The Empress's Vow
As the meal concluded and the plates were meticulously cleared away by attentive staff, the room settled into a peaceful quiet, punctuated only by the soft rustle of fabric and the occasional clink of glass. The evening light filtering through the grand windows bathed the room in a warm glow, casting long shadows over the polished dining table where both families had gathered. Conversations had grown subdued, a natural lull after a pleasant meal, but there was an unspoken air of anticipation, as if everyone sensed the evening was far from over.
Hermione stood from her seat with her usual poise, the faint creak of her chair drawing the attention of the room. Her dark suit jacket, impeccably tailored, hugged her figure as she smoothed it down with deliberate precision. It was a small but characteristic gesture, one that spoke of her unyielding discipline. The warmth that had softened her demeanor during dinner now receded, replaced by the commanding presence of the Empress. Her amber-brown eyes flicked briefly to the door, where moments earlier, a guard had informed her of the unexpected arrival of the Duchess of Arnemetia.
Just as she prepared to step away, her gaze fell on Fleur, who remained seated beside her. The soft, ethereal beauty of her fiancée was captivating, her serene expression a stark contrast to Hermione’s resolute composure. For a fleeting moment, a trace of uncertainty crossed Hermione’s face—so quick it might have been imagined—before she spoke, her voice carrying a quiet strength that belied the weight of her words.
"Will you come with me?" Hermione asked, her tone calm yet resolute. Though the question was simple, it held layers of unspoken meaning—a call for partnership, trust, and solidarity. It was more than an invitation; it was a declaration.
Fleur blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected request. Her ice-blue eyes widened slightly, their depths reflecting both surprise and admiration. While Fleur was accustomed to supporting Hermione from the sidelines during matters of state, this direct request marked a subtle but profound shift. She felt a wave of warmth spread through her chest, her heart swelling with pride and love for the woman who so rarely asked for help yet so deeply valued her presence. Rising gracefully, Fleur nodded, her voice steady but tender.
"Of course," she said simply, the words carrying a quiet but unshakable resolve.
The moment might have passed unnoticed had it not been for Monica, Hermione’s mother, who had been observing the exchange with a mixture of curiosity and concern. From her seat, she leaned forward slightly, her brow furrowing as she addressed her daughter. "Hermione," she began, her tone cautious yet probing, "what do you mean by asking Fleur to join you? Isn’t this a matter of state?"
All eyes turned to Hermione. The question, though innocent, seemed to hang in the air, heavy with implication. Even Richard and Apolline, sitting across from each other, exchanged subtle glances, intrigued by how Hermione would respond.
Hermione’s reaction was immediate yet measured. Straightening to her full height, she turned to her mother with an air of quiet authority. Her gaze was steady, her expression unyielding yet not unkind. When she spoke, her voice was firm, carrying the weight of her conviction.
"Fleur is my wife," Hermione stated, her words clear and deliberate, each one chosen with care. "She is my partner in all things, and that includes matters of state. There will be no decisions, no meetings, no challenges that I face without her by my side. Her counsel, her presence—they are not optional. They are essential. To me, and to this empire."
A profound silence filled the room, her declaration reverberating like an unspoken oath. Monica, taken aback for a moment, studied her daughter with a mixture of surprise and admiration. Her lips curved into a small, understanding smile, her initial concern melting into pride. Apolline, seated across from her, beamed openly, her hands folded elegantly in her lap as she cast a look of pure pride at her daughter.
"You’ve chosen well, Hermione," Monica said finally, her voice soft but filled with approval. "It’s clear how much you value Fleur—not just as your wife, but as your equal. That’s how it should be."
Apolline chimed in with a glimmer of playful affection. "And Fleur is lucky, of course. Though I suspect," she added, her smile widening, "that Hermione is the luckier of the two."
Hermione didn’t respond to the teasing, but a faint softness touched her otherwise composed expression. She glanced at Fleur, a flicker of emotion passing through her eyes that needed no words. Fleur, in turn, felt her heart swell, the depth of Hermione’s declaration settling into her soul like an anchor.
Taking Fleur’s hand with deliberate tenderness, Hermione inclined her head in a subtle acknowledgment before turning toward the door. The guards stationed there, ever vigilant, moved in unison to open it, allowing the couple to step into the wide corridor beyond.
The sound of their footsteps echoed softly against the marble floors as they walked, their hands still lightly entwined. The grandeur of the palace halls seemed distant, insignificant compared to the quiet intimacy of the moment. Fleur glanced up at Hermione, her voice low but brimming with emotion.
"You didn’t have to say that," she murmured, her eyes searching Hermione’s face. "But I’m glad you did."
Hermione slowed her steps, turning to face Fleur fully. Her gaze, steady and intense, locked onto Fleur’s with a depth that spoke of unwavering commitment. "I meant every word," she replied, her voice gentle but unyielding. "You are not just my wife, Fleur. You are my partner. Whatever I face, we face it together. No one—not a duchess, not a council, not even fate—will come between us. Always."
The sheer certainty in Hermione’s words left Fleur momentarily speechless. She smiled, a radiant expression that softened her features and lit up her eyes. "Always," she echoed, her voice a whispered promise.
As they approached the chamber where the Duchess awaited, Fleur released Hermione’s hand but remained close, her posture straight and confident. Together, they stepped into the room, their presence a united front. Whatever challenge lay ahead, Fleur knew one thing with absolute certainty: they would face it side by side, as equals, as partners, as soulmates.