Ciel Midford
"It's been quite some time, hasn't it."
The Emperor of the Ernes Empire opened with the most uncontroversial pleasantry. The wrinkles etched into his face were no mere ornament; they bore the weight of years, a testament to history that kept him unflinching even before Ferzen, who had shattered Brutein's long-standing traditions.
"I've heard the tales, but your arm bears no lingering effects, I trust."
"None at all. My thanks for your concern."
"Good. Word is you swiftly quelled that unsavory incident at the academy with decisive action. Your selfless devotion sparked some debate, but in the end, we've decided to exempt Ruerg from taxes for three years."
"I am deeply grateful for Your Majesty's benevolence."
"Then... enjoy the banquet at your leisure."
Was this Ferzen's independent maneuver, or was he borrowing the Ruerg fief to thrust Brutein into the imperial succession struggle? Unable to grasp the truth, the Emperor subtly glanced at his sons—the First and Second Princes.
Their expressions were predictably complicated. If it was the latter, securing Ferzen's backing alone would all but crown one of them heir. If the former, it held little weight. Ruerg, a remote northern fief, commanded scant funds and fewer soldiers; its sole true asset was Ferzen himself.
Has he come to scout candidates for the next ritual, or...?
The Emperor couldn't hide his regret. Elizabeth's ability to glimpse hidden thoughts had a three-month cycle per person; had the banquet been held at the end of May, he might have pierced Ferzen's intentions right there.
For now, all I can do is watch.
With that, the Emperor withdrew his gaze from Ferzen, chatted briefly with his beloved Empress, and soon departed together.
The banquet's true stars were his sons, after all.
* * * * *
The lively music filling the banquet hall, as if to soothe the inner turmoil, gradually softened into a gentle melody. The nobles, who had stiffened, resumed their conversations with renewed vigor—but their eyes still flicked occasionally toward Ferzen's retreating figure.
Ferzen, however, paid them no mind. He seized a passing maid, had her pour him a glass of wine, and quenched his parched throat.
"Ah... s-sorry..."
"..."
Euphemia, seemingly gripped by panic, stumbled into him as she stepped back— the polar opposite of Ferzen's steady gait.
At this rate...
Perhaps it's better to leave her alone.
If the Second Prince of Robelium Kingdom approached, she seemed liable to blunder right into a pretext for trouble. Ferzen mulled this shocking thought—Euphemia would faint if she heard it—when a unfamiliar presence drew near, snapping him from his reverie. He turned his head.
"To think I'd behold Brutein's ritual bloodline here, of all places... I must be fortunate indeed. Don't you agree?"
Despite her warm-toned attire, the blue-haired woman exuded an unmistakably icy aura.
"..."
Ferzen hadn't recognized her at first, but the emblem on her garb made it clear in an instant.
The First Princess of the Elmark Empire—no, the Empress—Gremory Eldin Ishtar Elmark.
"Frowning instead of greeting me is a tad disappointing. I'm no mere uninvited guest, after all."
Not an uninvited guest.
That meant even Brutein's intelligence network hadn't detected her; she must have received an unofficial invitation.
What could the imperial family's intent be, summoning her here?
This generation's imperial heirs in Elmark numbered seven. Now, only Gremory remained. The six dead had met "understandable" ends—poisonings, assassin attacks—but faint traces pointed to her hand in it all.
Yes, deliberate markers, like signatures. The tale of the Third Prince kneeling to lick her shoes in a desperate bid for survival was infamous. In the end, they all perished, leaving her alone.
Gremory Eldin Ishtar Elmark—a monster who, at 28, had reached the pinnacle of Aura Knight in a woman's body.
Ferzen had anticipated Ciel Midford's growth accelerating while breaching Ruerg's snowfields partly because of her. Frostbite inflicted deliberately across the body, then mana forced through to reconstruct cells—that was her method.
"I've unwittingly been rude... I never imagined encountering Elmark's Empress here, so my composure faltered. I trust you'll understand."
"You speak more prettily than expected. It lifts my spirits. I'd love to chat with that little bird you've tucked away behind you, but prior commitments call me away."
The Empress gestured toward a distant figure. Following her hand, Ferzen locked eyes with Princess Elizabeth, who appeared to await her.
He offered a curt nod in greeting; she responded by delicately lifting her skirt's hem with both hands in refined, elegant acknowledgment.
"Have a pleasant evening."
"To you as well, Your Majesty."
Ferzen watched her graceful departure for a moment, then turned to Euphemia, who clung tightly to his side.
"Is the banquet hall's atmosphere that stifling?"
"Y-yes..."
It wasn't just unfamiliarity; the dread of Ciel and Ferzen clashing at any moment set her blood aflame.
"Then let's step out to the terrace for a bit."
Ferzen stated it flatly, but Euphemia brightened, nodding vigorously. So desperate for relief, she didn't even consider Ciel might be watching—as she welcomed the hand encircling her waist.
Escaping the dazzling lights and bustling crowd of the hall, they emerged onto the terrace. A cool night breeze greeted Euphemia alongside the serene quiet.
Only then did her chest loosen; she released the tension from her body and exhaled a steadying breath.
"I won't tell you to get used to it, but you're far too tense."
"..."
"If it's too much sober, borrowing some wine's courage might help."
Ferzen swirled his glass halfway, then pressed the rim he'd sipped from to her lips.
"I-I'm fine..."
She had no desire for alcohol's haze, but his tilting hand left her no choice. She parted her lips, cautiously sipping the sweet yet sharp wine.
"Cough...!"
Its high proof burned her throat, flushing her face crimson in an instant. She fanned herself desperately to cool the heat...
"Ah...!"
But Ferzen suddenly dipped his head, capturing her lips in a kiss. Startled, she tentatively reached for his back, pulling him in weakly.
"Mm... nngh..."
Unlike their usual kisses, the wine's rich aroma permeated, leaving her dizzy from tongues entwining and saliva mingling alone.
To think a kiss could feel this lewd.
"..."
As the lingering kiss ended and Ferzen pulled back, Euphemia wiped her lips with the back of her hand and turned away.
For some reason, her lower abdomen ached. Her nipples, trapped in her undergarments, stood obscenely erect.
No...
Denying her body's untimely arousal—heedless of time and place—she let out a hot breath.
A faint buzz tingled through her. Less from the wine itself, more from its lingering aftertaste.
"How shameless... What are you doing in the imperial palace?"
Eep! At the familiar yet startling voice, Euphemia jolted and ducked behind Ferzen.
"He's brazen by nature, so that's one thing, but if you have any shame, you shouldn't indulge him. No matter how hard he tries with one hand, he won't get applause."
Uriel, who had entered the terrace and witnessed their intimate display from start to finish, wagged a scolding finger.
But Ferzen found her ridiculous. How dare she lecture on propriety while vulgarly flaunting Azelia's elegant dress? He could only imagine the frantic efforts to avert eyes from her on everyone's account—for the Alfred name's sake.
"Uriel, if you have any conscience, stay glued to this terrace until the banquet ends. Tormenting people really is your vile little hobby."
"Wh-what... do you mean?"
"Never mind. You wouldn't have worn that if you knew."
Even without spelling it out, Uriel grasped his point from past barbs and slyly covered her chest.
But palms couldn't hide the sky. Rather than modest, her ambiguously veiled ample bosom thrust forward all the more brazenly.