Waltz
"Hm... Cancel that one; it doesn't seem necessary. And what about the guest list I mentioned earlier?"
As the man issued commands like a conductor leading an orchestra, hundreds bustled about, hauling items and decorating the space. The sanctity of the nave corridor—where believers once gathered for mass, linking the cathedral's main hall to the entrance—was now overlaid with opulence. The fountain that once flowed with holy water brimmed with wine and an array of fine liquors and beverages. The confessional, site of whispered penitences, had become a grill station with iron plates and cutting boards. The ceiling, once adorned only with murals, now dangled with chandeliers so garish they sparkled vulgarly. Truly, the hall was taking on the lavish guise of a Manrmursk midwinter night.
"I'm almost feeling sorry for Lord Byeon Gyeongbaek of Manrmursk just watching this."
"Your Majesty has arrived."
As the conductor's baton paused, all eyes snapped to one spot. Everyone halted their tasks and bowed deeply to greet the emperor.
"I said I didn't want to impose more than necessary, didn't I, Duke of Sachsen?"
"No need for concern, Your Majesty. This is hardly a burden for the lord of Manrmursk."
If Byeon Gyeongbaek—who'd been hurling bones at the official reporting the emperor's inspection tour—had overheard, he'd have frothed at the mouth.
"Here is the list of matters to prepare before you appear at the banquet hall, along with a roster of figures scheduled for brief audiences. And from here on, the list for post-ball audiences, Your Majesty."
A stack of documents piled up before the emperor—exaggerating a bit, it rivaled three stacked steaks in heft.
For an emperor who couldn't rest freely in the capital, these tours were his outings, his chance to breathe. But at this point, it felt no different from handling state affairs back home.
"That's quite a lot of audiences..."
"The requests were three times that number, regardless of rank or status. We've culled as many middling ones as possible. I beg your understanding, Your Majesty."
Though his face soured, the emperor began poring over the dossiers on the scheduled guests. It seemed the emperor and duke's little contest ended in the duke's victory by decision.
Hm... this person?
As the duke, listening politely while the emperor read, turned his head, the emperor spoke again.
"Duke of Sachsen."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"No, never mind. Carry on with your work."
The duke's expression screamed too bland... as the words nearly escaped his lips, but he held them back. The conductor resumed directing his ants, while the masked scarecrow silently pored over the papers.
It was winter.
"Emperor of the Romanov Empire, Grand Duke of Agram, Lemberg, Illyria, Chadar, and Piscarenche; Marquis of Styermark, Graz, and Ryusaka; Protector of the protectorates including Sukan, Moribwe, Fraia, Manrmursk, and more..."
Waaah!!—
"His Imperial Majesty, Rudolf von Romanov II, arrives!!!"
"Long live the emperor! Long live the Empire!"
The cheers were so thunderous they might make the original divine owner of Palatium jealous. Chandeliers rattled overhead, and the heat—madness, even—intensified to the point where the eyes of the gutted char salmon on the cutting board seemed ready to pop. Prayers to an unseen god went unanswered, but those aimed at the emperor mere feet away surely reached him, however faintly.
Who knew? Among the swarm of ants, I might catch the emperor's eye.
"I am grateful for such a warm welcome."
His amplified voice, enhanced by the elite mages' precise spellwork, boomed through the hall.
"Manrmursk here is a symbol of the Empire's prosperity. It was the fiercest battleground of the expansion wars led by my late father—and the war's final chapter. Once, Manrmursk reeked only of blood, steel, and gunpowder, a barren fortress. But!"
The ants held their breath, their eyes blazing with something hotter than a furnace, lodged in their throats.
"You esteemed guests have tilled the soil, raised buildings, and blossomed culture with your own hands! I, Rudolf von Romanov II, am truly proud to stand with you!"
Waaah!!!—
"For the emperor!"
"For the Empire!"
"For Manrmursk!"
As if the emperor had laced his words with sweet liquor, the ants lost all reason.
Would they hand over their livers and hearts if he asked for the emperor's sake right now? Seolhwa pondered seriously just as a grand orchestral piece swelled through the banquet hall.
Drunk on the fervor, swept by the mood, men and women of all ages surged onto the dance floor. Seolhwa, eyes fixed on the emperor who seemed ready to vanish after his incantation, felt a poke in his side.
"Kuhk!"
"Making such an embarrassing noise."
The finger's owner gazed at him with her usual blank expression, though it carried a hint of poutiness.
"Wouldn't Chief Clerk Helena make a similar sound if poked in the side?"
He nearly used his usual title, but seeing her already impassive face harden further, he swallowed it. Switching to her name seemed the right call; she raised her glass.
"How about it, Seolhwa?"
"Pardon?"
Another sharp jab came, but he was ready. He caught her hand smoother than skipping stones on water.
"Oho! You two... quite the vigorous pair, eh? How about dancing a number and coming back?"
Warden Jepeto's voice boomed from behind, followed by a heavy, iron grip shoving his back—like a mountain bear's claw after days of starvation. Seolhwa flew forward like a paper sheet.
"Oh my! If you insist so strongly."
Still holding hands, it looked like Seolhwa was dragging Helena along. Should he clarify the misunderstanding and back off? He considered it briefly, but no need to refuse a served meal.
"A bit late, but care to dance one together, Helena?"
"Feels quite late, but it's an honor, Seolhwa."
As if announcing their entry, the music kicked into full gear. The contrabass led like walking on clouds, violin and viola ramping up the tempo. Her abundant golden hair swayed pleasantly with the movements, wafting something delightful—like deep rose perfume—tickling his nose.
A trumpet pierced sharply, as if punishing Seolhwa's momentary distraction. Percussion shifted the genre: a fast dance tune whipping like Manrmursk's sudden snow squalls.
"You're better than expected."
"The Academy had more fun than studying."
He might've glimpsed a faint smile from Helena, but the brisk tempo swept it away. As he regretted it, she gripped his back, leaving a golden afterimage. The music slowed dramatically; women on the floor covered their partners' eyes with both hands.
A perilous, thrilling dance relying solely on her touch for lead, yet syncing breaths. The sacred path of dance testing trust in one's partner heated up, dropouts tumbling everywhere. Tripped steps, stomped toes, falls echoed. Those peeking from pressure earned light boos for their lack of faith.
"Not scared of the dark?"
"Eyes open don't guarantee true sight anyway."
As if blessing those who conquered unseen fear, the music shifted last: a soft, rich, passionate waltz.
They faced each other like flowing water, bowing lightly. Helena took his arm; he encircled her back.
Oh?
Over her Utopia clerk uniform, he felt Helena. Smaller than expected. Softer. And firmer than imagined...
"Eek!"
Like an invisible whip, she pressed in. Waltz demanded locked gazes from start to finish, spotting stray thoughts instantly.
"What're you thinking so intently?"
"Will you promise not to get mad if I'm honest?"
The teasing push-pull continued. Rhythm seeped between steps; their clasped hands tensed without precedence.
"Depends on what you say?"
"Then I can't say."
Yielding to him, Helena; feeling her fully, Seolhwa—they raced toward climax with the accelerating tune. In her gray eyes, something almost surfaced—then finale, with a lump of regret in his chest.
Applause poured for them. Not the frantic sort from the emperor's cheers, forcing participation. Dignified claps. Fake to some, etiquette to others. They signaled the piece's end.
But amid them, light, quick claps rang—sincere for their genuineness.
"Kuhahaha! Took me right back to my youth—you two danced splendidly. Aye, splendidly!"
Jepeto approached, beaming like a grandfather at grandkids. His hind leg gone, he now clutched a bowl of sashimi whole.
"Didn't know you had such social finesse, Helena."
"That's my line."
Like unraveling thread, she withdrew her hand. Seolhwa, forgetting they'd lingered post-waltz, grinned sheepishly.
"A tad disappointing."
"So there'll be a next time."
"Pardon?"
Without a period, Helena headed outside for air. Seolhwa, unable to shake the feeling of being had, got an arm slung over his shoulder by Jepeto.
"So? Impressions of being enchanted by her."
"Wasn't her enchanted by me?"
"Dodgin' it, eh."
Crude retort for a duke's mouth, hereditary or not. Hard to counter, harder to swallow. Seolhwa let it slide with a chuckle; Jepeto handed him fresh-poured wine. He downed it gladly, sighing as he scanned the room.
The orchestra had begun the next piece; the chef dismantling char salmon whetted his knife on a whetstone.
Something's missing...
"Dunno when or where he vanished... Dang, tsk. Gotta find him 'fore the flies swarm."
"Who?"
"The emperor. All fancy words, then poof."
As Jepeto said, the emperor was nowhere, no matter where Seolhwa looked.