….
April 22, 2014.
….
The chandeliers at Goldsmiths' Hall threw light like scattered diamonds across the vaulted ceiling, and Gwendolyn smoothed her dress for the third time in as many minutes.
The Galaxy Book Awards always went overboard with the grandeur, medieval livery hall, string quartet in the corner, waiters gliding between tables with champagne that probably cost more than her first car.
But then again, this was the Galaxy. Not just another awards ceremony cluttering the calendar, but the one that actually mattered.
In book publishing circles, winning a Galaxy was like winning an Oscar and a Golden Globe simultaneously, if those awards were actually respected.
The Galaxys had been founded twenty-three years ago by a consortium of independent publishers who were tired of watching mainstream awards committees pat themselves on the back for 'discovering' books that had already sold millions.
The mission was simple: recognize genuine cultural impact, not just critical darlings that twelve academics thought were important.
And it worked.
A Galaxy win translated to sales, yes, but more than that, it translated to legacy. Books that won Galaxys stayed in print.
They got taught in schools and became the stories people recommended to their children.
"Are you fidgeting? Is the world ending?" Maggie whispered, leaning in close.
Gwendolyn shot her a look but didn't stop smoothing the fabric over her hip.
Around them, the hall buzzed with the particular energy of people who made their living with words but were now forced to make small talk. Publishers glad-handing agents. Authors eyeing their competition while pretending not to. Publicists doing last-minute social media checks.
"I am willing to believe that people eventually get tired of receiving awards." Maggie chuckled, taking a sip of her drink. "Besides..." she added, nudging Gwendolyn's arm. "You look gorgeous."
"Thanks, Maggie. Though, I admit, I would have preferred to hear that from Regal."
"Tsk, didn't he already FaceTime you?"
"That's hardly the same, and you know it."
"Go on then, keep pining." Maggie teased, turning her attention back to the room.
Gwendolyn scanned her surroundings again, her eyes landing on the programme booklet in the center of the table.
[Best Fantasy Series of the Decade]
The category sat there in bold print, exhibiting her with its importance.
Five years.
Five books.
The numbers rolled through her mind like a mantra she'd memorized but still couldn't quite believe.
Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone had released in June 2010—Regal's debut novel, published when he was barely twenty-one years old. The critics had been cautiously optimistic. "A promising start," they'd said. "Fresh voice in a crowded genre."
Then it had sold three million copies in six months.
Chamber of Secrets followed in 2011. Prisoner of Azkaban in 2012. Goblet of Fire in 2013. And just this past spring, Order of the Phoenix had hit shelves to the kind of midnight release parties usually reserved for rock stars.
Each book had outsold the previous one. Each had gone straight to number one on the Sunday Times bestseller list and stayed there for months. The series had been translated into forty-seven languages. Two films had already premiered—both commercial and critical successes—with the third currently in production.
The awards had followed like a landslide.
Three British Fantasy Awards for Best Novel. Two Locus Awards. A Hugo nomination last year that everyone assumed would convert to a win this year when the voting closed. The series had swept the Goodreads Choice Awards three years running. Regal himself had won the Waterstones Book of the Year twice.
Then there were the others—thirty-something smaller accolades that Gwendolyn had genuinely lost count of. Regional awards, reader's choice honors, genre-specific recognitions. Every single one mattered to someone, but even she couldn't remember them all anymore.
But this. The Galaxy.
This was different.
The Best Fantasy Series of the Decade category wasn't just about commercial success or critical acclaim—it was about cultural permanence. Past winners included Terry Pratchett's Discworld novels, Ursula K. Le Guin's Earthsea Cycle, Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials. Books that had fundamentally shaped the genre, that had carved out space in the collective imagination and refused to leave.
If Regal won tonight, his name would sit alongside those titans. At twenty-six years old.
"He should be here." Maggie muttered, half to herself.
"He's got Superman." Gwendolyn reminded her gently. "Pre-production waits for no man. Not even boy wizards."
"I know that." Maggie did know.
Regal had explained it apologetically over FaceTime three days ago - studio scheduling conflicts, location scouts, casting sessions that couldn't be moved.
Still. This was his night, his series.
His impossible, improbable, world-conquering achievement.
And she was here alone.
Well, not entirely alone. Half of Everleaf's editorial team surrounded the table, along with the marketing people who had somehow convinced the world that a twenty-five-year-old director-slash-author was the voice of a generation.
But Regal's chair remained conspicuously empty, his place card still perfectly aligned with the silverware.
However, this was the first time she will be alone without him on such an important occasion - and despite her outward calmness, she really was missing his presence.
But no can do… she thought, shaking off the melancholy.
….
The nervous energy in the room crystallized. Conversations hushed mid-sentence. Chairs scraped against the parquet floor.
Gwendolyn caught sight of Amanda Holbrook three tables over. The Queen of Historical Fiction looked effortless in velvet, a woman who had been nominated in four separate categories this evening.
Her Tudor trilogy had dominated the charts for eighteen months straight, and rumor had it 'Netflix' was circling for adaptation rights.
Gwendolyn, however, wasn't sure the author had any idea who she would be dealing with on the Netflix side.
"She's going to be a tough competitor." Maggie muttered, mirroring Gwendolyn's thoughts.
"That's an understatement."
"She is looking right at us." Maggie hissed.
As if feeling the weight of their gaze, Amanda Holbrook turned. Her eyes locked onto Gwendolyn's.
Then, she rose from her seat and walked toward them. She was a woman in her mid-forties, possessing warm features and an intimidating elegance.
"First time at the Galaxys?" she asked directly.
Gwendolyn blinked, caught off guard. "Was it written all over our faces?"
"Only because you haven't touched your wine, and everyone else is on their second glass." She extended her hand. "Amanda Holbrook–
"But I guess you ladies already knew me."
"Gwendolyn." she said, taking the hand. "I apologize if we were staring."
"Don't be. In this industry, eyes are always on the competition." Amanda's expression softened into genuine warmth. "I actually came over to congratulate your team. Bringing the world of Harry Potter to life... It's a singular achievement. Five books in five years - that's Victorian novel pace. Most modern authors would collapse halfway through."
"Thank you," Gwendolyn managed, though her voice came out smaller than intended. "Regal's the genius. Me and my team just help him bring those ideas to the people."
Amanda glanced at the empty seat beside Gwendolyn. "But it seems the author isn't here to take his bow."
"He is... occupied. Very important business."
"A pity." Amanda said, though her eyes twinkled with knowing amusement. "Well, at least I got to meet the woman behind the curtain. They say every great author has a great editor. I suspect you're the reason those books keep getting better instead of succumbing to sequel fatigue."
Before Gwendolyn could respond, the lights dimmed fully.
"Ladies and gentlemen." minutes after, the announcer's voice rolled through the hall, warm and practiced. "If you could please take your seats, we will begin the ceremony in five minutes."
Amanda gave a polite nod and glided back to her table, leaving Gwendolyn to face the stage, her heart beating a little faster than before.
"Now I feel terrible for what I said." Maggie whispered, watching Amanda retreat.
"Right. She genuinely seemed... gracious."
Before they could dwell on it, the string quartet transitioned from Vivaldi to a dramatic, swelling crescendo.
On the stage at the front of the hall, a spotlight cut through the dimness, illuminating the podium where the night's host adjusted the microphone.
"Good evening, everyone, and welcome to the twenty-third annual Galaxy Book Awards! I am thrilled to be here, mostly because they're feeding me."
Polite laughter rippled through the audience.
The ceremony crawled forward with the particular rhythm of awards shows, moments of genuine excitement punctuated by stretches where Gwendolyn found her attention drifting.
Best Debut went to a debut thriller everyone had been buzzing about.
Best Non-Fiction went to a searing political memoir.
Best Cover Design went to a stunning illustrated edition of Beowulf that made the photographer in Gwendolyn deeply envious.
Each winner climbed the stage, made their speech, held their trophy, a crystalline book that caught the light like frozen starlight, for photographs.
"And now." the host announced. "we come to one of our most competitive categories. Best Fantasy Series of the Decade."
A dramatic pause. "This award recognizes not just a single book, but a body of work that has defined the genre over the past ten years. Books that have shaped imaginations, sparked conversations, and proven that fantasy literature remains as vital as ever."
The lights shifted.
On the massive screen behind the podium, book covers began to cycle through. The nominees, six in total, each with their own fifteen-second highlight reel.
When Regal's series appeared - the distinctive covers with their silver foil and shadow-work illustrations - and every time Gwendolyn gets caught up in nostalgia.
Footage from the film premieres, crowds screaming. A clip of fans queued around the block at Waterstones on release day. A montage of review quotes: The Guardian, The Times, NPR, the BBC.
"This series has captured imaginations worldwide." a voiceover intoned, "Combining classic storytelling with modern sensibilities. With five books published, it stands as a testament to fantasy's enduring power."
The screen faded.
The host opened the envelope with theatrical slowness.
"And the Galaxy Award for Best Fantasy Series of the Decade goes to..."
The pause stretched. Gwendolyn's fingernails dug into her palm.
"Regal Seraphsail's [Harry Potter], published by Everleaf Press!"
The applause hit like a physical force.
Maggie grabbed her arm, squealing. The editorial team erupted from their seats.
People beside her were clapping enthusiastically, shouting "Well deserved!" over the noise.
Gwendolyn stood on legs that didn't quite feel attached to her body.
"Go, go, go!" Maggie pushed her toward the aisle.
Gwendolyn walked to the stage. She didn't rush. The lights were blinding as she ascended the stairs, but she kept her chin up.
The host was beaming at her, extending the trophy, which was heavier than it looked - just like Regal told her.
She stepped up to the microphone and waited a single beat for the applause to settle.
She simply smiled.
"Good evening." she said, her voice clear and resonant, reaching the back of the vaulted hall. "I am Gwendolyn Oulworth, Senior Editor, and the CEO at Everleaf Press. I am accepting this honor on behalf of our author Regal Seraphsail, who is currently on a film set somewhere proving he can't actually be in two places at once, despite what his schedule suggests."
Laughter - warm and genuine - rippled through the crowd.
"This series..." She glanced down at the award, then back out to the sea of faces. "It has been the privilege of my career. Four years ago, a young man walked into my office with a manuscript.
"He looked me in the eye and made a claim that would have sounded absurd from anyone else–
She leaned in slightly, dropping her voice just enough to make the room lean in with her.
"He said, verbatim: 'I will give you the best book of the decade.'"
A few chuckles broke out, but they were admiring.
"Arrogant, right?" Gwendolyn smiled, lifting the heavy crystal trophy into the light. "But as it turns out, it wasn't arrogance. It was a promise. And I am incredibly glad he kept it."
"He didn't stop there, of course. Against all publishing odds, the second book eclipsed the first. The third eclipsed the second. He built a world that we all just get to live in."
The room was silent now, a respectful stillness that signaled they were truly listening.
"This award belongs to Regal, obviously. But it also belongs to every editor, designer, marketer, and publicist at Everleaf who saw the magic in those pages before the rest of the world did."
"It belongs to the booksellers who hand-sold it to skeptical customers. To the librarians who fought to keep it on their shelves when parents complained about the darkness.
"And finally to the readers - God, especially the readers - who wrote letters and drew fanart and argued about character choices on internet forums at three in the morning."
She held the trophy aloft, her posture unwavering.
"This is for everyone who ever loved a story enough to defend it. Thank you."
The applause as she left the stage felt different than when she had walked up - warmer, somehow. More personal.
She made it back to the table in a daze, where Maggie immediately pulled her into a hug that threatened to crack ribs.
"That was perfect." Maggie said again, squeezing her shoulder.
"Thank you." Gwendolyn exhaled, and the tension at the table finally dissolved into relieved smiles.
Her phone buzzed again. Knowing who it might be, she kept it low, hidden beneath the edge of the tablecloth.
[Regal: Watching the livestream from the green room. You were incredible.]
Gwendolyn bit back a smile, her thumbs flying across the screen.
[Gwendolyn : Save the compliments for the speech you owe me. This counts as your birthday present, Christmas present, and Valentine's Day combined.]
The reply came instant and sharp.
[Regal: Deal. Worth it.]
"Everyone." Maggie called out, drawing the table's attention. She raised her flute high. "To Harry Potter. And to Everleaf Press!"
"To Everleaf Press." the team echoed.
Crystal chimed against crystal, a bright, happy sound that cut through the murmur of the hall.
Gwendolyn set her glass down and reached for the trophy.
She placed it gently in the center of Regal's empty place setting, right where his plate would have been.
In a few hours, she would hand it to him.
What will his reaction be?
She was excited, and the award in her hand was proof that five years of work had meant something.
That the impossible pace, one book per year, each one better than the last, had been worth every sleepless night, every brutal deadline, every moment of doubt.
But for now, in this moment, with champagne fizzing in her glass and her colleagues celebrating around her, she let herself feel the weight of what they had built together.
The ceremony continued. Best Historical Fiction went to Amanda Holbrook, who gave a speech that was both gracious and sharp. Best Short Story Collection. The host made more jokes.
And Gwendolyn smiled and finally drank her wine, the Galaxy Award catching the light beside her like a promise kept.
.
….
[To be continued…]
★─────⇌•★•⇋─────★
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