At last, Aerith reached the stage. Without commenting on her appearance, the overseer asked, "What talent have you chosen?"
"Dance," Aerith answered, as if the word had slipped automatically from her lips. Yet a moment later she raised her hand, her face uncertain though her hand was lifted high. "Forgive me, sir. I wish to change my presentation. May I be allowed?"
The overseer gave a polite nod. "Changing on the spot will result in a deduction of points. Do you still wish to proceed with the change?"
Aerith nodded.
"What talent have you chosen, Lady Moonstone?"
Aerith bit her lip. She did not know whether what she planned to perform could even be considered a talent. But she had already resolved to choose it.
"Ehm, I do not know under which category this falls, but… may I request a chair on the stage?" she asked softly.
The overseer frowned, glancing toward the judges, and ultimately toward King Lucien himself.
Lucien inclined his head, granting silent permission for Aerith's request.
A simple chair was carried to the center. Aerith sat down. Her palms rested together upon her lap. Her shoulders were straight but not rigid. Her gaze fell upon the ground just a few inches ahead of her feet, not defiant, not submissive, simply present. She steadied her breath, counting one, two, three up to eight, then back again to one. Her heart, once racing, now beat in calm rhythm.
The overseer frowned again. Nearly three minutes had passed, and Aerith had not moved at all. She had not displayed a single talent.
The audience was equally baffled. With their fans they began to whisper, questioning what in the world Aerith was doing on the stage of talents.
"Uhm…" The overseer cleared his throat, hesitant, but at last asked, "Lady Moonstone, will your performance take long? When will you begin?"
Aerith gave a faint smile and replied softly, "I began the moment I sat down, sir."
The hall erupted with whispers once more.
"She only sits there and dares call it a performance?!"
"She… she truly mocks the selection itself!"
A lady in the front row cast a timid glance toward Lucien, then whispered to her companion. "I suspect Lady Moonstone already has a man she loves. But her family forced her into this contest, so now she is struggling to be eliminated."
"What? Are you mad?" her companion gasped in disbelief. She glanced briefly at King Lucien, then whispered back, "Is there a woman alive who could resist His Majesty's charm?"
"Perhaps Lady Moonstone is the only one."
Lucien tilted his head, his gaze cold yet lit from within. Faint though they were, he heard the murmurs of the crowd. And something stirred his pride. The notion that there might be another man, someone unseen, who held a stronger pull in Aerith's eyes than he himself, his chest burned at the thought. His fist clenched. He could not suppress the heat rising within him. He rose to his feet.
"Lady Moonstone," he spoke coldly. "By what measure do you call this… a talent?"
Aerith stood, bowed, and answered in a low voice, "I never once called this a talent, Your Majesty."
Lucien swallowed hard. He recalled then that Aerith had never named it as such. She had only told the overseer she needed a chair to perform.
He drew a breath, restraining his temper. "If so, then explain to us. What is this performance you claim to present?"
Aerith bowed deeper. "This… this is a presentation called… 'Sitting Still,' Your Majesty."
The audience burst into uproar, the candidates smirking in scorn. Never had they seen such foolishness. In their eyes, Aerith's stupidity was beyond saving.
"Sitting still…" Lucien repeated her words. "And do you imagine that useful?"
This time Aerith inhaled deeply. She was not seeking justification, only speaking a truth she had never planned.
"I am used to disturbing no one. I can sit without asking for anything, without demanding, without occupying space that is not mine. If the palace needs someone who adds no trouble, I can do it well."
Lucien gave a mocking smile. "And you think that is of benefit to the palace?"
"When there are too many voices, someone must sit still, so that what is important can be heard. When there are too many hands grasping, someone must sit still, so that desire does not drown out wisdom."
Lucien paused, unsettled not because her answer was wrong, but because the thought gnawed at him. The possibility that another man might be more "everything" in her eyes than himself.
"Your performance is excruciatingly dull, Lady Moonstone! Return to your seat at once."
Aerith drew a long breath, bowed low, then stepped slowly down from the stage. She heard the whispers, the sneers, the laughter. Some mocked her openly.
"Can that woman not do anything useful?"
Amid all the scorn, that single phrase pierced her chest the deepest. Her eyes grew misty, but she fought with all her strength to keep the tears from falling.
I swore I would leave with dignity, Aerith told herself each time her tears threatened to break free.
***
That evening, at the announcement of the results, Aerith entered the western hall wearing an emerald green gown, her hair elegantly coiled, and at her neck a jeweled pendant that matched her dress. That morning she had shamed Moonstone, so now she resolved to lift its dignity by appearing properly adorned.
She was ready to be eliminated. She even planned to celebrate the victory of her defeat with a small feast alongside Gwenevere. Or, should Madam Gwen refuse, she had prepared a second plan: to celebrate alone, as she always had.
The hall was heavy with murmurs clinging to the ceiling. The overseer stood tall at the small podium, a silver scroll in hand glinting under the chandelier. Behind him, the row of judges sat in solemn line. Above them, on the balcony, King Lucien leaned back in his chair, his face expressionless.
"The results of the second round," the overseer's voice was clear. "Judgment considers technique, benefit to the palace, and composure. A change of talent on the spot results in point deductions."
Aerith lowered her gaze to the tip of her shoes, bracing herself for another's name.
"Third place: Lady Mirabelle."
Polite applause filled the air. Mirabelle bowed gracefully, her fan concealing the thin smile she had prepared. Though she had hoped for more, third among fifteen was not disgraceful.
"Second place: Lady Venetia." Louder applause followed. Venetia stood with her chin slightly raised, proper yet betraying her long-held confidence.
With Venetia ranked second, the others whispered in wonder who would claim first. While curiosity spread, Aerith stood calmly, smiling faintly at the thought of her small feast tonight. At last, her suffering would end.
"And first place," the overseer paused, glancing at the scroll as if to be sure he was not mistaken. "Lady… Lady Aerith of Moonstone."
The hall froze in shock. Fans halted mid-air. A few half-rose from their seats before dropping back down.
Aerith tilted her head, raising a hand toward the overseer. "Forgive me for interrupting, sir. Please examine again, for I fear you are holding the scroll of those eliminated."
"Reasonable…" The other candidates nodded in agreement.
But the overseer shook his head. He had already checked thoroughly. "The decision of the judges is final and cannot be disputed. Lady Aerith has taken first place. Congratulations."
Venetia stared straight ahead, her fingers clenched within her skirts. Mirabelle gripped her fan so tightly her knuckles turned white. They had failed to bring Aerith down. Yet this only sharpened their resolve. If subtle means could not erase Aerith from the contest, then harsher ways would be considered.
After receiving her award, Aerith lingered uneasily at the door of the hall. All the other candidates had returned to their chambers, but she would not leave before confirming one thing.
At last, the moment came. King Lucien strode proudly from the hall, passing Aerith without so much as a glance. As though she were invisible, nothing but air.
Behind him, Tobias turned his head slightly toward Aerith before facing forward again, leaving her frozen in place.
Startled from her daze, Aerith hurried to follow. "Your Majesty…" she called, extending her right hand across Lucien's chest, an act so improper it could cost her head.
Tobias stiffened, ready to shove her aside, but Lucien lifted his hand, signaling he was not entirely opposed.
"You need additional lessons in etiquette, Lady Moonstone," Lucien said coolly, his eyes still fixed ahead.
"Forgive my boldness, Your Majesty."
As though guessing her intent, Lucien muttered flatly, "Your performance was dull. Yet chaos is more dangerous than dullness."
He lowered his chin slightly, an acknowledgment, though not a praise. "You… were merely fortunate today."