Chapter 10
Henriette scarcely had a moment to dwell on the tangled thoughts of yesterday.
Dozens of documents arrived at her desk each day, and there was no shortage of corners of the palace that required her eye and hand.
The exhaustion from yesterday’s storm of events had not yet fully left her.
While reviewing a report, Henriette paused, her brow creasing slightly, and touched her warm forehead.
“A fever?”
“Your Majesty, are you unwell?”
Charlotte and the maids approached at once.
The red-haired maid in front was familiar enough, but for some reason today all the maids’ round, glistening eyes seemed to resemble Charlotte’s.
She could not lay needless worry upon those who trusted her.
Henriette smoothed her expression into a gentle smile to reassure them.
“It is nothing. Only a little tired. If I sleep early and rise early, all will be well.”
Her words seemed to settle their concern, but before long, a knock sounded at the office door.
“Let them in.”
“Your Majesty, Master Walters the tailor and his wife have arrived to take your measurements for the dress. The appointed hour is near, so they wish to see you now.”
Ah, had the time already come?
Henriette glanced at the clock, then rose with a graceful motion. This was for the utterly absurd dress she would wear for the Resurrection Festival.
“This room is a little cramped. We had better move elsewhere.”
At her command, Charlotte and the maids bustled about, busy once again.
Soon, a white curtain was drawn in her chamber to shield her from view.
With gloved hands, Mrs. Walters gently loosened Henriette’s collar.
Her skin was as pale as the year’s first snow.
A measuring tape touched her body.
Mrs. Walters called out the measurements while her husband, on the other side of the curtain, took note.
Their movements were seamless, a couple working in perfect harmony.
Watching them, Henriette felt a strange pang.
She was the Empress, revered by all, yet she had shared few days in which she and her husband truly moved as one.
Except when lying beside each other in bed, they lived at a distance, each absorbed in their own tasks.
Was this feeling envy?
Her thoughts were cut short by the sound of the door opening and a familiar voice.
“Zakhar Heil, here to see Her Majesty…”
For one so unused to formality, his improved manner of address was remarkable, though he still had much to learn about the etiquette of Elhide Palace.
But when Zakhar opened the door without thinking and saw the scene before him, his face went pale.
Charlotte and the maids, their eyes fierce, turned on him. He felt an icy shiver crawl down his spine.
“I… I beg your pardon.”
Stammering in a way most unlike him, Zakhar tried to retreat, but Henriette’s voice from behind the curtain stopped him.
She could not see his face, but the hesitant tone was enough to guess his expression, and she had to suppress a laugh.
The sight of the ever-leisurely Zakhar in such fluster was unexpectedly entertaining.
“Zakhar, since you are here, I would like you to choose the colour of the dress I shall wear for the festival.”
“May I presume to do so? Would it not be better to follow the advice of experts far more skilled in the matter?”
“The more opinions, the better. Why should yours be left out?”
It was plain he wished to escape, but Henriette’s playful impulse kept him there.
Reluctantly, he released the doorknob, straightened his attire, and stepped inside.
Seated on the couch, he faced the white curtain before Henriette. The admiring stares of the maids, captivated by his flawless looks, prickled at his back.
The sunlight, filtering gently through the curtain, grew a touch stronger, and the outline of Henriette’s slender form showed faintly through.
Zakhar could not look away.
“Have I ever found a human body beautiful before?”
His gaze traced the elegant lines from her neck and shoulders to her waist and hips, and he felt a sudden, unbidden urge to hold her again.
Only Charlotte’s pointed cough broke his trance, and he turned his eyes away, belatedly feeling the heat rush to his cheeks and ears.
“Damn it. At least she cannot see my face right now.”
He ducked his head and covered his flushed face with one hand.
✮⋆˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡
The Resurrection Festival, so named to celebrate the Empress’s return to life, was an unprecedented event.
Every servant of the Imperial Household moved with tireless haste.
Golden goblets, imported crystal chandeliers, and crisp wool carpets passed from hand to hand.
Everything was the finest, as it had to be.
So the Emperor’s ardent devotion to the Empress could be displayed for the whole nation to see.
Watching the palace fill with ornaments steeped in intrigue, Henriette felt weary.
Zakhar walked beside her, matching his pace to hers.
“Zakhar, I still have not asked you about something.”
“Something?”
“…Your child.”
At her careful words, Zakhar let out a low hum, as if unsure where to begin.
“As I said, I can sense my child’s presence somewhere in this land. But I cannot tell exactly where. It feels as though something is blocking me.”
The royal house of Ortensia treasured dragon eggs as trophies, sealing them with wards no human strength alone could break.
Henriette frowned in thought.
“I will look into it. Even as Empress, I have little access to such information, so I cannot yet promise how far I will get.”
“I would be grateful. Ah, there was another thing I wished to ask.”
“Go on.”
For him to be curious about her was rare. Henriette raised an eyebrow.
“The day you came to me… if I had refused your bargain, what would you have done? I understood you were in great haste, but your opponent was a dragon. I could have torn you to pieces then and there.”
“Were you worried for me?”
Henriette laughed aloud.
“I am the Empress of this land, but also the daughter of the North Wind, heir to the blood of Rhynes. My ancestors once soared the skies with dragons. I was certain you would meet with me. And if you had not, I would have found a way to wake you, by any means necessary.”
“A dreadful thought. Was there truly no other choice?”
“Fortunately, you agreed before I needed another.”
“Then why did you not wake me sooner? If you had, your daughter might…”
Her expression froze. Zakhar regretted the words at once.
Henriette stopped and looked out the window. Winter’s breath was already creeping into the corridor. She drew her shawl tighter around her shoulders.
“Do you think I never wished to? But I feared that if you awoke at my bidding, war would come again to this land. So I hid my knowledge of the dragon tongue. I hoped dragons would remain only as legend. Yet that hope was futile. Since I entered this palace, there has been no end to battles large and small.”
“And if I had wanted to trample humanity?”
“You? Never. You know well, as a survivor of war, how terrible it is. The duty of all living beings is not death.”
“To hear such words from a human is… unusual.”
Though his tone was almost mocking, his blue eyes held a depth that was closer to respect.
“Then tell me, how shall I aid your revenge?”
She did not answer.
“If you cannot say now, I will wait. But one thing I cannot understand: why would the Emperor, who shows you no love and only hostility, hold a festival for you?”
“If you think it is pure goodwill, then you do not understand the shadows of this palace. It is all to seal my lips.”
“I see. By holding a grand festival, he can show the world how devoted and magnanimous he is.”
“And so, the more damaging the rumours around me, the less influence I will be able to wield.”
Zakhar clicked his tongue.
He stopped and looked into the ballroom still under preparation. Artists knelt on the floor, painting something in white.
“What are they drawing?”
“A… dragon.”
She glanced up at him, embarrassed.
Zakhar stared in silence at the pattern. When he spoke, his voice was low enough for her alone.
“They mean to dance upon the dragon’s back? Disgusting.”
“Zakhar…”
“Then let them dance.”
Henriette’s face hardened as she saw the Emperor Wilhelm approaching.
“Henriette, shall I start by tearing out his throat?”
