"I don't remember you asking me to wake you," Ray said.
"I didn't," Rui mumbled.
"Exactly."
"I didn't even notice when you fell asleep," he added.
"But you should have! Because of you, I missed the ceremony!" she protested, her eyes beginning to fill with tears.
"Who said it's over?" Ray said, a faint laugh slipping through.
"It isn't?" she sniffed.
"How could it be? It hasn't even started yet," he said gently.
"But it'll begin once we head downstairs," said Grace, standing beside the bed with her arms folded.
Rui slipped off the bed and hurried over, wrapping her in a quick hug. "Sister! How long have you been there? I didn't even notice."
"Long before you two started talking," Grace replied, brushing a hand through Rui's hair.
"The guests have already arrived. We should go now," she added kindly.
They exchanged a glance, a quiet understanding passing between them, before turning to Grace with bright, almost identical smiles.
Grace frowned slightly. "What is it?"
"Close your eyes," they said in unison.
"Why—"
"Just close them!"
"…Alright, fine."
She let out a small sigh and closed her eyes.
She heard footsteps, then a soft rustle—something being picked up, adjusted.
Curiosity stirred, and she leaned slightly, trying to sneak a glance—
"Don't you even try!"
Ray's voice came sharp and immediate.
Grace quickly shut her eye again, pressing her lips together.
A moment later, the sounds stopped. Footsteps returned, closer this time.
"You can open them now."
Grace opened her eyes.
They stood before her, each holding a small chest—deep blue, trimmed in gold, shaped like an egg.
For a brief second, she simply stared.
"Happy birthday, sister."
Her breath caught.
(…Right. It's my birthday too.)
"I completely forgot…"
She reached out and took the chests from them, still a little dazed.
"Can I open them?" she asked.
"Yes," Rui said easily.
"Y-yeah," Ray added, far less certain.
Grace sat down on the bed and opened Rui's first, since she had offered it first.
Inside was a statue.
It was… her.
A carefully sculpted clay bust, detailed down to the shoulders. The features were delicate, almost lifelike, and atop its head rested a small crown—real, not molded.
For a moment, Grace just stared at it.
"You made this yourself?" she asked.
Rui nodded.
Grace smiled, though a hint of uncertainty flickered in her eyes.
(Did she really make this…?)
Her gaze lingered on the statue.
(It doesn't seem like it…)
She set it aside gently and opened Ray's.
Another statue.
Also her—but this one was… different. Slightly uneven, a bit exaggerated in places, decorated with too many ornaments that didn't quite match.
Grace paused.
She didn't need to ask this time.
One glance was enough to know who had made it.
Rui beamed with quiet pride beside her.
Ray, on the other hand, shifted awkwardly, his ears tinged red, clearly embarrassed.
.
.
.
They walked to the door, and as Grace opened it—
"Ahh" she yelped, startled as if she'd seen a ghost. Both children let out short gasps of surprise.
"Welfred! You scared the—" Grace stopped herself, glancing at the kids, then continued, "You scared us! Why were you standing at the door like that?"
"My apologies, Madam," Welfred said quickly. "I didn't mean to startle you. I came to escort you downstairs— everyone in the hall has been asking for you."
"I was about to knock, but you opened the door first."
The man looked to be middle-aged somewhere around his fifties, though his refined attire and neatly swept-back hair made him appear younger, perhaps in his forties. His face was pale, composed, and nearly devoid of expression.
He was wearing a sharply tailored black uniform, regal yet understated, adorned with fine silver chains that caught the light with a faint glimmer. A deep purple sash crossed his chest, fastened neatly at the shoulder where a metallic insignia rested. The coat fell in layered panels, the inner lining revealing the same rich hue as the sash.
A long cape of deep violet draped gracefully from his shoulder, its weight flowing naturally with the rest of his attire. High black boots, polished to a mirror shine, completed the ensemble, their height adding to his composed and elegant appearance.
Every element of his attire seemed chosen with care, balanced between refinement and grace.
.
.
"Don't worry, we were already on our way," Grace assured him.
.
.
.
As they strolled down the hallway, Grace looked over with a teasing smile. "So, Welfred... you never really 'move' your face, do you? Is it because you think it'll make you look older— or have you just forgotten how to smile?"
"Madam," Welfred said solemnly, "As I've mentioned before, I am quite aged. My skin has stretched and wrinkled enough as it is. If I start showing expressions, I might end up looking like an old man."
"(But you are an old man)," all three thought at once.
He straightened his posture proudly. "However, madam, I do know how to smile."
With that, he turned toward them and flashed the most awkward, toothy grin imaginable— lips twitching, eyes wide, looking like a haunted portrait trying to be friendly.
Grace froze. The kids blinked.
"Ahaha..." Grace laughed weakly, then whispered under her breath, "Right... maybe don't do that again."
Welfred turned around and resumed his usual blank expression.
The children exhaled in relief, whispering to each other, "That smile's gonna haunt my dreams."
.
.
.
They stood near the grand staircase overlooking the vast hall below, watching the sea of people gathered within.
The Crown Hall was enormous— clearly built for occasions of grandeur like this. Even with more than a thousand guests filling it, the place still felt only half occupied, it's scale almost overwhelming.
Along both sides of the hall were several grand entrances framed with ornate carvings. A red carpet, bordered with golden embroidery, stretched from top of the grand staircase— where Grace and the others stood— down to the foot of the stairs, leading directly to the three thrones.
Two platforms surrounded the thrones: the higher one for the nobles and royal guards of highest order, and the lower for those just beneath them in rank.
Royal guards stood in pairs along the carpet at a regular intervals of five meters, their gleaming armour reflecting the warm glow of the hall's lights.
.
.
Grace gazed at the crowd, her mind elsewhere.
"Madam, you'll be needing this," Welfred reminded her, his tone courteous yet firm.
He motioned to the manservant beside him. "Bring it out."
At once, the servant complied, revealing a royal cape from the velvet-lined bag.
The cape was a masterpiece of craftmanship, woven from a smooth fabric of pale cream that caught the light with a soft, dignified sheen. The material, heavy yet elegant, draped in refined folds that spoke of luxury and tradition.
It was secured beneath the ornate golden shoulder armor, allowing it to fall in a natural, commanding flow along the back and sides. Every moment lent it a quiet grace, as though it obeyed ceremony itself.
Reaching nearly to the ground, the cape embodied grandeur and nobility— an emblem of rank and royal bearing.
Grace's fingers glided over the cape's smooth folds, the fabric cool and weighty beneath her touch. The sensation awakened a soft, distant memory.
.
.
.
{ "Father, is this the ceremonial cape you wore at your coronation?"
"Yes, it is," he replied, his voice calm, steady— just as she remembered it.
"Can I wear it for mine too?" she asked, her tone bright with hope.
"I'm afraid not, my dear," he said gently. "Each ruler must choose their own. The cape is not just an attire but a symbol— a way for the new sovereign to represent themselves. Each heir's cape is different, just as they are."
Grace went silent, her gaze lingering on the elegant drape of the garment.
"Then..." she whispered, "when I become queen, I'll have one just like this. It's so beautiful... }
.
.
.
"So... beautiful..." she breathed, her voice soft and distant, her hand still tracing over the cape as if unwilling to let go.
"It's just how I wanted it. Thank you, Welfred," she said with a faint smile.
"The pleasure is mine, Madam, yet it is the craftsmen who are truly worth of praise."
"Then I shall express my gratitude to them after the ceremony."
"Madam, if you will stand here for a moment," Welfred said with a slight bow.
Grace stepped forward and stood before Welfred. With careful precision, he draped the cape over her shoulders.
Welfred stepped back a few paces to take in the sight of Grace.
"So, how do I look?" she asked, standing tall and composed.
For a moment, Welfred only stared— her posture, the poise in her voice, the way the cape fell around her shoulders— it all reminded him of someone. "Master Vic—" he began, then stopped himself.
"What's wrong?" Grace asked, noticing the distant look in his eyes.
"Oh, it's nothing, Madam," he said quickly, regaining his composure. "You look... truly splendid."
After a moment's silence, Welfred spoke again, his voice gentle. "Madam, you've grown quite a lot." His eyes lingered on her, softened by memory— seeing not the queen before him, but the child she once was.
"Naturally. I'm twenty-one now," Grace said, smiling warmly at Welfred.
"That you are," Welfred replied with a faint affectionate smile."Yet to me, you'll always be the little girl I once knew."
"So you can smile after all," Grace, Rui and Ray, murmured together, their quiet voices carrying a hint of playful surprise.
"So then, shall we proceed?" Grace asked, her gaze sweeping over the children before settling on Welfred.
"Forgive me, Madam, but I cannot accompany you," Welfred said.
"What? And why not?" Grace asked, her brows lifting slightly.
"Only you and these two young ones are permitted to tread upon the royal carpet," Welfred replied, gently brushing his hand over Rui and Ray's heads. "Even members of other royal houses are forbidden to set foot upon it— myself included."
"You do realize I care little for such customs," Grace said quietly.
"But I do, Madam," he answered, his tone steady yet respectful.
"Very well, as you wish," she conceded with a sigh. "But then, how will you handle the announcements?"
"I shall take a separate passage to reach the hall," Welfred replied."Now, if you will excuse me." With a courteous bow, he turned and took his leave.
"Then we should make our way down as well, shall we?" Grace said turning to the children.
"Okay," they replied together, each taking hold of one of her hands.
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.
.
Welfred walked down the long marble corridor, his polished steps echoing softly beneath the vaulted ceiling. Two attendants followed in silence, their presence dutiful yet distant.
"(Madam, it was so fond of you to ask me that," he mused inwardly, his expression unreadable. "You've granted me title and standing, yes—but that won't change what I am. A butler, nothing more.)" His tone, even in thought, carried the weight of quiet conviction.
.
.
From the far end of the corridor, two guards approached— one man, one woman— their armor catching glints of the lamplight that lined the marble walls. Their visored helmets concealed most of their faces, turning them into faceless sentinels of steel and silence. The metallic rhythm of their boots filled the air, echoing faintly along the high-arched ceiling.
As they neared, the woman's gaze caught on Welfred. Her steps didn't falter, yet her head turned slightly, her eyes following him until they passed.
But Welfred, lost in thought, walked past without a glance.
The faint clink of armor echoed behind him. Then, almost under her breath, the woman murmured to herself, her voice barely audible over the hush of the hall—
"Wearing a monocle… swept-back hair… so, this is the man they call 'Welfred'."