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November 1971
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Ten years.
Ten winters without Mother Tatiana.
No grand ceremony.
No official mourning.
But across Aetherland —
Candles lit quietly.
On windowsills.
On bridges.
On church steps.
On street corners.
In Den Haag.
In Rotterdam.
In Nordhelm.
The People's Queen — forgotten by power.
But never forgotten by the people.
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But here —
At the Imperial Dining Table —
No candles burned.
Only eyes.
Only words.
Only war behind porcelain plates.
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Selene sat.
Straight-backed.
Unmoving.
Across her —
Lady Brigitte of Elderglen.
Sharp.
Hungry.
A lioness dressed in silk.
Beside her —
Prince Alaric Aetherwald.
Straight from the Military Academy.
Polite.
Disciplined.
But blood-bound to Selene.
Next to him —
Princess Evandra.
Soft.
Worried.
Watching Selene like a sister, like a guardian.
And at the end —
Queen Seraphina of Silverveil.
Calm.
Elegant.
Untouchable.
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Brigitte's fork tapped her plate.
Tap.
She nudged Alaric with her elbow — almost playfully.
"Speak."
Alaric exhaled.
Turned his eyes to Selene.
Voice steady — but with that boldness only an older brother could afford.
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"You've grown cold again, sister."
A pause.
A small smile — almost real.
"But I suppose today... you have permission."
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Selene didn't answer.
Didn't need to.
Silence was her sword.
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But Brigitte wasn't finished.
Her words — honeyed poison.
"And here I thought Seraphina would say something."
Her eyes narrowed.
Sharp.
"Perhaps... still envious of Tatiana?"
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The table tensed.
Even Alaric's fork paused mid-air.
But Seraphina —
Did not blink.
Did not waver.
She placed her wine glass down — slow.
Precise.
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And spoke —
Like a winter lake.
Still.
But hiding depth that could drown armies.
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"Tatiana..."
She smiled.
Soft.
Real.
"...is the reason Evandra was born without harm."
She turned — graceful as ever — toward Brigitte.
"And Alaric."
"And even your own son, Lady Brigitte."
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Silence hit the table like a slow-moving avalanche.
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"The Imperial Doctor assigned to the court —"
Seraphina's voice never rose.
Never broke.
"Was Tatiana Romanov Aetherwald."
"The one who spent nights tending to commoners..."
"...also tended to us."
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Brigitte's lips thinned.
Not in defeat.
But in memory.
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Seraphina smiled again — but there was something old in her eyes.
A confession.
Not for pity.
Not for forgiveness.
But for truth.
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"I envied her..."
A pause.
"Not for power."
A breath.
"But for being so... carefree."
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Selene stood.
Without a word.
Without a glance.
She bowed.
Perfectly.
Like ice breaking from a cliff.
And left.
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Evandra moved — ready to follow.
But Seraphina's hand — light as silk — touched her wrist.
A gesture.
A command.
Let her go.
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Because Selene —
Walking down the empty marble halls —
Did not cry.
Did not shatter.
But in her mind —
Her mother's voice returned.
Soft.
Warm.
Alive.
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"Look at the couple of swans..."
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