Chapter 19: The Coronation
Irene entered the hall with a sullen mood, that was clear. With her ignoring the ROYAL guards themselves, it was a surprise and disappointment alike. As she dragged her shoes into the marble hall that she once marvelled at, dislike openly showed on her face even as she eyed the glaring, gigantuous chandelier that hung above their heads.
Frieda, who was perched on Eric's hand reluctantly pulled away from her husband to tend to her daughter. She leaned down to meet her daughter's eyes, an identical set of silver eyes met hers. Irene's pout was prominent as Frieda's gloved thumb glossed over the hardened corners of Irene's mouth.
"Don't show me that face, we're in the 'palace'. With dragons, Irene," She tried to brighten up her child, who dearly adored dragons. True to Frieda's predictions, the storm in her daughter's expressions dissipated somewhat.
"You'll still be able to play with Paula-"
"Pauline, mother," Irene corrected.
"- Pauline, in school. It starts just next week, doesn't it?" Frieda meticulously ran her hands over Irene's dress. Once again, it was in a pretty shade of periwinkle purple, one of Irene's favourite colours. The hoop skirt held up the sheen fabric, the hem of the lace missed the floor by a mere inch to give Irene enough room to move around comfortably without reenacting another episode of "Irene broke an expensive vase because she tripped".
"Hey, I'll see if I can bring you to meet the prin- The Queen," Eric chimed in.
Wonder filled Irene's eyes.
"Really?"
The Princess of Daijaya was said to be the scarlet flower of the King and Queen. Forged with their fiery flames of love, her hair was as bright as the blazing sun on its summit. Her scales were as luminescent as a polished pearl, and her eyes a galaxy of golden stars. Plus, she was trained in martial arts ever since she could walk. Legends say she could charm a bird effortlessly while plucking a tail feather without it noticing the pain. Irene has many questions, including "How can you do that?" and "Teach me!"
"I'll try, as long as you give us a big smile. That way, you'll be able to help me," Eric said.
Freida gave her husband a knowing smile. "Alright then. Irene, stay close to your father. Don't go running off now, we don't need two of you lost in this palace."
With that, she walked away, leaving the pair alone in a crowd of people dressed to the nines. The two realised their peril and locked eyes, finding no solution in either's presence, they could only sigh and accept their fates.
X
To reiterate, the Wincotts weren't exactly a popular name among the aristocrats invited. They were the black sheep of the group, being a family of humans that had no blood ties to any living dragon around them. Their rise to aristocracy was a rather befuddling situation as well, as the actual process behind it was done behind closed doors. To many, it seemed as if they rose to power overnight!
It was late into the night, but the coronation wouldn't begin until it turned 12. Eric was the epitome of a wallflower, respectable in name, but worthless in socialising. The complete opposite of the social butterfly he was wed to, who is currently fluttering about with her best friend, Lady Ryudarah and a couple of other high ladies. Irene staved off the boredom by snacking on random tidbits she could reach from the buffet table.
"Lord Wincott!"
It took all of his willpower to not groan and ignore the voice. Instead, he flashed the newcomer a carefully-choreographed smile. Not too wide that he would seem too eager, but not too small that he'd seem unwelcoming either.
"Oh, Lord Flos," Eric greeted with genuine surprise.
Out of all the dragons that he expected to meet with tonight, he certainly didn't expect to be communicating with Marchioness Flos, the Minister of Law. The aura emitted by the Marchioness measured to her male Marquees counterpart was not fragile by any means, in fact, she was well known for her... "strange" sense of humour.
The dragon bared a smile full of too many teeth. In her hands, she held a glass of dark red wine.
"Cheers, Lord Wincott. You look like you swallowed a plum on this celebratory night!" She exclaimed loudly. Clearly, up against a foe far too strong for him to handle, Eric clinked their glasses together and took a rueful gulp of his wine.
"Gah! That's the stuff. Oh!" Flos gasped when she spotted Irene. "Is that your spawn, Lord Wincott?"
Eric smiled. "Yes. Come and greet Marchioness Flos."
"Good evening, Marchioness Flos!" Irene parrotted, having practised all the essential greetings beforehand.
The drunken edge to her smile softened as she reached out to pat Irene's bouquet of hair. "What an adorable baby. Oh, do you want to make a new friend?"
Irene tilted her head in wonder. "Who?"
Everyone here had been out of her age range, with the closest being stuck to the hip with a group of higher ladies that Irene didn't dare to approach. Being with her father was fun, but making a friend would make her night.
"I know just the person. Here he comes right now! Oh, Everett!"
Irene blinked owlishly. There's no way right-?
The Everett that Flos referred to was the exact replica of Everett in the palace. Except, his earth-coloured robes were replaced by a lavish robe the shade of the darkest wine. His hair was neatly slicked back like her father's, making his youthful face appear slightly more mature. He resembled a young prince, except, a prince who swallowed a frog with his current shadowy expression as he stomped over.
"What the hell are you doing, yelling from across the hall like that?" Everett barked.
Flos snickered and nonchalantly magicked another glass of wine from nowhere. "Everett, I'd like you to meet this little 'Fe'. Irene, this is Everett. Everett, Irene."
"Good evening," Everett said while Irene was still processing. "Earl Wincott, it's a pleasure. Good evening to you as well, Miss Wincott."
"Good evening, Baron Monkshood. How is the research?" asked her father.
Everett gave him a kind smile. "It's progressing well. I should have a paper on it made soon.'
"Brilliant!"
The conversation came to a stop, and Irene remained tongue-tied. Everett was an important person, so she must've been really rude to him in the past. It burned her cheeks, and she avoided eye contact as she whispered "Good evening, Baron Monkshood."
Flos released a lungful squeal. "Oh Aqua, this is adorable. Go shake Everett's hand, Little 'Fe'."
Irene was confused but didn't hesitate to stretch out her hand towards Everett, who wasn't even looking at her as he was busy glaring at Flos.
"Contrary to how I look, I'm not a child. I can drink!" Everett crossed his arms in a fit of anger.
Flos' long lashes fluttered amusedly, but alas, her comeback was forced to take the backseat when the bell rang.
Twelve long, consecutive rings echoed. Dragons and people calmed their rowdy activities prior to the ringing and respectfully peered at the door. At the third ring, the doors to the inner body of the palace opened, revealing the princess.
Frieda appeared silently beside Irene when the dragons started to crowd over to gander at the princess. When she was still struggling to see from the back of the towering suits and skirts, her mother picked her up. At the fifth ring, Irene saw the princess for the first time with her own eyes.
The princess fit every description Irene had ever known.
Her crimson hair was braided into a thousand little braids, revealing two small, red horns curling away from one another. Bejewelled curtains formed tiny clusters in her hair and tiny gems hung from her pointed ears. Her fair face was like a porcelain doll's, beautiful, but sad, as told by the slight crinkle in her eyes. Right above her nose and stretching across her cheeks, there was an inscription of sorts. It looked painted on, but Irene had never seen it before and couldn't tell what it meant.
The inscription and her dress were in a shade of royal cerulean blue. The garment hugged her figure, but there was an abundance of fabric stemming from her sleeves and her skirt that were folded like foaming waves, trailing off from the ocean's blue into white starlight.
She spared the aristocracy a pause, allowing just enough time for the members of the council to gather behind her, her father included. Then, along with 12 council members, she ascended the stairs. Irene watched with bated breath as the clock struck 10 when the doors towards the gardens opened, showing them the exact scene that the princess was seeing from above on an elevated balcony.
Thousands upon thousands were screaming in worship to their new ruler.
Upon the twelfth strike of the clock, the lights vanished, along with the moon. Irene hugged her mother close when the cheering abated, and silence sat upon the country like a sudden fog after the rain.