sweets."
"..."
The tension broke for a mere second, replaced by a wave of bewildered, nervous titters before silence reclaimed its throne. Ilan hurriedly placed the pastry back on its plate, his cheeks flushed.
"Many thanks for your praise, Your Highness!"
The king nodded and shifted his attention away from Ilan, as if sparing him from further embarrassment.
Then, finally, his gaze settled on Bane. A wave of anticipation swept through the crowd. This was it. The confirmation.
"And Bane," the king said, his voice swelling with what sounded like genuine admiration. "My first son. The Crown Prince. You have been the model heir. Your strength, your intelligence, your connection to the people... you have all the qualities of a great king."
A wave of relieved murmurs started to rise from the nobles who had backed Bane. It was done. It was—
"But."