Chapter 15
The Empress’s gown had become the talk of the night.
A skirt gathered into elegant folds at the back, how could it be anything but exquisite? Even the most fashionable nobles, who prided themselves on leading Elhide’s trends, could not compare, Henriette’s gown had stolen all the attention.
Those who thrived on gossip murmured that perhaps the Empress had some hidden scheme.
Yet her gown was so striking that most guests were already wondering how they might refashion their own attire for the Resurrection Festival.
Only after finally seeing off those who pressed their interest upon her did Henriette feel the wave of exhaustion hit.
The whirlwind of events in so short a time left her barely able to remain standing. She made her way toward the retiring room.
“Ah…”
But inside, she found an unwelcome sight.
For a festival meant to celebrate the Empress, was this truly fitting?
Wilhelm and Clara sat close together on the sofa, his arm around her shoulders as they exchanged frivolous jokes and laughed aloud.
Henriette almost doubted whether this man was the Wilhelm she knew.
‘Had he ever shown her such smiles, such warmth?’
At the sound of footsteps, Wilhelm turned his head.
“Your Majesty.”
The moment he saw his wife, his smiling face froze.
“Empress.”
His greeting was curt and formal, his eyes betraying both surprise and irritation.
They had exchanged barely a few words when the air between them chilled into silence.
Clara, as if enjoying the sight, clung to Wilhelm’s sleeve with a smug expression.
Wilhelm said nothing, only glared at Henriette with a look that seemed to say, Who are you to intrude on my time with Clara?
Biting down on her distaste, Henriette bowed.
“Your Imperial Majesty, I did not expect to find you here.”
She had no wish to hide or retreat.
“I had not thought to meet you here. Empress, I must say, your gown is most striking. It looks rather different from when I last saw it, was there a reason for the change?”
“I would never dare lie to Your Majesty, so I will speak plainly. The gown was damaged, and I was forced to repair it in haste. Fortunately, it seems I have not brought disgrace upon the Imperial name.”
Henriette smiled with composure, fixing her gaze on Clara.
At her poise, Clara’s face twisted in visible displeasure.
So, it had been Clara who ruined the gown.
“You say you mended it yourself? I find that hard to believe. I had thought you indifferent to clothing, given how plainly you usually dress.”
“It was a meagre effort, nothing more.”
“But… you are the Empress of Elhide. If you were to introduce too radical a style, would that not cause its own problems? Some might accuse you of indulgence, and that would trouble me.”
“…”
“You must be tired of idle rumours as it is.”
Before Henriette could reply, Wilhelm cut her off.
“Empress, if it is no great discourtesy, would you leave us? I, too, am somewhat weary of the ball and would prefer to rest quietly.”
Her stomach turned at the dismissal.
“I apologise for disturbing Your Majesty’s time. I will take my leave.”
She glanced between Wilhelm and Clara once more before turning back toward the ballroom.
She had gone only a short distance when Clara’s shrill, frivolous laughter rang behind her. Soon enough, no one else would be allowed in that room.
Under the brilliant chandeliers and lavish decorations, nobles danced in time with the music.
The first celebration of the Resurrection Festival, held in honour of the Empress’s return, glittered and roared with life, yet there was no place for Henriette within it.
Her steps were heavy as she left the noise behind.
Beyond a single doorway, the corridor was dark and still.
She walked slowly, and then lifted her head to the window.
In the clear night sky, unmarred by a single cloud, a pale full moon hung.
Closing her eyes, Henriette looked back on the past.
Once, she had longed for her husband’s love. Even when Wilhelm’s heart had grown distant, she had believed that if she tried hard enough, he would one day smile at her again with warmth.
It had not taken long to realise that such hopes were useless.
“Stop thinking about that damned husband of yours.”
The familiar voice made her open her eyes and turn.
Sweeping back hair that gleamed deep blue beneath the moonlight, Zakhar approached. In the pale light, he seemed even more perfect, and Henriette found herself smiling in welcome.
“How do you know whether I was thinking of my husband… or of you?”
“That much I can tell without magic. You always wear the same look when you speak of that insolent, infuriating Emperor.”
Perhaps his patience had been tested enough; Zakhar had removed his coat and draped it over his arm. For him, enduring this much was already a feat of restraint.
“Pretending civility with him and playing to his temper, it makes my skin crawl. I’ve not been in this palace long, but I know well enough that he and that woman at his side are rude beyond excuse.”
“That is why I expect nothing from either of them.”
She spoke lightly, not wishing to trouble him, but grief shadowed her face.
Zakhar scratched the back of his head, glancing at her.
“Henriette, are you all right?”
Clicking his tongue, he stepped closer and bent slightly to meet her eyes.
He could not fathom why her entanglement with that damned Emperor roused such anger in him.
Henriette, surprised by his unusual concern, raised her brows. It was a marked difference from the way he usually watched her without interference.
“…I am fine, Zakhar. There is no need to humour me in private, away from others’ eyes.”
“Don’t make that face.”
“What?”
“That expression does not suit someone who would sit the throne.”
She stared at him, caught off guard by the unexpected words. In the moonlight, his deep blue eyes shone all the brighter.
A soft night breeze stirred his hair, and for a moment, he seemed achingly distant, as though he might vanish at any instant, and all the more beautiful for it.
“You told me you would claim the Emperor’s seat. That is the resolve you carry. Do not let him eat away at you. And… I do not wish to see you sad.”
“You do not wish to?”
“Every time you look that way… it makes me angry.”
He tried, clumsily, to explain his uncertain feelings, then clicked his tongue again.
Rather than press him for clarity, Henriette changed the subject.
“Have you danced much tonight? You had some quick lessons after arriving at the palace; I doubt you are entirely hopeless.”
“I refused. If I stepped on one of those fragile humans’ feet, it would cause an uproar. I have no wish to stir trouble here. That tiny shadow always at your side seemed overjoyed to dance with that beanpole, though.”
“Don’t speak of Bertrand like that.”
The image of Charlotte beaming as she danced with Bertrand made Henriette laugh aloud. Zakhar, reassured by her smile, shrugged and half-joked, half-meant his next words.
“You knew exactly who I meant.”
“When you call him that every time, how could I not?”
“And you? Did you dance much? I imagine you were hardly eager, but you should enjoy the evening while you can.”
“As you saw, I danced once with Wilhelm, then spent the rest of the time speaking. I hadn’t expected so many to wish me well…”
Zakhar gave a faint smile. Henriette, catching his meaning, lifted her right hand with a warm smile of her own.
He was a man too guarded to speak his thoughts plainly, but she knew enough.
What mattered was that he wanted to comfort her.
“Then… will you not ask me to dance? As you know, a lady does not extend such invitations herself.”
“There is nothing I could hide from you. Among humans and dragons alike, there are few as sharp as you.”
“Thank you for the compliment.”
With a helpless smile, Zakhar took her hand and kissed the back of it. The lessons she had drilled into him were clearly paying off.
In the quiet corridor, without music or dazzling light, they joined hands. Zakhar’s arm circled her waist with care.
It still struck him as strange that such a fragile body could hold such fierce will.
Resting her hand on his shoulder with a measured grace, Henriette looked up at him.
It was only the third time they had stood so close since he had looked into her sea of memories.
Tentatively, Zakhar stepped into the dance. His movements were stiff, the mark of a beginner, but Henriette felt a deep comfort in the solid hold of his hand at her waist.
The night on the cusp of winter was their stage, and the cold moonlight their unheard music. Henriette’s gown swirled in soft, graceful arcs as they moved together.
