Chapter 4

Symonnet stood in the dimly lit chamber of the Imperial Palace, surrounded by a flurry of activity as servants bustled around him, their hands moving with practiced precision. He stood rigid as they adjusted the layers of fabric that draped over him, each fold meticulously arranged to convey an air of regal elegance.

The fabric of his wedding attire felt heavy against his skin, a stark contrast to the weightlessness he longed for in his heart. He tried to banish the knot of anxiety that tightened in his chest, focusing instead on the intricate embroidery that adorned the edges of his garments. Every stitch seemed to whisper tales of bygone eras, of noble lineage and ancient traditions.

Amaury stood nearby, his gaze fixed upon Symonnet with an intensity that bordered on scrutiny. Symonnet could feel the weight of his uncles expectations bearing down upon him, a constant reminder of the burden he carried as heir to the throne.

Stand straighter, boy, Amaury admonished, his voice a low rumble that reverberated through the chamber. You mustnt slouch on such an auspicious occasion.

Symonnet straightened his posture obediently, his muscles tensing under the weight of Amaurys gaze. He felt like a puppet being pulled and prodded into position, his every movement dictated by forces beyond his control.

As the final adjustments were made to his attire, Symonnet cast a fleeting glance at his reflection in the mirror. The figure that stared back at him seemed foreign and unfamiliar, a pale imitation of the man he aspired to be. He wondered if anyone else could see the fear and uncertainty that lurked behind his facade of composure.

The sound of approaching footsteps drew Symonnets attention away from his reflection, and he turned to see the palace servant who had been assigned to attend to him. The servants eyes were downcast, a respectful deference that mirrored the solemnity of the occasion.

Your Highness, the servant murmured, bowing low before Symonnet. The time has come. The Emperor awaits your presence in the grand hall.

Symonnet felt a surge of apprehension at the servants words, a sinking realization that the moment he had been dreading was finally upon him. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the challenges that lay ahead.

Thank you, Symonnet replied, his voice steady despite the turmoil roiling within him. Lead the way.

With one final glance at his reflection, Symonnet followed the servant out of the chamber and into the grand hall of the Imperial Palace. As he walked, he couldnt help but wonder what fate awaited him at the end of this long and winding path, and whether he possessed the strength to face it head-on.

Symonnet couldnt shake the discomfort that gnawed at him as he walked through the hallowed halls of the Imperial Palace, flanked by a guard of six knights clad in gleaming armor. Each step felt like a reminder of his newfound status, a weighty burden he had never asked for nor desired.

The memory of his upbringing under the watchful eye of his uncle, Amaury, lingered like a shadow in his mind. Amaury had ruled their household with an iron fist, demanding obedience and unwavering loyalty at every turn. Symonnet had grown accustomed to a life of austerity and discipline, where every privilege had to be earned through sweat and toil.

But here in the palace, surrounded by opulence and luxury, he found himself thrust into a world where his every whim was catered to without question. It was a stark contrast to the modest existence he had known, and it left him feeling strangely out of place.

As they descended into the depths of the palace, Symonnet couldnt help but marvel at the grandeur that surrounded him. The walls of the corridor were adorned with tapestries depicting scenes of ancient battles and noble conquests, each thread woven with care and precision. The air was heavy with the scent of incense and candle wax, a heady mixture that spoke of centuries of tradition and reverence.

The guard led Symonnet into a vast chamber known as the Hall of the Moon, its domed ceiling stretching high above their heads like the canopy of a starlit sky. Symonnets gaze was drawn upward, to the intricate clockwork stars that adorned the ceiling, their movements synchronized with the passing of the seasons.

It was a breathtaking sight, a testament to the ingenuity and artistry of the palaces craftsmen. But beneath the surface beauty, Symonnet couldnt shake the feeling of unease that settled in the pit of his stomach. He was keenly aware of the eyes that followed his every move, the whispers that echoed through the chamber like distant thunder.

As he took his place at the center of the room, surrounded by the knights who stood guard over him, Symonnet couldnt help but feel like a pawn in a game he didnt understand. The weight of his birthright felt heavier than ever, a constant reminder of the expectations that had been thrust upon him.

But amidst the uncertainty and the fear, there was a flicker of determination that burned bright within Symonnets heart. He may have been born into a world of privilege and power, but he refused to be defined by it. He would carve his own path, forge his own destiny, no matter the obstacles that lay in his way.

With that thought echoing in his mind, Symonnet squared his shoulders and prepared to face whatever trials lay ahead. For better or for worse, he was ready to embrace the challenges of his new life, and to prove himself worthy of the crown that rested upon his brow.

A short time later, Symonnet stood at the center of the Hall of the Moon, his heart hammering in his chest as he faced the daunting figure of the emperor, who stood before him, draped in the resplendent robes of his station. The grandeur of the chamber around him only served to amplify his discomfort, the domed ceiling adorned with clockwork stars that danced and twirled with the passage of time, casting ethereal shadows upon the marble floor below.

At his side, Amaury stood with a barely concealed sneer, his disdain for the people of Inor palpable in the curl of his lip and the fire that smoldered in his dark eyes. He had always harbored a deep-seated animosity towards those he deemed inferior, and the sight of the emperor and his courtiers only served to fuel the flames of his resentment. But he had always craved power, and Symonnet was far more glad of his advice than afraid of his presence.

Symonnet could feel the weight of Amaurys gaze upon him, a silent reminder of the expectations that had been thrust upon him from the moment he had been born into this world. He had always been the reluctant heir, forced to bear the burden of his birthright with a stoic resolve that belied the turmoil raging within him.

But now, as he stood on the precipice of a union that would irrevocably alter the course of his destiny, he couldnt help but feel a sense of overwhelming dread wash over him. The ceremonies were coarse and brief, lacking the solemnity and reverence that such a sacred occasion deserved: there were no formal words to speak or echo or repeat.

As he clasped hands with the emperor, whose name he did not know and whose face remained closed to him, Symonnet couldnt shake the feeling that he was being swept along by forces beyond his control. He hissed in surprise when the masked priestess arranged before them drew the blade of her black knife upon his palm. The exchange of blood was a stark reminder of the sacrifices that had been made in the name of power and ambition, a reminder that he was but a pawn in a deadly game of intrigue and deception.

But his hand was small, in that of the emperor. Small, and warm. The hand which held his was more calloused even than Amaurys. How, Symonnet wondered, did an emperor get calloused hands?

He stole another glance at Amaury, standing tall and resolute beside him, Symonnet couldnt help but wonder what fate awaited him in this strange and unfamiliar land. He had always trusted in his uncles guidance, relied on his wisdom and experience to navigate the treacherous waters of courtly politics.

Tendrils of doubt crept into his heart. He had not been a reluctant participant in the machinations of power and ambition, a pawn in a game that he had never asked to play: he had not been a participant at all. Hed been a boy when hed been exiled from the court of his mother. And then hed lived a paupers life with Amaury.

And as he turned to face the emperor and his court, all strangers to him in this foreign land, Symonnet couldnt help but wonder what trials awaited him in the days and weeks to come. He had entered into this union with little understanding of its implications, little knowledge of the man who now stood before him as his husband.