IWAPUF 19

The Crown Prince and I usually met in the garden behind Visade Palace. On rainy days, we would
sometimes take tea in his own quarters, but today the sky was clear and blue, as if nothing could
possibly go wrong.
Naturally, I assumed the palace attendant would guide me to Visade, just as he always did. But
instead, he led me in a different direction—one that unsettled me almost immediately. This wasn’t
the Crown Prince’s residence. It wasn’t anywhere we had ever met before.
I stopped walking.
“I have been ordered to escort the Lady to Baharot Palace,” the attendant said with a deep bow.
I frowned before I could stop myself. Baharot? That was the Emperor’s palace. And the
Emperor—without exception—never summoned me on days I met with the Crown Prince. It was
his strange way of showing deference, of letting us have our time.
“The Crown Prince gave the order?”
“Yes, my lady.”
Something was off. The Crown Prince had no reason to bring me here. And yet, here I was.
“For what reason?”
“How could I presume to know His Highness’s thoughts?” the attendant replied, bowing again. “I
simply obey the order given to me.”
Of course. He was only the messenger.
Why would the Crown Prince summon me to the Emperor’s palace?
The feeling blooming in my chest wasn’t quite fear, but it was something unpleasant, murky. I
didn’t like it.
“Lead the way,” I said curtly.
The attendant nodded and began walking again, and I followed.
Where Visade was all graceful lines and charming detail, Baharot Palace loomed with grandeur
and unapologetic splendor. The corridors here were longer, broader, flanked by gilded columns
and the quiet, echoing weight of power. At the end of one particularly vast hall, we emerged into a
garden—so large it seemed a world of its own. Without hesitation, the attendant stepped inside.
My legs followed, but my thoughts twisted and tangled behind them.
The Emperor isn’t meeting me, is he?
That couldn’t be it. The Crown Prince hadn’t asked me here to meet his father—or if he had, why
here, in the garden and not within the palace walls?
We passed through the wide expanse until we reached the inner court—a secluded garden within
the garden, veiled by flowering trees and heavy silence.
There, beneath a canopy to shade them from the sun, sat the Emperor and the Crown Prince at a
wide tea table, waiting for me.
“Oh! Beonne, come closer,” the Emperor called cheerfully, waving me over.
“Beonne Rossa Eliont pays her respects to the Sun of the Empire,” I said, gathering my skirts and
dipping into a deep, formal curtsy.
He gave a hearty laugh. “There’s no need for such stiff greetings.”
“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty.”
“Come now, don’t just stand there. Come join us.”
Straightening, I stepped forward. The Emperor gestured warmly. At his side, the Crown Prince
rose to his feet, smiling as he pulled out the chair beside him.
“Bee,” he said softly.
“What are you waiting for?” the Emperor added. “Sit, child.”
Reluctantly, I moved to the chair the Crown Prince had offered. He leaned close as he pushed it in
behind me, his breath brushing against my ear.
“You’re beautiful as ever, my Bee.”
“Ha! You two are quite the sight,” the Emperor said, clearly amused. “Isn’t that so?”
“Indeed, Your Majesty. A lovely sight,” echoed the palace steward, who stood at attention behind
him.
I fought the urge to scowl.
“You’ve been through much, haven’t you?”
“I am honored by your concern, Your Majesty.”
“Still so formal,” the Emperor muttered, clicking his tongue with disapproval.
The Crown Prince chuckled. “But that’s part of her charm, isn’t it? Do be patient with her, Father.”
“You think I don’t know that?” the Emperor barked, glaring at his son—but even that had no bite.
The Crown Prince simply smiled, unbothered, and the Emperor sighed, turning back to me.
“Beonne—no, Bee.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Please speak freely.”
His voice, now soft and gentle, was almost jarring in contrast to his earlier bluster.
“You wound me, you know.”
“Forgive me. Have I displeased Your Majesty in some way?”
I was genuinely confused. I hadn’t seen the Emperor in weeks. If there had been offense, it hadn’t
been deliberate.
“When will you treat me as more than just your sovereign?”
I stayed silent. I understood now where this was going.
The Emperor’s tone grew affectionate again, almost coaxing. “We’ll be family soon, after all.”
“I beg your forgiveness.”
It was all I could say.
The Emperor had always been like this—with me, at least. From the beginning, he had treated me
kindly. Even before the engagement, when I was just a frequent visitor to the palace, he’d
welcome me with smiles. When I entered officially as the Crown Princess-to-be, he made sure I
lacked for nothing.
Even when I lost my temper and lashed out at girls who pined for the Prince, the Emperor would
merely chuckle and wave it off. No matter what I did, he was always indulgent.
Back then, I had adored him for it. I’d clung to him, childishly, the way I never could with my own
father, the Marquess. And the Emperor—he had always welcomed my childishness, even when I
became unreasonable.
Looking back now… it was odd. What had he seen in me to warrant such favor?
“Come now,” the Emperor said, clicking his tongue again. “That’s not the response I was hoping
for.”
“Let it be, Father,” the Crown Prince interrupted gently. “Bee is clearly uncomfortable.”
“And whose fault do you think that is?” the Emperor snapped, glaring at him again. “You’ve been
such a fool, even now she flinches at every word.”
The Crown Prince merely smiled in response, ever unbothered. The Emperor gave up and turned
his gaze back to me.
“Bee.”
“I’m listening, Your Majesty.”
“You’re sixteen this year, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am.”
And in that moment, my heart dropped.
So this… this is why he summoned me here.
“Your coming-of-age ceremony must be drawing near.”
“Three months remain, Father.”
“Three months…” the Emperor echoed softly. “Then it’s time to begin preparations.”
My mind raced. If things continued on this course, my coming-of-age ceremony would become
indistinguishable from a wedding—my wedding to the Crown Prince. The moment the Emperor
gave voice to the idea, it would become unshakable truth, and all avenues of escape would vanish.
I had to find a way out.
“Preparations are going smoothly, I presume?” the Emperor asked, glancing toward the steward.
“Yes, Your Majesty. Most arrangements were already underway. There is no cause for concern,”
the steward replied with practiced grace.
Though no official announcement had been made, preparations for my marriage to the Crown
Prince had been progressing in secret. The Emperor had orchestrated it all behind closed doors to
avoid provoking the First Prince’s faction. Even I, the bride-to-be, had only glimpsed the outline
of what was being planned.
It wasn’t until a month before the ceremony that I learned the truth—and by then, the wheels had
already been set into irreversible motion.
Of course, the Emperor likely assumed I still knew nothing. And even if he suspected otherwise, it
didn’t matter. I had resolved to play ignorant.
“I must beg your pardon, Your Majesty,” I said, lowering my gaze. “I do not intend to hold a
coming-of-age ceremony.”
“…What?”
The Emperor, who had been speaking idly with the steward, turned to me so quickly his robes
rustled with the motion. Both he and the steward stared in stunned silence.
“What are you saying, child? You won’t prepare for your ceremony?”
In the Empire, every citizen had a single coming-of-age ceremony, held at sixteen — a
once-in-a-lifetime celebration marking the transition from childhood to adulthood. Even
commoners celebrated with whatever grandeur they could afford. For nobles, the event was
nothing short of a declaration.
And most importantly, it was their formal debut into society.
That was the moment to shine, to leave an impression that would ripple through salons and
drawing rooms for months to come. The more extravagant the event, the more status and influence
it commanded. It wasn’t just tradition—it was strategy.
So of course the Emperor was surprised.
“I lost my maternal grandfather less than ten days ago, Your Majesty,” I replied softly. “In my
grief, I find myself unable to prepare for festivities.”
I dipped my head slightly, keeping my eyes lowered. Even now, the thought of Grandfather
unsettled something in me. From where the Emperor sat, it would surely look as though I were on
the verge of tears.
He sighed, a low sound full of weight.
“It’s a day that comes only once in your lifetime. Are you certain?”
“Once in a lifetime, yes. Just as I had only one grandfather. How can I host a celebration when he
has barely been laid to rest? I beg your understanding, Your Majesty.”
I dabbed at the corner of my eyes with a handkerchief, feigning tears. The sadness was real, but I
had long since cried all I could. Grandfather had passed peacefully, without suffering. Though I
missed him, his death wasn’t a tragedy—it was a quiet parting.
Still, the Emperor persisted, trying again and again to persuade me. I responded only with silence
and bowed head. At last, he gave a long, weary sigh, frustration shadowing his expression.
It was clear now. The Emperor had intended to use my coming-of-age ceremony as a cover—a
way to hold the wedding without drawing the ire of the First Prince’s faction. By disguising it as
an ordinary celebration, he could marry me to the Crown Prince in peace.
And it had been a good plan. Devious, but elegant.
But with my refusal, that plan unraveled.
The First Prince’s supporters had accepted the engagement only begrudgingly. They would seize
upon any excuse to prevent the marriage itself. If the Emperor insisted, he could force the wedding
through—but not without cost. He wanted it done cleanly, without political bloodshed.
And now that window was gone.
“…Then what of your debut into society?” the Emperor asked. “Will you forgo that as well?”
Not everyone could afford a coming-of-age ceremony. It was expensive—lavishly so. Nobles of
lesser wealth often settled for modest gatherings, inviting only close relatives. In such cases, the
debut into society was postponed or bypassed altogether, often piggybacking on another noble’s
ball or a palace function.
But that meant losing the spotlight. Some poor souls even shared their debut with several others at
the same event. In the social world, being overlooked on one’s first appearance was akin to being
invisible for the rest of the season.
And no one forgot which families had been too insignificant to give their heirs a proper
introduction.
“I must apologize, Your Majesty,” I said carefully. “I am still young and have never hosted a
party before.”
“I’m well aware,” the Emperor said, nodding.
Though I was officially sixteen, my birthday had not yet passed. Legally, I was still a minor.
Despite managing House Eliont in the absence of the Marchioness, I remained, in the eyes of the
world, an inexperienced girl.
Traditionally, the hostess of a noble family—usually the matriarch—was responsible for
organizing major social events. The venue, decorations, guest list, invitations—every detail
reflected on her. Planning a ball was no small feat, requiring both finesse and an ocean of coin. It
was not something a girl of sixteen could do on her own.
Since the Marchioness Eliont’s passing, our family had gone years without a proper hostess. And
the Marquess had no interest in parties or appearances. Not once during that time had a ball been
held in our estate.
The Emperor, knowing all this, nodded again in understanding.
There was no retort he could make. No argument that would stick.
And so, for now, I had bought myself time.