I woke up early—or, more accurately, I had stayed up late, and before I even took a wink of sleep, morning had already crept into my room. The housekeepers moved in with gentle efficiency, their presence almost ritualistic as they bathed me and prepared me for the day. Their soft murmurs and the feel of warm water against my skin gradually coaxed me from the haze of half-sleep.
I dressed slowly, each garment deliberately chosen. I wore a blue ruffled chiffon blouse with delicate buttons that cascaded over my chest in gentle folds, paired with crisp, white pants. My feet slid into half-knee sash boots that felt both practical and refined, and over it all I donned a striking blue steampunk coat—a piece that combined an edge of modernity with the regality of tradition.
My hair was pulled neatly into an elegant tied-up style, revealing a delicate neckline that I did not want hidden behind loose tendrils. My makeup was applied lightly—just enough to enhance without obscuring who I was meant to be today.
I adorned my ears with a pair of understated earrings, layered a matching necklace over my collarbone, and fastened cufflinks of tanzanite gemstone. Tanzanite, with its deep, shifting blue, was emblematic of the House of Luxemburg; it was mined exclusively by us, its rarity a mirror of our power on this vast continent.
Once I was fully prepared, Lyle entered the room with his customary calm assurance. He escorted me to the main entrance where, standing in stately silence, the Archduke and Archduchess awaited me. As I approached, I offered a respectful greeting: "It is a good day, Grandmother and Grandfather." My voice was soft yet resolute, imbued with years of protocol and a quiet defiance of the past.
"It is indeed," the Archduke replied in a measured tone, his words carrying an undercurrent of significance. "This meeting will determine whether the succession ceremony proceeds and if you will be recognized as the rightful successor." His statement, though brief, resonated deeply within me—it was both a promise and a challenge.
I smiled inwardly. I would not allow this sacred moment to be ruined; I needed their approval, but more than that, I would not tolerate any chance for them to insult me or bring me down.
Later, Lyle and I stepped into the carriage. "Lyle," I called softly as the carriage's door closed behind us, sealing us briefly away from the world. His immediate reply, "Yes, My Lady," was measured and respectful.
I rested my chin on my hand, gazing out the carriage window as the landscape dripped past in gentle hues of early daylight. In that quiet moment, I wrestled with a thought that had latched onto me over the past few weeks—something that pricked at my memory about Madeleine.
I wanted to ask Lyle about Madeleine, but the thought made me hesitate. If I voiced this question—something that I ought to know myself—it might ignite suspicion in him. Still, the question nagged relentlessly.
In recent dreams, I had seen a young Madeleine leave the palace behind, only to be discovered in a dark forest by Imperial Knights led by none other than Lyle. In that dream, she lay unconscious—her garments ragged and her body marred by bruises—looking as if she were already dead.
It was not simply a nightmare; it felt like a buried memory, heavy and unresolved, that left me awake at night, breathing unevenly, gasping as if the dream were real.
"Actually, there was something that kept bugging me…" I began hesitantly, my voice nearly lost in the gentle drone of the carriage.
I recalled vividly how, in that dream, Lyle's complexion had turned ashen—as though every drop of color had been drained away, leaving him with a look of shock so profound he barely stood his ground. I dared to ask, "What happened that day? The day I was found in the forest, unconscious..."
For an instant, Lyle's expression shifted dramatically. His eyes narrowed with a flash of confusion before hardening into a dark, unreadable mask. A palpable change filled the air—a dangerous, almost suffocating aura seemed to cling to him.
My skin prickled with goosebumps, not out of fear alone but from an intangible warning. Yet, before he could speak, silence fell again over our quiet ride. I chide myself inwardly, regretting perhaps that I had even dared to bring it up, but the memory was persistent and needed an answer. Until we reached our destination, Lyle never spoke again.
We eventually arrived at Neuschwanstein Castle, the venue for all of our Empire's most notable events—Imperial Weddings, succession ceremonies, coming-of-age celebrations, and crucial meetings.
The castle, a magnificent edifice owned by the House of Ludwig, loomed grandly; its towers and intricate stonework echoed the legacy of a bygone era.
As I stepped out of the carriage, I was momentarily speechless. The exterior itself was awe-inspiring, but as I walked through the enormous, ornately decorated halls, my senses were overwhelmed.
High chandeliers suspended from the ceilings scattered light like jewels across antique paintings and richly woven carpets that brushed softly against my feet. Every piece of furniture, every carved detail in the walls, testified to a grandeur that felt almost fairy-tale in its beauty. I murmured softly, "It is beautiful…" as I allowed myself a moment to simply admire the luxury and elegance that surpassed even the Imperial Palace.
Approaching the meeting room, our escort stopped and knocked with measured formality. "Lady Madeleine Ceres from the House of Luxemburg and Sir Lyle from the House of Zyair!" he announced, opening the door with a flourish that echoed in the hushed corridor.
Inside, I immediately saw four individuals seated at a long table, their faces set in stern, unpleasant expressions. Even though they represented neutral houses, it was clear that none would automatically support or approve of my claim.
Lyle pulled out a chair for me before taking his own seat beside me. Almost immediately, the Marquis of Austenburg, without any preamble, demanded, "What is it that you want?" His tone was clipped and impatient.
I offered a calm, ironic smile as I replied, "I am the rightful heir of the Luxemburg House. What do you expect my grandparents to do? Hand over their title to an unknown, unworthy stranger who has not earned a step into our House?" My words were laced with sarcasm and challenged him to doubt my claim.
The Marquis's expression darkened further, his nostrils flaring in thin fury. Not long after, the Duchess of Windsor interjected sharply, "Then, you believe you deserve it more than anyone else? Young people, like you, cannot possibly grasp the gravity of the responsibility and the duty that comes with such a title." The Marquis added in a similarly biting tone that a person such as myself would only bring ruin to our prestigious lineage.
I gritted my teeth silently, committing these words to memory; I would never forget the disdain in their voices.
Steeling myself, I brushed aside the remaining trace of a smile and leaned forward, my gaze cold and unwavering. "Then who is more suitable than me? You?"
"If it is my fate to bring down the Luxemburg House, then why should not I ruin your House first, My Lord?" A sharp glare burned into his eyes as his face flushed with anger.
Before the tension could escalate further, a strict, measured voice intervened. I turned to see a young man seated beside the Duchess—a figure I had not seen in any noble portrait before—addressing us firmly. "We should be discussing how and why we should give our seal of approval to her," he said. His tone was authoritative, and the air around him seemed to quiet even the most fervent objections.
Count Bavaria then spoke with calm resolve, "I see no reason to withhold my approval. You are the rightful heir, and I trust in your potential." His words were a balm amidst the storm of criticism.
I smiled appreciatively, "Thank you, Your Grace." The Duke of Borgia nodded in agreement as well, stating that decisions should not be based on mere rumor or speculation.
"Consider this," he said, "if we recall the Emperor's decision to remove you from the Imperial Family, it was because you were forging your own path by becoming the Archduchess."
Their seals of approval were then placed in my hands; meanwhile, the Duchess and the Marquis reluctantly handed theirs to Lyle before departing in a silent, forceful march—each step thick with disapproval. It was clear that their power, derived from titles and tradition, prevented them from openly defying the Count and the Duke.
After the meeting, we returned to the carriage. As the vehicle began its slow journey home, a strange feeling lingered inside me—a quiet disquiet that I could not shake.
The Duke of Borgia's name and visage had always intrigued me. Although his portrait was absent from the book's list of noble houses, his name was inscribed with a brief note, leaving me to assume that he was a middle-aged man. Yet, I discovered he was among the youngest heads of the house.
"Is something bothering you, My Lady?" Lyle's gentle inquiry broke through my swirling thoughts as I realized our journey had progressed unnoticed.
I hesitated, then spoke, "About the Duke of Borgia… I never imagined he was so young."
Lyle explained matter-of-factly, "Gioffre succeeded the House at the same age as I did, though I am two years older than he is." His calm, analytical tone did little to defuse the revulsion that churned in me.
Lyle, twenty-four, contrasted with Madeleine, who at sixteen was soon to be seventeen, and with Laura turning eighteen next month—these age differences, and the business of matrimonial alliances, made my stomach churn as I contemplated the papery, sometimes unsavory details of our world.
I recalled how Laura had already been wed to an older man, a reality that seemed all too scandalous—and even Lyle and I were not exempt from the expectations of our world. "What is this author thinking?" I muttered silently, wrestling with my inner disgust and disbelief. "Does she have a pedophilic fantasy or what?" The thought was abhorrent, yet it bubbled up against my carefully maintained composure.
"Is there something wrong about him?" Lyle pressed, his tone laced with quiet suspicion. I shrugged casually,
"Nothing; I was just surprised to see him," though even as I said it, I knew the feeling would cling long after our conversation ended. I resolved then: I must find more information about Gioffre.
There was something about him that unsettled me, something I needed to rule out before he could play any part in our story.
The carriage ride stretched on slowly, and I found myself reviewing every detail of the meeting in my mind.
I recalled the Marquis's harsh words and the Duchess's disapproving glare—the memory of their voices would never leave me. And yet, as the day's events replayed, I also remembered the Count's measured support and the Duke's quiet assurance, each seal of affirmation a small victory in the battle for my rightful place.
At length, our journey ended, and we stepped into the cool morning air once again, heading toward the next stage of my destiny.
I knew all too well that this was only the beginning—a single chapter in a story riddled with intrigue, powerful alliances, and hidden motivations. Every detail, every whispered rumor, might one day help me define my future, and I was determined to uncover every secret.
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