The grand halls of the palace gleamed beneath the soft glow of countless candles lining the walls, their flames flickering against polished marble and gold-trimmed pillars.
Rosalia moved with measured grace through the corridor before stopping before a large portrait. The wavering candlelight brushed across the painted figures, casting shifting shadows over their faces.
The Empress Dowager's expression softened.
Slowly, she raised her hand and touched the painted figure of the man seated upon the throne. His blue eyes — so vividly captured — almost seemed alive beneath the candlelight.
"Oh, Augustus…" she whispered, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
To his right sat a younger Rosalia, regal and proud. Between them stood a little girl no more than nine years old — Ines, before the weight of the crown had ever touched her shoulders.
And to Augustus's left stood a man bearing the same sharp features.
Grand Duke Alexander.
Rosalia's gaze hardened the moment it fell upon him.
"I do not understand you, Augustus," she murmured, her fingers brushing lightly over her late husband's painted face.
"He betrayed you. He sought your throne."
Her jaw tightened.
"And yet, in your will, you forbade his imprisonment. You ordered restraint. Control — but not punishment."
Her voice trembled despite herself.
"All because he is your brother."
Rosalia exhaled slowly.
"And still, he does not understand how deeply his elder brother loved him," she said, her tone laced with dry amusement.
"Mother, one should not expect snakes to care whether their kin are devoured or not."
Ines's voice drifted from behind her as she approached, stopping at her mother's side.
Rosalia did not rebuke Ines. Instead, she gave a faint smile and turned her gaze toward her daughter.
"You seem to understand that blood ties do not guarantee love or loyalty," she said softly. "If only your father had understood that as well."
She exhaled.
Ines let her eyes drift back to the portrait, her expression softening as she looked upon the face she had not seen in nearly twelve years — not since he had succumbed to heart disease.
"Father was a man with a noble heart, Mother," Ines replied, a slow smile touching her lips. "And men like him do not possess the darkness required to suspect betrayal from those meant to love them."
Rosalia sighed softly.
"You are right, my dear. Your father was too noble to suspect betrayal."
She reached up and gently patted Ines's head.
This time, Ines did not pull away.
Strange as it was, there was something soothing about the way her mother absentmindedly fussed with her hair. And for Rosalia, the small act seemed to ease a weight she rarely allowed herself to show.
"You are making that face again," Rosalia said lightly.
"What face?" Ines asked.
Rosalia stifled a laugh.
"The one that wonders what possible amusement I find in disturbing your hair."
She deliberately ruffled it again.
"Mother," Ines groaned, though there was no real protest in her voice. "What pleasure could this possibly bring you?"
Rosalia smiled — softer now.
"The pleasure of knowing that no matter how much you grow, no matter how heavy the crown becomes… you are still my little princess."
She gently smoothed Ines's hair back into place.
"You no longer come to me with tangled hair, so I must create the excuse myself. That way, I may remind you that I am still here to fix what troubles you."
Her gaze softened.
"You are not alone, my child."
Ines's gaze softened, a faint smile touching her lips.
"I know," she said quietly.
Rosalia returned the smile.
Both of them lingered before the portrait in silence.
The stillness was broken by the quiet approach of a servant.
"Greetings and eternal glory upon the Empress and the Empress Dowager, Your Majesties."
He bowed deeply, head lowered in reverence.
Ines flicked her wrist lightly, granting him leave to rise and speak.
"Lady Marceline Peirce has arrived to see you, Your Majesties."
"Seat her in the dining hall," Ines instructed calmly. "We shall join her shortly."
The servant bowed once more before withdrawing.
Ines turned to her mother.
"Did you invite Cousin Marceline to dine with us?"
Rosalia inclined her head. "I did. You recall her marriage proposal. With her mother gone, and as her father's sister, it is my responsibility to guide her wisely in such matters."
She began walking toward the dining hall.
Ines followed.
"Do not pressure her into acceptance if her heart is not inclined," Ines said evenly.
Rosalia arched a brow. "Do you truly believe I would compel a young woman into an unwanted union?"
"You seldom hesitate to remind me of my obligation to take a consort," Ines replied dryly.
Rosalia's expression hardened slightly.
"That is different. You are the Empress. Your choices do not belong solely to you — they belong to the Empire."
Ines offered no reply as they reached the doors of the dining hall.
The doors of the dining hall opened, and the light from the grand crystal chandelier bathed the room in a warm glow.
Rosalia entered first, Ines following close behind. Servants dipped into graceful curtsies as they passed, the soft rustle of fabric the only sound in the vast chamber.
At their arrival, a young woman with hazel eyes and dark hair rose from her seat. She bowed with impeccable grace, though a faint smile curved her lips.
"Greetings and eternal glory to the Empress and the Empress Dowager."
"You may rise, Marceline," Ines said, taking her seat at the head of the table.
Rosalia settled at her right.
"My dear Macy," Rosalia said with gentle amusement, "I have told you before, such formalities are unnecessary within family."
Marceline straightened.
"That would hardly be proper, Aunt," she replied smoothly. "Cousin—"
She paused deliberately.
"My apologies. Her Majesty the Empress does not favor excessive familiarity."
Ines exhaled slowly.
"I assume you are still displeased over last month's incident," she said evenly. "That would explain both your absence and your tone."
Marceline tilted her head.
"Who am I to take offense at the Empress's correction?" she said lightly.
Ines resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose.
Why was her mother's side of the family so theatrically sensitive?
She had merely reprimanded Marceline for speaking too freely in the presence of the Chancellor.
"Mother," Ines began smoothly, turning toward Rosalia, "since Marceline holds my words in such high regard, perhaps we should offer her hand to the neighboring Empire as a gesture of goodwill. I am certain their Emperor would not decline."
Marceline, seated to Ines's left, lifted her chin.
"Aunt," she said sweetly, "pray inform Her Imperial Majesty that I cherish her dearly. She is my cousin, after all. Sacrifice is the least I can offer for her happiness."
"Very well," Ines replied, arching a brow. "Then I shall retire to the study after supper and begin drafting the proposal."
Marceline's composure wavered.
For a fleeting second, uncertainty crossed her face — she could no longer determine whether Ines spoke in jest.
Seeing that, Ines finally relented and allowed a small laugh to escape her.
Rosalia sighed softly.
"You two and your endless theatrics," she murmured.
"It is your daughter who grows more insufferable by the day, Aunt," Marceline said with a dramatic huff.
Ines rolled her eyes.
"That remark borders dangerously close to defamation of the Crown."
Before Marceline could retaliate, Rosalia intervened.
"That is quite enough, the both of you," she said wearily, just as the servants entered bearing the evening meal. Plates were set before them with practiced precision.
Once they were dismissed, Rosalia turned her attention back to Marceline.
"So, Marceline, what are your thoughts on Marquis Walson's proposal?"
Ines swirled the wine in her goblet, taking a measured sip as her gaze shifted toward her cousin.
Marceline did not hesitate.
"He is far too bald for my liking."
Ines nearly choked on her wine.
Rosalia's composure fractured entirely as laughter escaped her — unrestrained and genuine.
After the laughter gradually subsided, Rosalia spoke.
"My dear Macy, marriage alliances rarely afford us the luxury of selecting suitors based on their abundance of hair."
"Perhaps my dearest cousin dreams of marrying a rainforest," Ines added dryly.
Marceline lifted a delicate shoulder.
"I am simply not inclined toward Marquis Walson."
"Then you shall not be bound to him," Rosalia replied smoothly. "Send a formal refusal."
"And should he persist," Ines added with a faint smirk, "remind him that you are my cousin."
Marceline's grin widened. She inclined her head in satisfaction before returning to her meal.
They dined in comfortable silence for a time.
When dessert was served, Rosalia glanced toward Ines with a knowing smile.
"The newest batch of flower maidens arrives tomorrow," she remarked lightly. "Perhaps one among them will finally capture your interest."
Ines exhaled slowly.
"Have you conspired with Mother now, Marceline?"
Marceline folded her hands delicately atop the table.
"Not at all. We merely worry for Your Majesty's advancing years. Soon the flower maidens may cease to view you with awe and begin to see you only as ritual."
Ines shot her a warning glare.
"And I will see you married off to a—"
"Ines," Rosalia interrupted, laughter dancing in her voice. "Macy is not entirely wrong. You ought to consider a consort."
Ines's composure fractured completely.
"Here we are again," she muttered.
Rosalia and Marceline only laughed, returning to their desserts as though imperial succession were the lightest of topics.
Beyond the tall windows, the night wind stirred, sweeping dry leaves across the palace gardens.