When the last performance finished, the lord chamberlain rapped his brass-tipped staff on the flagstones and Ethelred stood. Conversations trailed off as the banquet hall fell silent.
“My friends,” Lanis Ethelred began in his most powerful voice, “I address you as such to assure you that even though you will soon be my loyal subjects, I will always think of you, first and foremost, as my friends. We have weathered a long hard struggle together. Centuries of darkness, hardship, barbarianism, and threats from Nationalists have plagued us. But in just two days’ time, the sun will dawn on a new age. This Wintertide we celebrate the rebirth of civilization—the start of a new era. As our lord Maribor has seen fit to bestow onto me the crown of supreme power, I will pledge to be faithful to his design and lead mankind armed with the firm hand of righteousness. I will return to traditional values in order to make the New Empire a beacon to light the world and blind our enemies.”
The hall applauded.
“I hope you all enjoyed your game birds, courtesy of the hawking. Tomorrow the finalists of the joust will tilt for the honor of best knight. I hope you will all enjoy the contest between two such capable men. Sir Breckton, Sir Hadrian—where are you?—please stand, both of you.” The two knights hesitantly rose to their feet, and the audience applauded. “A toast to the elite of the New Empire!”
Ethelred, along with everyone else in the hall, drank in their honor. The regent sat back down, and Amilia motioned to the musicians to take their places.
As on the previous nights, couples took to the open floor to dance. Amilia spotted Sir Breckton, dressed in a silver tunic, striding her way. When he reached the head table, he bowed before her.
“Excuse me, my lady. Might I enjoy the pleasure of your company for the dance?”
Amilia’s heart beat quickly at his invitation, and she could not think clearly. Before remembering that she could not dance, she stood, walked around the table, and offered her hand.
Taking it, the knight gently led her to where pairs of dancers formed into lines. Accompanying him in such an intimate setting felt like a dream. When the first notes of music hit the air, that dream turned to a nightmare. Amilia had no idea what to do. She had watched the dances the past several evenings but not to learn their steps. All she could recall was that the dance started in rows and ended in rows, and at some point in the middle, the dancers touched hands and traded places several times in rapid succession. All other details were a mystery. For a moment, Amilia considered returning to the security of her chair, but to do so now would embarrass her and humiliate Breckton. Light-headed, she hovered on the verge of fainting but managed a curtsy in response to Breckton’s bow.
Nothing could save her from the pending disaster. In her mind played a scene, in which she staggered, tripped, and fell. The other nobles would laugh and sneer while tears ran down her cheeks. She imagined them saying, What possessed you to think you could be one of us? Not even Breckton’s calm gaze was able to reassure Amilia.
She shifted her weight from left to right, knowing some action would be required in a half bar of music. If only she knew which foot to use, she might manage the first step.
Suddenly the music stopped and the entire assemblage halted.
A hush fell as conversations died, replaced by scattered gasps. Everyone stood and all eyes were transfixed as into the great hall strode Her Most Serene and Royal Grand Imperial Eminence, Empress Modina Novronian.
Two fifth-floor guards flanked her as they crossed the hall. The empress was dressed in the formal gown she had worn for the speech on the balcony, the luxurious mantle trailing behind her. Modina’s hair was pulled under a mesh cowl, upon which rested the imperial crown. She walked with stunning grace and dignity—chin high, shoulders squared, back straight. As she passed through the silent crowd, she appeared ethereal, like a mythical creature slipping through trees in a forest.
Amilia blinked several times, unsure what she was actually seeing and remained as transfixed as the others. The effect of Modina’s appearance was astounding and was reflected by every face in the room. No one moved and few appeared to breathe.
Reaching the front of the room, Modina walked down the length of the main table to the imperial throne left vacant each of the previous nights. The empress paused briefly in front of her seat, raised a delicate hand, and simply said, “Continue.”
There was a long pause, and then the musicians began to play once more. Saldur and Ethelred both glared at Amilia, who promptly excused herself from the dance. Her leaving the floor was quite understandable now, though she was sure it no longer mattered. Amilia doubted anyone, except perhaps Sir Breckton, noticed or cared.
She returned to the main table and stood behind Modina.