He wanted them to look like princes and princesses from a storybook, so he had tailored for them the finest dresses and suits possible.
Of course, far less expensive than his own, or Ana's, or those of his royal guard.
The servants wore midnight-blue suits, cut from dense, faintly lustrous fabric, reflecting the discipline of their duty.
Each jacket was perfectly fitted, emphasizing their upright, disciplined postures, as though they bore not just a uniform — but the weight of their oath.
Where a pocket would usually be, the symbol of the Empire was embroidered with meticulous care, leaving no doubt about their allegiance. Their bow ties, patterned with dark floral motifs, added a discreet yet refined touch. Their trousers, straight and perfectly pressed, fell neatly over polished shoes, black or navy according to their rank.
The imperial maids wore dresses of deep royal blue, designed to balance elegance with discretion. The fabric, faintly satin-like, caught the light softly, never too brightly — as though the dress itself knew how to stay in the shadows. The bodice, fitted but not restrictive, left the shoulders gracefully exposed, with short rounded sleeves framing their arms. Floral embroidery, tone-on-tone, ran from bust to hem, adding a subtle refinement without ostentation. The skirt, full but fluid, allowed swift and silent movement — a must in the palace halls.
Each dress was identical but impeccably kept, bearing on the right side the symbol of the Empire, embroidered according to the maid's rank or function.
Aris had spent time imagining it all — and had insisted on doing it himself, because he enjoyed it.
Now, everyone was beautiful and well-dressed, and that pleased him.
Then suddenly, a door burst open, and Ana shouted:
"It's your turn, Your Majesty..."
Aris was very well dressed too.
His midnight-blue coat, almost black, hugged his figure with military precision. Golden embroidery snaked along the sleeves and collar, like ancient runes carved by destiny itself. A cape draped over his left shoulder, heavy and majestic, lined with royal blue fabric sprinkled with golden patterns, evoking the skies of a glorious empire.
Across his chest, a golden chain connected insignias and medallions, each carrying a story only the oldest generals dared to recount. His black pants were fitted, disappearing into brown leather boots, worn from solemn marches and diplomatic battles.
Aris wasn't used to wearing such clothes, and it embarrassed him more than anything.
But he couldn't deny it — he had charm. Too much charm. He knew he would receive a flood of devouring looks from every woman in the room.
Beauty was one of his biggest problems…
And that was why, when he entered the ballroom and all the guests were present, the voices fell silent, and everyone turned to look at the magnificent king.
The guests were numerous. The Duke De Grey stood in the corner of the hall, surrounded by handsome young men in magnificent red-and-black silk suits. He watched Aris with a slight glint of hatred.
The Duke De Grey had almost no hair at the front of his skull, but the rest was well-kept. He had a large nose and jet-black eyes. Yet he didn't look like an ordinary old man. The duke was well-built, neither too thin nor too heavy; his posture revealed his strength, his coat molding perfectly to his muscles. His wrinkles gave him a wise appearance despite his malice. His long goatee made him look older than he actually was.
He embodied the desire for power and terror in the ballroom, and people didn't like standing too close to him.
His daughter was there too, watching Aris with soft eyes. Yet a hint of resentment lingered in them. She was a mirror of her father — black hair, black eyes, a large nose, a commanding gaze hungering for power. If her father hated Aris, she had made him her obsession.
And Aris knew it — which made him uneasy.
The handsome young men with jet-black hair, standing tall with piercing, intense eyes, were his sons. De Grey had five, the eldest ten years older than Aris. Speaking to him was a true challenge, as the young man was provocative and insolent. Aris did not like him.
The Duke's wife was absent — simply because De Grey had at least twenty unofficial ones. No one knew who his real wife was, or if he even had one. And no one cared to find out. The De Grey family was generally to be avoided unless you wanted conflict and trouble.
In another corner of the hall stood the King of Koran. His expressionless face seemed permanently scowling at the room. The thirty-five-year-old man was always serious and spoke very little. When he did, his mouth, hidden behind a short black beard, issued cold, commanding words.
His eyes were a deep blue, and his short black hair was slicked back elegantly. He, too, wore a meticulously tailored suit, simple yet regal.
The jacket, high-collared, cut from thick, stiff fabric, was accented with clean, symmetrical gold embroidery. On his shoulders, leaf-shaped metallic epaulets added a touch of military solemnity.
A matching black cape fell straight down his back, fastened neatly to his shoulders without flourish. Around his waist, a wide metallic belt, adorned with a complex circular medallion, cinched his figure and accentuated his upright bearing. Black gloves completed the ensemble, reinforcing the image of a cold, methodical, and uncompromising commander.
It was clean and simple, yet supremely royal.
The king himself had a son and a daughter. He did not wish to trouble himself with more children. His son was his spitting image, so much so that people often addressed the boy as if he were the king himself.
His daughter, however, resembled her mother. The sole wife of the King of Koran was quite beautiful.
Her dress, heavy and majestic, seemed woven from the oaths of an ancient kingdom. The bodice, structured and embroidered in gold, sculpted her posture with almost military precision. Puffy velvet red sleeves framed her movements like a queen born to be seen.
The floral fabric of her skirt spread around her like a forbidden garden, each motif telling a tale of victory, betrayal, and legacy. At her neck, jewelry sparkled like silent trophies.
Her skin was pale and smooth as porcelain. Her deep brown eyes stared unflinchingly — two silent blades capable of cutting through lies. Calm, yet heavy with a weight few dared to bear.
High cheekbones carved noble arrogance, and her thin, crimson-painted lips never smiled without reason. Every feature seemed designed for a throne: a clear forehead, a firm jaw, and that icy expression that demanded respect rather than asking for it.
It was terrifying to see. She mirrored her husband in demeanor and presence. Yet the daughter, though the spitting image of her mother, appeared shy and uneasy. But still unable to stop staring at the king with an astonished expression.
Aris returned a smile to calm her slightly — only to make it worse, her face turning red as she shook it to regain composure.
Aris discreetly grimaced and continued down the platform. He saw more and more guests, familiar nobles among them — the Count of Jubel, the Duchess of Orea, Baron Vondag, who had been invited despite Arkis's council contesting it.
The nobles and high-ranking officials of De Grey were few; he didn't like to move them around. Meanwhile, the King of Koran had brought a whole retinue, as if he were at home. He seemed to trust Aris greatly.
Yet Aris felt slightly uneasy around everyone. Fortunately for him, to calm his greatest fears, Ventis was not present.
He then moved with poise to reach the railing overlooking the void and fixed his guests with a deep, royal gaze. Raising his hand, a glass of wine in it, he spoke in a strong voice:
"Welcome to Arkis, esteemed guests, to this new Ball of Peace. For some, this is not the first time you visit; for others, it is the first time seeing my face. Nevertheless, it matters not. This ball was created to commemorate the peace agreements between our four nations. Today, I raise my glass, not merely for the magnificent robes and costumes your presence brings — though I thank you for them — but for the peace that endures among humanity, preserving it for our generation and those to come. This ball is not only a celebration, but a proof that peace endures, that our bonds are strong enough not to break under the slightest blow..."
Today, such a speech made no sense anymore…
"Then, let us raise our glasses, esteemed guests, to the peace of the human world!!"
The guests raised their glasses one by one, matching Aris's gesture.
Even the Duke of Grey, despite his glowering eyes, eventually said:
"To the peace of the human world!!!"