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The curtsy went badly. Very badly.
You knew it the instant you began. It was too shallow and too quick, your balance wrong beneath the unfamiliar weight of the floor-length wool. Your knee barely bent before you straightened again, a graceless little bob wholly insufficient for one’s first meeting with the King.
The silence afterward was vast and heavy.
The King did not stop. He did not need to. His gaze skimmed you as one might glance at an object misplaced and unremarkable, and then moved on. The retinue flowed with him: nobles wrapped in fur-lined silks, generals bright with ceremonial metal, clerics bowed beneath gold-threaded stoles. Perfume and incense trailed in their wake, thick as pea soup.
You stood frozen, heat roaring in your ears. Color rushed up your neck; you blinked rapidly, willing back the sting gathering at the corners of your eyes.
Behind the King, the Prince did not look at you. His posture was perfect, his expression composed, his gaze fixed forward as custom demanded. Yet as the last of the court passed, he slowed. Just enough to brush your shoulder with his.
“You survived,” he murmured, lips barely moving. “That is all the court requires.”
Then he was gone, swallowed by the crowd.
Only when the doors closed behind the procession did you breathe again.
You were still standing there when he returned.
Xavier emerged from a side corridor minutes later. He bore no crown now, only his formal winter coat, the silver clasp at his throat catching the torchlight. He inclined his head to you, precise and correct, as though you were not the same girl who had sparred with him at dawn and studied beside him by candlelight only days before.
“You did well,” he reassured you, nodding once. His eyes were warm in the low light.
You shook your head, humiliated and despondent. “I disgraced us both.”
“You could never disgrace me,” he replied kindly. “And you did not disgrace yourself.”
“I very much did.” You lowered your gaze, the blood still burning at the tips of your ears.
“Come now,” he added, gentler, teasing just enough. “Self-pity does not befit a future Grandis Knight. Take courage. Come, I wish to show you something.”
You followed at once, embarrassment and relief tangling in your chest.
The Palace unfolded around you like a storybook made real. The entryway alone was larger than the Academy courtyard entire. Black-and-white marble gleamed beneath your boots, veined faintly with silver and peach, polished so smooth it reflected the towering evergreens set between the columns.
Garlands wound along the walls, heavy with bright holly berries and gold-leaf ornaments shaped like stars, beasts, and saints. Beeswax candles burned everywhere casting a living warmth that softened the stone and gilded the carved faces of long-dead kings.
You had never seen, or smelled, anything like it.
Pine and resin. Frankincense and myrrh. Spiced wine and fragrant sweets drifted in from distant kitchens. The scents were overwhelming, sweet and sharp all at once, clinging to the back of your throat.
You slowed without meaning to.
Xavier noticed immediately.
“Do not linger at thresholds,” he said quietly, guiding you forward with a subtle sweep of his sleeve rather than his hand. “It invites comments.”
You nodded and hastened to fall in step beside him.
A pair of Palace guards stood at attention near the base of a statue: some ancient hero carved larger than life, sword raised, eyes stern. Their armor gleamed, polished to a mirror shine befitting their elite station. Though they did not dare look directly at Xavier, they watched you openly as you passed.
You felt suddenly, acutely, out of place. Your boots dusty despite hurried cleaning, your hair braided neatly but without ornament or skill beyond your own hands, your borrowed cloak stiff across your shoulders. You had grown up in the Capital’s shadow, where survival was not guaranteed and survival was a daily battle.
That this other world existed scarcely a mile away was… unsettling.
You turned too quickly, meaning to whisper something to Xavier upon recognizing a familiar scene in stained glass-
-And your shoulder bumped into his.
It was nothing serious, less pressure than the sort of absent nudge you had given him a hundred times in dormitory corridors.
But he hadn’t been expecting it and stumbled half a step.
The reaction was immediate.
Two guards moved at once, hands rising, fingers brushing the hilts of their blades.
“Step back!” One barked.
Xavier stopped and turned.
“She is with me,” he said, voice even, final. “There has been no breach of protocol. At ease.”
The guard froze, mortification flashing across his face. He bowed deeply. “Your Highness. I did not-”
Xavier inclined his head. “You were attentive. That is no fault. But it will not happen again.”
The guards withdrew.
You wished fervently for the floor to open and swallow you whole.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered once you were clear of them. “I wasn’t thinking.”
“I know,” he said. There was no reprimand in his voice. “They will not correct you again.”
“I made a spectacle.”
“Not at all.”
You pressed your hands together, willing them to stop sweating. “I should not be here. I should return to the dormitories.”
“You already accepted my invitation,” he said mildly. “You would not withdraw it now, would you?”
He lifted his brows then, just barely at the center of his face, and his eyes widened into something impossibly earnest, almost wounded. Guilt struck you sharp and immediate like a physical blow to your gut.
You shook your head.
He smiled in approval and resumed walking, slower now.
“This is the Royal Wing,” he said, gesturing toward two tall double doors guarded by crossed lances. “Family, and those invited by royal word, only.”
He approached the guards.
“I hereby invite this woman as my guest into the Royal Wing,” he declared. “She may come and go as she pleases for the next fortnight.”
A fortnight? You had only promised to attend the Feast and stay over one night!
“Yes, Your Highness,” the guards replied in unison, lowering their lances and drawing the doors open.
They swung wide without a sound.
The corridor beyond stretched long and straight, hushed and luminous. Pale marble warmed beneath your boots, veined softly like living stone. Thick runners of deep green wool lay along its length, embroidered with gold-threaded holly and ivy, worn just enough to prove that real feet passed here often.
The walls rose high, paneled in honeyed wood polished to a gentle sheen. Four doors stood evenly spaced along the left, each carved of dark oak and inlaid with fine silver filigree bearing the Shen seal.
Above each door hung wreaths of fresh pine and laurel, their scent sharp and clean against beeswax and woodsmoke.
Candles burned in gilded sconces shaped like branching vines, their steady flames casting a soft, living glow. Overhead, the vaulted ceiling arched in pale blues and golds, a night sky rendered so precisely you could pick out constellations, each star gleaming in gold leaf.
“The Altheian Drift,” you breathed, pointing upward. He had shown it to you only that summer. You beamed and looked to Xavier for confirmation of your identification.
“Yes,” he said, smiling quietly at your wonder.
At the far end stood another pair of double doors, a perfect mirror of the pair you had just passed through. They were painted with scenes of feasts and traditions: children at play, servants bearing trays, a family gathered.
This was not a place meant to impress or intimidate foreign emissaries and guests.
This was where voices softened. Where slippers shuffled over stone before dawn.
Your chest tightened.
“This,” Xavier said at last, his voice low and shy in a way you had never heard it before, “is where you would live if you become Grandis Knight.”
Live here?
You looked again with fresh eyes, trying to imagine yourself belonging within such walls.
“I could not live in a place like this,” you whispered.
“Why not?”
You had no answer.
He gestured to the first door. “That would be yours.”
“And yours?”
“The next two, I suppose,” he said after a moment.
It was strange to speak so plainly of a future that assumed his father’s absence.
“And the last?” you asked, not realizing the boldness of the question until it was already spoken.
“Mine now,” he said, ears pinking faintly. “Would you like to see it?”
You nodded, because your voice had abandoned you.
Shyly, he stepped ahead of you and pushed the door inward. It opened upon a chamber smaller than you had expected: quiet, restrained, and unmistakably lived in.
An upright piano stood in the corner, its wood polished but worn at the keys. It seemed almost humble for a prince. You found yourself imagining him as a younger boy, feet not yet reaching the pedals, fingers searching for the right notes before finding them.
In another corner rose a heap of parcels, stacked carelessly despite their finery. Boxes wrapped in silks and paper of every hue, bound with bright and shining ribbons.
“What is all this?” you asked.
“Obligation,” he replied simply. “Politicians, clerics, merchants. They send gifts because they believe they must.” He glanced at the pile with faint amusement. “We will give them to the poor.”
Gifts. Of course.
A quiet shame pricked at you. You had brought nothing and had neither coin nor forethought enough for such a practice. You had been invited to the Palace itself, and arrived empty-handed, unprepared in every way that seemed suddenly to matter.
You turned instead to the windows, stepping closer to the glass.
Beyond them lay the gardens, the hedge maze traced in darkening green, and farther still just past the Royal Forest, you could make out the faint outline of the Capital, its rooftops already glowing in the last light of sunset.
“What will become of this room?” you asked.
He considered it. “I am not certain. Perhaps a music room, for a time.” A pause, then, quieter: “And after that… it would belong to my heir.”
His heir.
The words settled heavily. Your Xavier would not be yours forever. The thought tightened your chest, and you pushed the feeling down before it could take shape.
The moment was broken by the toll of a distant bell, clear and resonant, its note carrying through the Palace.
“Come,” he said. “We must go to the feast.”
And just like that, the future receded, leaving only the present: bright, fleeting, and already slipping away with the setting sun.
The feast was everything the Palace promised but very little of what you wanted.
You were seated far below the dais where Xavier was obligated to sit.
Instead, you were at one of the many long tables crowded with guests whose names you had already forgotten and whose attention never quite landed on you at all. They were old, or important, or both. Men with heavy rings and women weighed down by jewels that jangled faintly when they heaved side to side to whisper-shout gossip. Conversation drifted above your head like smoke: trade routes, border disputes, ecclesiastical appointments.
No one asked you a question. No one seemed to expect you to speak. It was for the best.
Your plate was filled and refilled without effort on your part. It started with rich stews ladled over trenchers of bread, and then roasted birds glazed in honey and herbs, root vegetables softened with butter until they melted against your tongue.
Academy food was good. It had been the first steady food of your life. But Palace food. Gods, it was divine. If this was how Xavier ate every day - how did he ever manage to tear himself away from the Palace?
You ate carefully at first, mindful of watching eyes, then with growing ease as it became clear that no one was watching you at all.
Wine flowed freely. Goblets were topped off before they emptied. Laughter grew louder as the courses passed. Somewhere, musicians tuned their instruments, strings humming faintly beneath the rising din.
Xavier sat at the royal table beside his father, elevated above the hall. The King was in fine spirits, broad-shouldered and ruddy, laughing loudly as he leaned toward the Chancellor, who smiled thinly and nodded. The Archbishop sat nearby, his robes heavy with gold embroidery, his hands folded as if in prayer even while he drank.
Men of immense power.
Xavier did not laugh as they did. He smiled when required, inclined his head when spoken to, lifted his cup at appropriate moments. From this distance, he seemed older somehow: sharper at the edges and more contained. The warmth you knew so well was tucked away, hidden beneath the performance of a prince.
His eyes flicked once into the crowd and found you immediately.
The look lasted no longer than a heartbeat. It was enough to affect you even without wine.
You looked back to your plate, pulse quickening, cheeks warming despite yourself.
The feast stretched on. Dessert followed: candied fruits, spiced cakes, creams sweetened with citrus and honey.
The air grew thick with heat and sound. People leaned closer, voices rising, decorum loosening as the wine did its work.
Then, much to the delight of you and the guests around you, the hall itself changed.
With a deep, resonant groan of hidden mechanisms, half the tables began to descend. Linen, dishes, and all were lowered smoothly into the floor, vanishing as though swallowed whole. Guests scrambled back laughing, some nearly losing their balance. Servants appeared at once, pulling guests away from precarious edges and clearing the remaining tables to pull the space wide open.
The dancing began before the last table was gone.
What followed was nothing like the restrained ceremony you had expected. Nobles shed their dignity with alarming enthusiasm. Cloaks were cast aside. Couples spun recklessly, skirts flaring, boots pounding against the floor in time with the music. Someone climbed onto a bench and whooped before being dragged back down amid laughter.
It was… raucous. Unrestrained. Alive. And nothing at all like you had expected.
Was this what Xavier had meant when he said this was - what was it again? - a small gathering?
You stared at the dancefloor, torn between shock and something dangerously close to thrilled delight.
This was the same court that had nearly swallowed you whole over a poor curtsy. The same nobles who had looked through you as though you were lower than mud. And yet here they were: red-faced, laughing, drunk, dancing like sailors on shoreleave.
Your foot tapped once beneath the table.
You hesitated. You could join them. No one here knew you. No one would care if you danced poorly, or too freely, or not at all as a knight-in-training ought.
You were just beginning to move towards the throng of dancers when a hand closed around your elbow.
Instinct flared white-hot.
You twisted, rearing back to slap whatever nobleman was bold enough to simply grab you when-
“Peace,” a voice murmured, close and laughing.
Xavier.
He was grinning eyes bright with mischief as he leaned close enough that only you could hear him. “If you slap me, even I won’t be able to hold the guards back this time.”
You stared at him, heart hammering. “You-!”
“Hush.” His fingers slid to your wrist tightened briefly, steadying rather than restraining. “Come with me.”
Before you could protest, he was already guiding you away, slipping between revelers with practiced ease. No one stopped him or questioned it. Within moments, the music dulled behind you, laughter fading as you passed through a side door and into a corridor suddenly, blessedly quiet.
The Palace changed again.
The pounding sound fell away, the heat of bodies evaporated and the air of the corridor was cool on your warm cheeks.
He led you onward, past closed doors and empty halls, until at last he pushed open a narrow door and ushered you inside.
A chapel lay beyond. It was small, old, and hushed. Only a handful of candles burned, their flames trembling gently, casting long shadows across stone walls carved with stars and saints. Evergreen boughs hung modestly at the altar, their scent clean and sharp in the cool air.
The door closed behind you.
Xavier let go of your arm at last.
“Better,” he said quietly.
You nodded, still catching your breath.
Yes. Better.
“Won’t they miss you?”
He shook his head.
“They are caught up in their revelry now, no one will disturb us here.”
You took a step forward, looking more closely now at the altar. Compared to the rest of the Palace, it was almost austere. The central adornment was Astra himself: eyes sharp and unyielding, hands folded in judgment. Above, the vaulted ceiling was painted with stars. Beautifully done, but not as fine as the Royal Wing.
There were pews arranged in simple rows, their cushions deep velvet, worn thin at the edges. You could tell at a glance where people knelt most often.
Xavier moved first, walking down the central aisle with quiet familiarity. He stopped at the front row, hesitated then chose the second instead.
You followed without question.
He knelt, folding himself carefully, as though even here he was aware of the proper performance a prince should give. You knelt beside him, mirroring the motion with practiced ease, your knees settling into the hollows left by countless others.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. You watched as he prayed briefly, before sitting back and open his eyes on the bench. You mirrored his movements.
Then he reached into the inner pocket of his coat and withdrew a small flask, wrapped in cloth. He held it between you, offering it without ceremony.
“Spiced cider,” he whispered. “Taken from a guardpost.”
You glanced at him, eyes wide. “Stolen?”
“Borrowed,” he corrected gravely. Then, after a beat, his mouth twitched. “And never returned.”
You bit back a laugh, clapping a hand over your mouth too late. The sound echoed faintly off the stone, startling you both into silence again.
He unscrewed the cap and handed it to you first.
You accepted it carefully. The cider smelled sweet and was warm when you drank. It tasted like apples and honey and cloves and cinnamon. But it burned down your throat when you swallowed.
“Careful,” he murmured. “It’s stronger than it smells.”
“You say that too late.”
He smiled openly now, eyes bright in the candlelight as he took the flask back. He drank next, slower, more measured, then recapped it and set it beside him on the pew.
Your shoulders brushed.
Neither of you moved away.
You clasped your hands together out of habit, fingers interlacing, resting them lightly against the edge of the pew. Without quite realizing it, you leaned back a little.
The bench creaked softly under the shift of your weight.
Xavier exhaled and leaned back as well, his posture loosening in a way you had never seen in public. He rested his elbows against his knees, hands loosely folded, gaze fixed on the altar.
“I used to hide here,” he said quietly. “When I was small.”
You turned your head. “From whom?”
“Everyone.” A pause. “Mostly my tutors. Sometimes my father.
You smiled despite yourself.
“I’ve never been in a chapel like this,” you admitted. “It must be strange to have one in your… house. And to have your house be a Palace.”
He glanced at you then, curiosity flickering. “I don’t know anything else. Is it what you expected?”
“Yes,” you answered, “and no.”
He waited patiently for you to explain.
The cider warmed your stomach, your limbs. Your thoughts felt a little looser, edges softened.
“You would take your oath just there,” he said suddenly, gesturing toward the space directly before the altar. “If you became Grandis Knight.”
You followed the line of his hand. The stone there was worn smooth, almost polished by time.
“And you?” you asked.
He hesitated.
“I would stand there,” he said at last, indicating a spot just behind, just to the left.
You absorbed that quietly.
It felt strange to picture: him standing, you kneeling. And stranger still that the thought curled something warm inside of you and settled in your belly beside the spiced cider.
You drank again, passing him the flask without comment. This time your fingers brushed when he took it. Outside the chapel, somewhere far away, the feast roared on.
Inside, candlelight flickered. The stars on the ceiling watched without judgment.
For a time, you sat in companionable quiet, passing the flask back and forth with an ease that surprised you. The cider was warmer now, spicier, its sweetness settling heavily in your limbs. You felt light, pleasantly so.
“You’re smiling,” Xavier said after a moment.
“So are you,” you replied.
He seemed startled by that, then laughed softly, shaking his head, silver hair swishing slightly with the motion. “I suppose I am.”
You took another drink, larger than the last. It went down too easily.
“I think,” you said thoughtfully, “that if Astra truly wished to frighten us properly, he would not allow cushions on the benches.”
“A profound insight, my lady,” he agreed solemnly.
You snorted before you could stop yourself, clapping a hand over your mouth again. Too late. The sound echoed faintly, bouncing off stone and candle flame.
You both froze.
A moment passed. Then another.
Footsteps.
Slow, deliberate, approaching from beyond the chapel door.
Your eyes went wide. You looked at Xavier in panic, words scrambling uselessly in your head.
He reacted instantly.
With a gentle gesture of his hand, the candles faded.
Darkness fell.
Not the gentle dimness of twilight, but sudden, complete black, swallowing the chapel whole. You gasped, hands flying out instinctively and collided with him.
He caught your wrists, steadying you before you could tumble forward. His breath was warm and close.
“Shhh.”
You tried to obey. But then giggles burst out of you uncontrollably, a helpless, bubbling sound you could not seem to contain. You clamped your mouth shut, shoulders shaking, eyes stinging as you struggled for breath.
Xavier tried, valiantly, to remain silent as well.
He failed.
His laughter was softer, muffled, but just as helpless, and the two of you collapsed against the pew, bodies trembling with it, the darkness doing nothing to hide the noise you were making.
The chapel door creaked open.
Light spilled in, a narrow blade at first, then wider as the door swung inward.
“Well,” said a bemused voice, “that explains the laughter.”
You squinted, blinking as your eyes adjusted. A single guard stood in the doorway, lantern raised. His gaze flicked from you, disheveled and red-cheeked, to Xavier, hair mussed and eyes far too bright.
He bowed at once. “Your Highness.”
Xavier cleared his throat and stood, straightening his jacket with as much dignity as could be summoned under the circumstances. “Good evening.”
The guard’s mouth twitched. “Might I suggest, Sire, that you escort your guest to her quarters before someone less… charitable hears you?”
“Yes,” Xavier said promptly, clearing his throat with a cough. “An excellent suggestion.”
He turned to you. “Can you stand?”
You nodded at once and immediately wobbled.
“Oh,” you said faintly. “Perhaps not.”
He caught you without comment, a hand firm at your elbow. The guard stepped aside, pointedly looking anywhere but at the two of you as you made your escape.
The corridors beyond were empty now, the feast far behind you, its noise reduced to a distant, cheerful murmur. You walked for several paces before the floor seemed to tilt beneath your feet.
“I’m fine,” you insisted, swatting halfheartedly at his sleeve. “Perfectly - oh!”
Your legs betrayed you entirely.
Xavier sighed, fond and amused, and before you could stop him, he scooped you up with surprising ease, one arm beneath your knees, the other braced at your back.
You yelped.
“Put me down!”
“No.”
You smacked his shoulder with what you meant to be indignation and managed only to giggle instead. “You can’t just! Carry people!”
“I can,” he replied mildly, “and I am.”
You laughed again, burying your face briefly against his coat before realizing what you were doing and jerking upright.
“For a prince, you’re really quite insufferable, you know.”
“And for my junior knight, you really are quite drunk, you know.”
“I am just warm,” you corrected before yawning, “and tired.”
He smiled down at you, steady and careful as he carried you through the empty hall.
“That too.”
At last, he set you gently on your feet outside the guest quarters, steadying you until you could stand on your own. He waited while you fumbled with the latch, then watched until the door opened and you were safely inside.
“Good night,” he said softly.
“Good night,” you echoed, grinning at him without quite knowing why.
Only when the door closed behind you did the world finally slow.
You shed your cloak, collapsed onto the bed, and stared at the ceiling, still smiling. The Palace felt less vast now, less frightening.
The future would bring its share of uncertainty and trial. But that night, you slept with a full belly and a warm heart, cradling a happiness simple enough to endure. In years to come, whenever Yuletide returned with the scent of spiced cider and beeswax and pine, you would find yourself back here, whether you wished to remember or not.