The Charity event Morning
Claudion Palace, Verol Province
Claudion Palace awoke to the rhythm of hurried footsteps servants' steps composing a symphony of final preparations.
Flowers were inspected with care, and the blue banners bearing the Claudion family's silver crest were raised high, adorning the grounds with noble elegance.
By ten o'clock, the grand eastern gates swung open to welcome guests for the daytime charity event , held in support of orphanages an annual tradition for which Verol, one of the most prominent provinces in the ancient Kingdom of Valmayra, had long been renowned.
The guests began to arrive one by one, each bearing a name, a title, and a carefully measured smile. The echo of elegant carriages rolling over polished gravel mingled with the voices of heralds at the reception gate, proclaiming the name of each new arrival before the grand hall.
Among the nobles in attendance:
Baron Edwin Hauser
A man in his late fifties, of average height and slightly broad build .His round face was framed by a neatly trimmed grey beard, and his sharp, grey eyes gleamed with the cunning of an old merchant. His complexion was slightly pale, etched faintly with the lines of time, yet he carried himself with a commanding charisma.
He wore a long coat of deep navy velvet, lined with golden silk on the inside. The embroidered silver crest of his house rested proudly on his chest. Beneath it, a crisp white shirt with a high collar and a carefully knotted black silk cravat added to his dignified appearance. In his hand, he held an elegant cane of rosewood, crowned with a silver head.
Countess Vera Delorine
A woman in her forties, graced with refined elegance and an innate air of authority. Her dark hair tinged with deep blue was swept up into a classic coiffure, adorned with a single dark feather. Her piercing blue eyes shimmered with sharpness and calculated wisdom. Her features were delicate and gracefully sculpted, her skin smooth and flawless.
She wore an emerald gown that flowed softly along her figure, embroidered with fine golden beadwork along the waist and bodice. Ivory lace gloves covered her arms to the elbows, and around her neck hung a sapphire-studded necklace, a proud symbol of her noble lineage. Her perfume a blend of white blossoms and amber lingered subtly in the air, leaving a trace of aristocratic grace wherever she passed.
Viscount Julian Merove
A man in his late fifties, tall and slender, with a sharply defined face and a meticulously groomed mustache.
His dark gray hair was slicked back, revealing a high forehead and a pair of narrow eyes that held a scrutinizing, disciplined gaze.
He wore a traditional dark suit tailored from fine Italian wool, paired with a crisp white sash pinned with a ruby brooch. Across his chest gleamed a row of medallions, symbols of his standing within the council. From his breast pocket hung a polished pocket watch an ever-present reminder of his devotion to time and order.
Earl Alric Carston
A man in his late thirties, tall with broad shoulders and the bearing of a noble knight. His lightly tanned skin hinted at mixed heritage or perhaps a life rich in diplomatic travel.
His deep brown eyes sparkled with intelligence and quiet confidence. His dark brown hair, slightly wavy, was kept at a medium length, casually yet deliberately styled.
He wore a long, wine-colored cloak, open at the front to reveal a burnt-leather vest intricately embossed with symbols representing his kingdom. At his side hung a ceremonial sword—a clear emblem of his political and diplomatic stature. A warm scent of sandalwood clung to his garments, subtle yet unmistakable.
Baronet Emilio Sanders
A young man in his twenties, bold in demeanor and dressed in modern flair. His fair complexion and neatly combed golden-blond hair gave him a polished look. His vivid green eyes radiated tireless ambition, and a charming smile rarely left his face.
He donned a short velvet jacket in deep navy, its high collar and silver-thread trim adding a touch of distinguished finesse. His tailored gray trousers and gleaming black leather shoes spoke of youthful sophistication. An elegant wristwatch gleamed on his arm, and a small brooch bearing the emblem of his rising noble house adorned his lapel.
Also in attendance were several prominent merchants, directors of orphanages, and representatives from the press and civil society—though they bore no noble titles, their presence underscored the wide reach and importance of the occasion.
At precisely eleven o'clock, Lord Claudion ascended the marble platform at the heart of the southern garden with calm, deliberate steps, wrapped in an unmistakable aura of dignity and authority. He wore a black suit, over which draped the silver family sash, embroidered with platinum threads that shimmered faintly in the morning light. The sash fell from his left shoulder to his right hip, adorned with short decorative tassels. His jacket, made of deep black velvet, was exquisitely cut to embrace his form with refined elegance, its edges lined with fine silver embroidery that echoed his noble heritage.
Silence fell over the garden.
Then, in a voice both calm and commanding, he began:
"Ladies and gentlemen, I thank you for your gracious presence on this honourable day. With the nobility of your hearts, you make a difference in the lives of those who have no voice.
We are not here to showcase our generosity, but to restore the soul of humanity. Every orphanage, every charitable organization, is a fortress against ignorance and poverty.
Verol Province, as you have always known it, will remain at the forefront of humanitarian work standing by the needy and upholding dignity and honor."
He paused, his gaze settling briefly on the journalists, then continued in a deeper, more resonant tone:
"And let me take this moment to affirm: we in the Kingdom of Valmyra extend a hand of peace to the neighboring Kingdom of Drakthimar. It is time to rise above the grievances of the past.
Any attempt to sow discord between us must be firmly opposed.
We are peoples who have chosen peace and we will not allow ourselves to be drawn into a conflict that serves only the enemies of stability."
A prolonged applause echoed through the hall .
Glasses were raised into the air.
The journalists recorded every word.
Noble faces nodded in solemn approval even if, behind their masks, they held thoughts unspoken.
In a corner of the garden, Rosalyn stood beside Peter, her presence luminous and unmistakable. She wore a striking red dress of heavy satin, cinched elegantly at the waist, its surface embroidered with delicate patterns that flickered like flames. In her hand, she held a black lace fan, which she waved gracefully whenever the summer warmth grew too bold.
Peter, ever composed in his usual refined manner, stood beside her in a dark black suit, trimmed with silver embroidery along the collar and sleeves that caught the light with every movement. His eyes swept over the crowd, observant and cautious beneath his calm exterior.
Rosalyn leaned in and murmured to her husband,
"Don't you think my father is starting to act like the state ruler …?"
Peter offered a tense smile.
"That's because practically he is .
All that remains is the official coronation, and no one has the power to stop it now."
Rosalyn smirked, her voice low and laced with knowing mischief.
"And what about Count Theodore
( Black Opal)? I doubt he'll simply stand by… watching my father-in-law snatch the province from him like a crown lifted from the head of a sleeping king."
Peter nodded grimly. He didn't answer.
He knew what she said was not just speculation it was a truth that could ignite a storm.
On the other side of the garden, amid the crowd of common folk, Kate stood quietly beside Aaron.
She wore a deep green dress that flowed effortlessly with her movements, topped with a refined hat adorned with black flowers. Her hands were gloved in soft black silk, adding an elegant final touch to her noble appearance.
Aaron stood by her side in a formal black suit, sharpened further by a crimson tie that gave him a striking presence. His eyes were fixed on his mentor with a look of focused anticipation.
The crowd gathered with polite eagerness to hear Lord Claudion speak, as a gentle breeze tousled Kate's golden hair. She looked up at her father with a clear gaze of pride.
Aaron leaned toward her, whispering in awe,
"I never imagined my mentor possessed such power… His voice alone silences the crowd. His words ring in the mind like law."
Kate smiled, pride and warmth in her expression.
"Yes… that's my father. Strong. Commanding. But his heart is kind he's never known cruelty. He has never drawn lines between people. He understands that the greatness of leadership is in serving the weak, not ruling over them."
Aaron turned to her. The wind caught her golden strands again, lifting them in the air as if time itself had paused for a breath.
Kate met his gaze with a soft smile.
"You're probably wondering… why I brought you here, among the commoners? I could've stood up there… among the nobles."
She offered a mysterious smile.
"I wanted to see him from here… from the people's view.
I wanted to see their eyes as they looked at him. And to watch him offer them his hand , warm, sincere.
Tomorrow… when he is crowned as governor of Verol… it will be because they chose him."
The speech came to an end, and the crowd began to stir, slowly dispersing each person carrying the weight of words that, perhaps, had just rewritten the course of their province.
Aaron glanced around him.
"Let's take a walk. I need a moment of quiet away from all this ceremony."
And so, the two of them strolled down a side path of the garden.
Suddenly… they caught sight of Amber.
She moved slowly between corners, her gaze unfocused, searching for something… or someone.
Aaron looked at her, then turned to Kate.
"She's looking for Eric, isn't she?"
Kate let out a short sigh.
"Yes… and it seems he's either forgotten their meeting or found something more important to occupy him."
She quickly turned her eyes back to Aaron.
"Stay here. I'll go to her."
Kate approached Amber with swift steps, gently taking her hand and whispering with caution,
"Amber, what are you doing? Someone might notice you like this… journalists is in every corner, and cameras are everywhere."
Amber replied with quiet worry,
"We were supposed to meet… but he never showed up."
Kate's voice softened, steady and reassuring.
"Listen, tomorrow at the evening event , everyone will be preoccupied with dancing. I'll arrange a meeting for you two, that won't raise any suspicion. …Just don't draw attention to yourself now… do you understand?"
Amber smiled, her whisper full of gratitude.
"Thank you, Kate… really, thank you."
Before Kate could respond, a young maid approached, lowering her head in polite respect.
"Excuse me, my lady… Lady Margaret requests your presence. She awaits you both at the noblewomen's tea table."
Kate muttered under her breath with dry sarcasm,
"Perfect… it's time to put on our polite little smiles."
Amber chuckled softly,
"And begin our aristocratic performance."
Then, the two of them crossed the garden path toward the marble table