Their footsteps echoed softly through the quiet corridor as they made their way toward the grand hall.
Beside her, Welfred walked with his usual composed demeanor.
Grace stole a glance at him and smiled mischievously.
"So, Welfred... have you made it a personal mission never to move a single muscle on your face?" she teased. "Or are you afraid smiling might add a few years to your age?"
"Madam," Welfred replied solemnly, "as I have explained before, I am no longer young. My skin has already endured enough years. If I were to start making expressions now, I fear I might actually begin to look old."
A brief silence followed.
(But... you are old.)
The thought crossed Grace's, Rui's, and Ray's minds at exactly the same moment.
Welfred straightened proudly.
"However, Madam, I am perfectly capable of smiling."
With that, he turned toward them and smiled.
Or at least, that was presumably what he intended.
His lips stretched into a stiff, unnatural grin, teeth fully on display. His eyes remained far too wide, and the whole expression gave the unsettling impression of a haunted painting attempting to appear welcoming.
Grace froze.
Rui blinked.
Ray blinked.
The corridor fell silent.
"Ahaha..." Grace let out a strained laugh.
Then, lowering her voice, she added, "Right... let's not do that again."
"Understood, Madam."
Welfred turned away and immediately returned to his usual expressionless face.
The change was so abrupt that Rui and Ray visibly relaxed.
They exchanged glances before leaning toward each other.
"That smile is definitely showing up in my nightmares."
"Mine too."
.
.
.
A sea of people stretched across the grand hall below.
From the top of the staircase, they watched the crowd gather beneath glittering chandeliers, the murmur of countless voices echoing through the palace.
The Crown Hall was enormous—clearly built for occasions of unparalleled grandeur. Even with more than a thousand guests gathered within its walls, the vast chamber still felt only half full, its sheer scale almost overwhelming.
Several grand entrances lined both sides of the hall, each framed by intricate carvings and gilded ornamentation. From the top of the sweeping staircase, where Grace and the others stood, a crimson carpet embroidered with gold stretched all the way to the foot of the stairs, leading directly to the three thrones.
The thrones stood upon a raised section of the hall, surrounded by two platforms. The upper platform was reserved for high-ranking nobles and the royal guards of the highest order, while the lower platform accommodated those just beneath them in status.
Along both sides of the carpet, royal guards stood at five-meter intervals. Their polished armor gleamed beneath the warm light of the chandeliers, lending an air of discipline and majesty to the already magnificent hall.
Grace's gaze lingered on the crowd, though her mind was clearly elsewhere.
"Madam," Welfred said, gently pulling her back to the present, "you will be needing this."
At his signal, the manservant beside him stepped forward and opened a velvet-lined bag, revealing a royal cape within.
The pale cream cape flowed from beneath ornate golden shoulder armor, its rich fabric draping nearly to the ground. Elegant and regal, it was a clear symbol of royal status.
Her fingers traced the cape's elegant folds, the cool weight of the fabric awakening a distant memory.
.
.
.
{ "Father, is this the ceremonial cape you wore at your coronation?"
"Yes," he answered, his voice calm and steady—just as she remembered.
Her eyes brightened.
"Then... can I wear it when it's my turn?"
"I'm afraid not, my dear," he said with a gentle smile. "Every ruler must choose their own. A ceremonial cape is more than attire—it's a symbol of the person who wears it. No two are alike, just as no two rulers are alike."
Grace fell silent.
Her eyes lingered on the cape's elegant folds.
"Then..." she murmured, her eyes still on the cape, "when I ascend the throne, I'll have one made just like this."
A small smile touched her lips.
"It's beautiful." }
.
.
.
"So beautiful..." Grace whispered.
Her hand glided over the cape one last time before she looked up with a gentle smile.
"It's perfect. Thank you, Welfred."
"I merely conveyed your wishes, Madam," he said. "The craftsmen deserve the praise."
"Then I will make sure they receive it after the ceremony."
"Madam, if you please."
Grace stepped forward.
Welfred draped the cape over her shoulders with meticulous precision, arranging it so that it fell in elegant folds behind her. When he finished, he retreated a few steps and studied her in silence.
Grace straightened instinctively, the cape settling around her like a mantle of authority.
"So?" she asked, a faint smile playing on her lips. "How do I look?"
For a moment, Welfred simply stared.
The way she carried herself, the quiet confidence in her voice, the cape draped across her shoulders—it all stirred a familiar memory.
"Master Vic—"
The name slipped from his lips before he caught himself.
"What's wrong?" Grace asked, noticing the distant look in his eyes.
Welfred blinked and quickly composed himself.
"My apologies, Madam. It was nothing."
He bowed his head slightly.
"You look... truly splendid."
After a brief silence, Welfred spoke again, his voice softer than before.
"You've grown so much, Madam."
His gaze rested on her, touched by years of memories. For a moment, he seemed to be looking not at the future queen before him, but at the little girl he had watched grow up.
Grace smiled warmly.
"I should hope so. I'm twenty-one now."
"Indeed you are," Welfred replied.
A faint, affectionate smile appeared on his face.
"And yet, to me, you'll always be that little girl."
A beat of silence followed.
Then Grace, Rui, and Ray all blinked.
"So you 'can' smile," they murmured in unison.
"Well then, shall we?" Grace asked, looking between the two children.
"Okay," they answered together, each reaching for one of her hands despite their obvious nervousness.
Grace gave their hands a gentle squeeze.
"There's no need to worry. Everything will be alright."
"Then I shall take my leave, Madam."
Welfred offered a respectful bow before stepping away.
Welfred walked along the long marble corridor, his measured footsteps echoing beneath the high vaulted ceiling. Two attendants trailed behind him in respectful silence.
He offered a silent prayer, hoping all would proceed without incident.
Two guards emerged from the far end of the corridor, their armored forms illuminated by the warm glow of the wall lamps. One was a man, the other a woman, both hidden behind visored helmets. Their measured footsteps rang softly against the marble floor, echoing through the high-arched hall.
As they drew closer, the woman's gaze settled on Welfred.
Her pace never changed, yet her eyes lingered on him, following his figure as they passed one another.
Welfred, however, remained lost in thought.
Without so much as a glance in her direction, he continued down the corridor.
The soft clink of armor echoed through the corridor.
The woman let her gaze linger on Welfred for a moment before looking ahead again.
Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she muttered to herself,
"A monocle... swept-back hair..."
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"So this is the man they call Welfred."