Noble Hearts

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   “Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed guests, may I have your attention please. It is with great honor and privilege that I announce the imminent arrival of their Imperial Majesties, Emperor Constantino Aurelio III, Empress Gabriella Sinclair Aurelio, and Imperial Crown Prince, our esteemed birthday celebrant, First Prince Constantine Alexander Aurelio. I kindly request that you extend a warm welcome as we prepare to receive our distinguished guests.”

    As the Master of Ceremonies delivered his long-anticipated announcement, we proceeded to offer our courtesy as everyone uttered in unison.

    “Greetings to the Sun of the Empire, the Moon of the Empire, and the Rising Sun of the Empire.”

The imperial royalties promenaded down the aisle with the utmost grace and elegance, acknowledging the throng with regal waves and warm greetings. His Imperial Highness, however, trailed behind the Empire’s most powerful figures. Although he too smiled and gestured graciously, a veiled enigma lingered in his eyes. It was a gaze that captivated me upon our initial encounter, a gaze I cannot forget, deeply etched into my soul. His eyes sparkled with curiosity, scanning the crowd in search of something unknown is how I always described it. Until our gazes met and his eyes are now filled with sparkles of recognition.

    “If it’s not my dearest friend, Lady Atasha!”

    Completely non-conforming to the standard of an Imperial Banquet, he approached—rather, leaped in my direction without finishing his walk down to the last corner of the aisle. Ordinarily, such behavior would be deemed a disgrace to the Imperial Palace. However, given His Imperial Highness’s eccentric nature, both the palace and its subjects have grown accustomed to it.
   
    “May I extend my warmest felicitations upon the occasion of your natal day, Your Imperial Highness. May it be filled with joy, prosperity, and all the blessings that Providence can bestow upon you.”

    I gracefully lowered my body slightly while bending my knees, offering a gentle smile to him. His Imperial Highness extended his gloved hand, which I accepted graciously as he planted it with a kiss. All the while, I maintained my poise and dignity! I could feel the rush of blood into my cheeks. I will never grow accustomed to this gesture of his.

    “You are... dare I say... rather cute when you are flustered, my lady,” the prince teased, which only intensified my scarlet cheeks.

    “You flutter me, Your Imperial Highness,” I replied.

    “That is exactly my point, my lady. And does rising to your rank make you feel as though you need to address me properly now? First-name basis will always be up to my liking though. Hence, it is Alexander for you.”

    “I dare say, Your Highness, your memory appears to have faltered. I never sought to surpass my station, nor did I covet my father’s title. Initially, my elevation might have prompted me to observe the proprieties of courtly address, but is it not the appropriate custom to accord due respect to the heir to the imperial throne? If so, then ‘Alexander’ it shall be.”

    I beg of you, Your Highness, spare me the mention of my status. The pressure it brings is suffocating, and I crave authentic exchanges, unbound by titles. Grant me the freedom to connect genuinely, without the weight of formality.

    But I dare not utter such sentiments in the presence of His Imperial Highness, for fear of the prying eyes and ready tongues of this assembly. As the Marchioness of Crestwood, I am but a tender bud amidst a thicket of thorns, vulnerable to coercion and manipulation. To voice my thoughts to His Imperial Highness would only offer succor to my adversaries, providing them with a glimmer of hope for attack.