“Franz Barielle Aetherion, do you vow to take Olivia Heinrich as your wife, to love and cherish her, in strength and in weakness, in the eyes of the Empire and in the name of the Holy Goddess Lumine?”
Franz met Olivia’s gaze and answered calmly. “I do.”
A murmur of approval passed through the pews.
The Empire’s nobility sat draped in silks and jewels, witnessing history in the making.
The coronation of unity before the crowning of a king.
The priest turned to the bride.
“And Olivia Heinrich,” he said. “Do you vow to take Franz Barielle Aetherion as your husband, to honor and support him, and walk beside him in the eyes of the Empire and in the name of the Holy Goddess Lumine?”
“I do.”
The ceremonial bell tolled above them. Once, twice, thrice, as the priest raised his staff.
Ding— Ding— Ding—
“Then by the will of the Goddess Lumine and by decree of the Empire, I pronounce you Emperor and Empress of Aetherion. Let the light guide your union.
A respectful applause filled the room.
Franz leaned in and lifted the veil from Olivia’s face.
“….”
She was beautiful, undoubtedly. To the point the young noblemen couldn’t help but be taken aback by her sheer radiance.
Franz leaned in and pressed a kiss to her lips. It was a soft and brief kiss.
The court rose to its feet, offering a standing ovation as the newly crowned emperor and empress stepped down from the altar. Courtiers bowed, nobles curtsied, and the royal banners unfurled from the ceiling with a rustle.
“….”
Irene couldn’t help but feel a moment of disbelief. To think she would witness her brother’s marriage, seated beside Astrid as part of the groom’s family.
But beside them was an empty seat.
It belonged to their father, Decadien Aetherion. The man who had always dreamed of seeing his children wed. He had spoken of it often, and pushed Irene relentlessly to settle down.
He wanted to witness his family’s future.
Yet in the end, he wasn’t even physically well enough to attend his eldest child’s wedding.
It felt bittersweet, really.
Irene didn’t have many fond memories of their father. His attention had always been on Franz. One could say he was neglectful of his duties as a father, but Irene didn’t mind it much, considering his position.
He was the Emperor, after all.
She never hated him for it. She had accepted long ago that she and Astrid were not the children he poured himself into.
“Mother would’ve been so happy,” Astrid said softly beside her.
Irene glanced at her younger sister, then returned her gaze to the empty seat ahead.
“She would’ve been happy no matter who was there,” she replied. “She loved all of us equally.”
Astrid nodded in response.
Meanwhile, Vanitas sat among the audience, beside his younger sister, Charlotte. Though his posture was relaxed, his mind was far from the ceremony. The entire time, only one thought occupied him.
‘Is that the real Franz?’
It would’ve been ridiculous if the man standing there now was still one of Franz’s puppets. But, all things considered, it was highly likely that it was. Vanitas had no idea where Franz’s body was.
Still, this event had always been part of the game.
Franz’s Imperial Throne Ascension.
Everything was happening exactly as it should. And that was what disturbed him most.
“Uhm, Vanitas,” Charlotte began softly, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. “I’ve never really thought about it until now, but I’m bound to be married soon, right?”
“….”
Vanitas’s brow twitched.
Immediately, he imagined an unwelcome image of Charlotte walking down the aisle beside some faceless nobleman, dressed in a white gown with a smile on her face while being held by a man he didn’t trust.
“Soon… yes. Well, no. Not that soon,” he said quickly, trying to recover. “You’re still young. You haven’t even graduated yet. There’s a lot left for you to experience. I don’t think you should be worrying about that just—”
“Pfft~!”
Charlotte chuckled, clearly amused at how fast her brother began to panic.
“Jeez. I was only kidding,” she said, giving him a playful smack on the arm. “Honestly, you’re so overprotective of me. It’s no wonder I’ve never gotten a marriage proposal. They’re probably all terrified of you.”
“….”
Vanitas gave her a side glance.
“As they should be,” he said flatly, clearing his throat. “I’d rather die than hand my sister over to some pervert.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes, though her smile remained. “You really do sound like a bitter old man sometimes.”
“You don’t realize how awful noble sons can be.”
“Maybe. But maybe one day I’ll fall for someone and run off before you can stop me.”
“If that happens, he better pray I don’t find him first.”
Charlotte laughed and leaned back in her chair, satisfied.
“You’re lucky I love you,” she muttered.
“I know.”
He turned his gaze back to the front of the hall, where Franz and Olivia now stood at the head of the grand procession. Applause continued to echo through the chamber as they greeted nobles and dignitaries, all congratulating them on their ascension.
At that moment, someone leaned in close and whispered something in Vanitas’s ear.
——Is it just me, or is the crown the other way around?
“….?”
Vanitas blinked.
It was Margaret, his family’s attending knight.
Unlike the usual armored attire she wore on duty, tonight she was dressed in a stunning white piece that clung to her frame boldly. The neckline dipped just enough to earn second glances, and the slit down one leg revealed her silky white skin.
More than a few heads had turned when she walked in earlier.
Truthfully, her presence drew more attention than many of the unmarried noblewomen in the hall. Her appearance was absolutely gorgeous.
So much so that even Vanitas, who was rarely one to be swayed by appearances, found himself momentarily taken aback.
There was no way this was the same woman who had devoured an entire turkey that morning as if she’d been starved for days.
But he wisely kept that thought to himself.
If he said it out loud, Margaret would probably kill him.
“Ahem.”
Vanitas cleared his throat, shaking the image from his head, and redirected his focus to the front of the hall.
Sure enough, the crown resting atop Franz’s head was reversed.
“Do you think he knows?” Vanitas whispered back.
“I don’t think so,” Margaret murmured from beside him. “Look at him. He’s smiling like a saint.”
Vanitas’s eyes scanned the crowd. “The others seem to notice too. Look at that fat nobleman on the right. He’s trying not to laugh.”
Margaret followed his gaze. “Oh, gods. He’s actually shaking.”
“And the Empress?” Vanitas added. “Her cheeks keep puffing up.”
“She’s not saying anything though,” Margaret replied. “This might be her doing.”
Vanitas hummed. “Right. Just as I thought.”
The two nodded in agreement. Their little moment of gossip ended in perfect sync.
A beat passed, and Charlotte, who had clearly overheard everything, sighed loudly beside them.
“You two are usually at odds,” she said, “but you’re surprisingly in sync when it comes to judging other people.”
“We’re doing the world a favor, Charlotte,” said Vanitas.
The rest of the ceremony proceeded without any incident. Soon, the event transitioned to the grand banquet hall, where nobles gathered. Laughter, music, and the clinking of glasses filled the air.
As Vanitas stood by the edge of the hall, scanning the crowd with his usual disinterest, a voice called out to him.
“Ah, you—” Vanitas turned, only to freeze momentarily.
Standing there was Edward Rothsfield, fidgeting slightly as he looked around the ballroom nervously.
“Glad you could make it, Edward,” Vanitas said.
The man’s presence reminded him all too much of Lawine, but he ignored the heavy feeling in his heart.
“It’s been a while since I’ve been in the capital, actually,” Edward said, scratching the back of his neck. “Thanks again for the lodging… your estate is incredible. I didn’t know you lived in something that big.”
Vanitas nodded slightly.
He had prepared a separate residence for Edward within the Astrea estate. One of the lodges typically reserved for guests. Ironically, Franz had spent more time there than anyone, often crashing after late-night drinks with their circle of noble friends.
“Then I presume this is your first time at a noble gathering in quite some time?” Vanitas asked.
Edward chuckled nervously. “Yeah. Last time I attended something like this, I was still a boy. Barely knew how to stand straight in dress shoes.”
“Then let me introduce you.”
Without waiting for Edward’s response, Vanitas placed a hand on his back and began guiding him into the crowd.
They made their way toward a small circle of younger nobles around Edward’s age—heirs of lesser but still respectable houses.
Most of them had, at one point or another, been acquainted with Marquess Astrea, though likely never close enough for casual conversation.
Vanitas introduced them one by one. At first, the atmosphere felt stiff and awkward. Edward, despite his formal posture, looked like a fish out of water.
But once the nobles learned that Edward was, in fact, the current head of House Rothsfield, curiosity began pouring in.
Though the younger nobles were visibly nervous around the Marquess, Vanitas made sure the conversation didn’t stall.
He guided small talk effortlessly, shifting from scholarly topics to light political commentary, ensuring Edward had enough room to speak for himself without being overwhelmed.
Then, just as Edward was starting to settle, someone tapped Vanitas on the back.
“I was looking all over for you,” came a familiar voice. “Aren’t you going to congratulate your friend?”
Vanitas turned, and there he was.
Franz.
Immediately, the young nobles surrounding them fell silent and bowed out of instinct.
Vanitas offered a shallow nod. “Congratulations, Your Majesty.”
Franz chuckled. “We’re still friends, aren’t we? At least use my name when we’re not in court.”
Vanitas returned a polite smile of his own.
Franz turned to the nobles and offered them a courteous nod. “Apologies for stealing him for a moment.”
With that, he gestured for Vanitas to follow. The Marquess obliged and trailed beside him as they moved through the crowd who offered their congratulatory praises.
Franz led him to the center of the hall, where the Empress was catering a group of high-ranking ladies.
“My wife’s been wanting to speak with you,” Franz said. “She was quite insistent.”
Vanitas inclined his head respectfully.
“It’s an honor to see you again, Your Majesty,” he said, addressing Olivia directly. “And congratulations.”
“Thank you, Marquess Astrea,” Olivia replied. “You’re as handsome as ever.”
Her typical demeanor may exude a gentle innocence, but at the moment, she was every inch the empress.
The three of them easily began their conversation, laughing lightly as they exchanged subtle jabs. It didn’t take long before they were teasing Franz about his reversed crown.
As the playful banter subsided, Olivia’s expression shifted ever so slightly. She turned her gaze back to Vanitas.
“Uhm, Marquess,” she began. “Forgive me if this is too presumptuous, but… may I ask a favor?”
Vanitas tilted his head slightly. “Ask away, Your Majesty. It’s your grand coronation. I’ll do my best.”
Olivia offered a small, grateful smile. “Then… would you mind asking Her Highness Irene to come over? I’d like to speak with her. I hope to repair our relationship and clear whatever misconception she may have of me.”
“Ah….”
“With your presence here,” Franz interjected smoothly, “Irene might be more receptive. It seems she listens to you.”
“Then, where is she?”
Franz glanced over the hall and pointed subtly toward the left wing of the ballroom.
“She’s by the floral displays near the side entrance,” he said. “You should be able to spot her easily. She hasn’t moved from there all night.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Vanitas said.
“Thank you,” Olivia said sincerely. “It means more than you know.”
Vanitas gave a nod and turned to make his way toward the left wing of the ballroom. As he moved through the crowd, his eyes scanned the room in search of Irene.
But then, something caught his attention.
He turned his head and froze.
“….”
Just a few steps away, Margaret was lurking near the buffet table, glancing around like a thief in broad daylight. In one hand, she held an empty boxed lunch container. In the other, she was slowly scooping food from the displayed buffet into it.
“….”
Vanitas stared, feeling dumbfounded.
“This woman….”
Margaret paused mid-scoop and looked up. Their eyes met.
“….”
“….”
Then Margaret cleared her throat and straightened her back. “I… I received permission.”
“From who?”
“Princess Astrid.”
“….”
How did that even happen?
“I was coerced!” she blurted out. “I lost a bet with Jack and—”
“Alright, alright.”
For context, Jack was one of her men. One of the guards stationed at the Astrea estate gate.
“Keum.” Margaret cleared her throat. “Yes, exactly. So it’s not for me. It’s for the men waiting at home—”
“Yes, yes. But everyone here knows you’re my knight. You’re practically sullying my name right now.”
“Ah?” Margaret glanced around.
To be fair, no one was actually paying them any attention.
“I demand an apology,” Vanitas said flatly.
“What…?”
“No, no. It’s an order.”
“….”
Margaret looked hesitant, but eventually cleared her throat and stepped closer, visibly embarrassed. Which was ironic, because what she had just been doing was far more humiliating.
“I see no point in this, but fine. I’ll apologi—”
“Apologize while oinking.”
“….Do you want to fight?”
Vanitas wasn’t sure if she was joking. Honestly, if she did challenge him, she probably could win.
“Hurry up. I need to go somewhere. Apologize while oinking. Say, ‘Margaret the piggy is sorry.'”
“I-In case you’ve forgotten, let me remind you. I’m Margaret Illenia, a respected knight within the Crusade Order, and formerly the Princess of Illenia.”
“I haven’t forgotten. I even remember you stuffing an entire turkey in your mouth this morning.”
“That’s not what happened…!”
It was kind of like that, anyway.
“….”
“….”
A brief standoff.
“….Here?” she asked, glancing around.
“Here.”
“N-Now?”
“Now.”
Finally, Margaret lowered her head, trembling slightly as she spoke.
“Oi-oink… Please forgive me. Oink.”
“Pfft….”
“Th-this is an abuse of authority, oink. But pl-please forgive me, oh-handsome Marquess Astrea, oi-oink.”
“Oink?” a voice called out nearby. “Is there a pig in here?”
They turned to find Nicolas slowly approaching, his expression a perfect mixture of confusion and disbelief.
Margaret’s face turned a deeper shade of red. She slowly turned to glare at Vanitas.
“Y-You—!”
But Vanitas was already gone, slipping away toward the left wing to look for Irene. Vanitas scanned the sea of finely dressed nobles and their colored hair in every shade imaginable.
Then a voice called out from behind him.
——Marquess Astrea! Perfect timing!
Vanitas turned, half-expecting more trouble.
Standing there was none other than Derrek Grenthal, laughing heartily as he cheerfully rubbed his beer belly.
“I’m a bit busy right now, Lord Grenthal—”
“Just for a moment,” Derrek said, as if he hadn’t heard him. “My daughter here wouldn’t believe me when I said you were quite interested in meeting her!”
“Ah, Father!” the young woman beside him hissed, clearly embarrassed.
She clutched his arm, her cheeks faintly flushed. Wheat-blonde hair cascaded down her back with her figure wrapped in a gorgeous white dress. Black lace sleeves hugged her arms up to the elbows, sheer enough to reveal a touch of skin beneath.
“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” she said quickly, recovering with a polite curtsy. “Marquess Astrea, it’s an honor. I’m Julienne Grenthal.”
Vanitas gave a shallow bow. “Likewise, my Lady.”
“Go on, dear,” Derrek chimed in, nudging her playfully. “Tell him about the painting! Haha~!”
“F-Father!” Julienne hissed, mortified.
“Painting?” Vanitas asked, raising an eyebrow.
Derrek leaned in from the side, somehow appearing right beside him as if from thin air. For a fat, aging noble, the man was surprisingly nimble.
Or was that just the power of alcohol?
“I told you last time, didn’t I?” he whispered, grinning. “She painted a portrait of you straight from memory. It’s quite uncanny, too.”
“Ah… right.”
“Father! Oh my god!” Julienne groaned, burying her face in one hand.
Then, she turned to face Vanitas fully.
Up close, her features were even more evident. She was undeniably beautiful. Arwen was beautiful too, of course, but Julienne held her own and seemed to stand on equal ground in terms of grace and charm. Their styles were different, but the elegance was the same.
Julienne took a breath, recovering her composure.
“Please ignore my father, Lord Marquess,” she said, voice calmer now. “He tends to exaggerate things for the sake of conversation.”
Vanitas gave her a polite smile. “No harm done. It was… flattering.”
Derrek beamed. “See? Told you he’d appreciate it!”
Julienne gave him a side-glare. “I’ll tell mother no sex for a week!”
The words slipped out faster than she could stop them.
A beat of silence followed.
Julienne’s eyes widened in horror as she slowly turned back to Vanitas, one hand flying up to cover her mouth.
“….”
“….”
Vanitas blankly stared at her as he inhaled slowly through his nose.
Julienne flushed with panic, waving her hands slightly. “Ah, no—my mouth usually isn’t that vulgar. Please, forget you heard anything.”
“Yes, of course.”
But internally, he was already filing it under “things to erase from memory immediately.” The thought of Derrek Grenthal consummating with his wife was terrifying.
Julienne looked like she was on the verge of crumbling, eyes wide with embarrassment.
“Then, my lady,” Vanitas said, offering his hand with a courteous gesture, “would it be presumptuous for this young Marquess to ask for your hand tonight?”
“Ah, of course—”
“But only for a moment. I have matters requested by the Empress to attend to.”
“Oh… of course,” she said quickly, recovering.
Vanitas stepped forward, giving her a faint smile.
“Then, I’ll be waiting here, my Lord,” Julienne added softly.
Vanitas nodded in acknowledgment before turning and continuing through the ballroom, resuming his search for Irene.
Where the hell was this redhead?
After a few minutes of scanning the crowd, he finally spotted her, standing alone by the veranda.
“Ah.”
But just as he began walking toward her, he suddenly froze.
“….”
His entire body locked in place. A pulse of something sharp and electric ran through his chest.
From the distance, a figure caught his eye.
A strand of wavy platinum-blonde hair. A back framed by a low-cut, elegant gown. Her stature seemed slightly taller than he remembered, but his heart… it knew.
It was her.
He would never mistake her for someone else.
Without a second thought, Vanitas turned away from Irene and pushed into the crowd, eyes locked on the woman making her way through the sea of guests.
“Karina!”