Chapter 43: Empress…
The Empress Mariana Valmorin Bumania was bored.
She had spent the last hour keeping a perfect porcelain face while her husband survival-smirked through a localized death threat from Archmage Noctis. She had watched her idiot son get dragged out of the hall by his arms, screaming like a boiled pig. She was, quite frankly, ready for this banquet to end.
Then she noticed the refreshment table. More specifically, she noticed the tall, sun-tanned traveling scholar who had somehow convinced the notoriously grumpy Duke of the Eastern Marches to buy him a second glass of vintage red.
"Chamberlain," the Empress murmured. "Who is the brown-haired man discussing sediment with the Duke?"
The Chamberlain squinted. "Ah. A registered traveling scholar, Your Imperial Majesty. A Master Valentin. His paperwork was verified at the eastern gate. A specialist in... pre-cataclysmic architecture and viticulture."
"Bring him to me."
Two minutes later, Valthazar, currently Valentin, was bowing before the Imperial Throne. He didn't drop low enough to be servile; it was a sweeping, theatrical tilt of the torso that perfectly communicated, I am honoring you with my flexibility.
"Your Imperial Majesty," Val purred, his voice smooth enough to coat a throat in honey. "The Sun fades in comparison to the Moon of the Palace."
"Master Valentin. My court is full of men who look at their boots when they speak to me. You, however, look like you are appraising the tapestry behind my head."
"It is a late-era Luxemenian weave," Val said instantly, his eyes glittering with genuine appreciation. "Though the restoration work on the dragon’s left wing is... tragic. The weaver clearly used a standard wool-blend instead of triple-twisted silk. It completely ruins the light refraction."
The Empress blinked. Beside her, the Emperor, still recovering from Dravin’s frost, stiffened.
"You know Luxemenian textiles?" she asked.
"I know things that are beautiful, Your Majesty. And I know when they have been insulted by modern shortcuts." Val smiled.
To the Empress, that smile looked like the height of charming rogue confidence.
To anyone with a basic survival instinct, it was the look of a predator who could rip a man’s jaw off while politely asking for the butter.
"You speak with great authority for a scholar who lacks a house name," the Emperor noted suspiciously. "Where did you study?"
Valentin turned his easy smile toward the sovereign. "In libraries that have long since turned to dust, Your Majesty. I find modern academies too... loud. They teach children how to memorize dates, but they forget to teach them how to feel the stone."
He stepped a fraction closer. The Imperial Guards immediately tensed, their hands dropping to their hilts. Val didn't even look at them, but his smile widened just enough to show the slight curve of his canine teeth.
"A scholar of the old world," the Empress said, thoroughly intrigued. "Tell me, Master Valentin, what do you think of the capital’s latest architectural addition? The Grand Arc?"
"A monstrous abuse of geometry," Val said cheerfully. "It looks like a stone loaf of bread that someone left out in the rain. The architect clearly lacked an understanding of structural harmony. Or a soul."
The Empress actually let out a genuine laugh. "I told the Council the exact same thing! They called it 'monumental minimalism.'"
"They called it cheap, Your Majesty," Val corrected smoothly, lifting his glass. "Minimalism is just the word incompetent men use when they run out of marble."
From the base of the dais, Raylas watched the interaction, his mind screaming. The guy is casually insulting the Crown's architecture to the Empress's face, and she’s looking at him like she wants to write him into her will. Who IS this freak?
★★★
Hania waited until the Empress was thoroughly distracted by Val’s critique of imperial jewelry before she made her move.
She slid out of her seat, grabbed a small plate of honey cakes, and casually drifted toward the dark alcove near the conservatory doors. The golden sphere bobbed behind her.
"Stay," Hania whispered to the sphere, tying its silk thread to a potted fern. "If you follow me in there, you'll glow right through the curtains."
The sphere thrummed unhappily but stayed put.
Hania slipped behind the velvet drapes. A second later, the shadows shifted, and Valentin stepped into the alcove, pulling the curtains shut behind him. The easy, charming scholar mask vanished instantly, replaced by the long-suffering posture of a vampire patriarch.
"My contour is asymmetrical," Val whispered, leaning down so his face was inches from hers. "Look at my left cheekbone, Hania. Is it muddy? I had to use the back of a silver spoon in the carriage to blend it. The lighting was atrocious."
Hania stared at him, her fork halfway to her mouth. "You're a five-hundred-year-old True Ancestor. You just threatened the Emperor with a smile, and your primary concern is your blending?"
"First impressions matter!" Val hissed, running a hand through his perfectly styled brown hair. "Do you know how hard it is to find a shade that matches 'undead but healthy'? Your cosmetic pouch is a disaster area. Why do you have three different tones of peach? I look like a sunset if I use the wrong one."
"It's color-correcting for dark circles under the eyes," Hania muttered, taking a bite of cake. "Which, considering you don't sleep, you should appreciate."
Val sniffed, looking away dramatically. Then, his shoulders slumped. The terrifying aura completely evaporated, leaving him looking strangely guilty. He looked down at his polished boots, tapping his fingers against his velvet coat.
"I... I must apologize," he murmured.
Hania raised an eyebrow. "For stealing my makeup?"
"No." Val looked her in the eye, his gaze vibrating with second-hand embarrassment. "For that absolute tragedy of a display out there. The tears? The shaking? 'I just sat down and cried inside my heart'?" He shuddered violently, pressing a hand to his chest. "Hania, I have witnessed the fall of entire civilizations, yet nothing has ever made my nonexistent pulse freeze quite like your weaponized toddler theatrics. It was ungentlemanly to watch. It was... monstrous."
Hania watched him for a long moment, wholly unfazed. "It got the Crown Prince locked in his room, replaced his tutor, and completely derailed an imperial interrogation."
She sighed, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a silk handkerchief.
"You're just jealous you didn't think of it first," she said. "Besides, if I hadn't put on a show, the Emperor would have spent the rest of the night digging into how exactly I survived that protection seal. Consider my public crying a mutual survival tax."
Val’s eyes widened slightly. "You... you aren't worried your father will sense my presence and turn me into a decorative shrub?"
"Oh, I might tell him to," Hania smirked. "But only if you ruin my reputation at the kids' table. By the way, your circulation is showing. Raylas is currently trying to figure out if you're a zombie or a very polite demon."
Val snorted, his confidence returning in a flash. "The Emberlyn boy? Please. He's mid-tier at best. His aura smells like burnt pine needles. I could buy his ancestral estate with three words and a vintage bottle of port."
"Don't push it. My dad is still in the room, and his acoustic barriers don't last forever." Hania poked his stomach with her fork. "What's your actual plan here, 'Master Valentin'?"
"To enjoy the food, insult the royalty, and ensure you don't accidentally get drafted into the Royal Rose Academy before I can secure a teaching position," Val said with a fanged grin. "If you're going to that school, I'm coming along as the eccentric history professor. The tenure benefits are legendary."
"You want to teach human children?"
"I want to grade their papers with absolute malice," Val corrected beautifully. "It's the closest a vampire can get to true joy without shedding blood."
Before Hania could answer, the curtains rustled.
"Princess Hania?" Thalira’s voice called out from the conservatory entrance. "Are you in there? The Chamberlain is bringing out the giant pudding!"
Hania gave Val a quick, warning look. "Go back to the Empress. Tell her the Grand Arc looks like a dead slug. She'll love it."
"A dead slug," Val repeated, his eyes lighting up with delight. "Brilliant. I shall use that exact phrasing."
He melted into the shadows of the alcove, disappearing before the curtain could even swing open. Hania smoothed her dress, wiped a crumb from her cheek, and stepped out into the light, perfectly slipping back into her child persona.
"I'm here, Thalira!" Hania called out sweetly, grabbing her golden sphere as it bobbed happily toward her. "Let's go look at the pudding. I want to see if we can make it wobble with a spoon."