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.
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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.
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{ "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..." }
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"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.
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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'."