nanakawaichan
patreon
Dark Moon Third Arc (Fallen Heart) - 357. Her Coronation II
🕑 Added 2024-12-18 20:18:43 +0000 UTCThird Arc (Fallen Heart) - 357. Her Coronation II
She managed a small smile, though the knot in her stomach hadn’t entirely eased. “I feel like I might collapse any second.”
“You won’t,” he said firmly, his hand brushing against hers in a barely noticeable gesture. “You’re stronger than you think.”
They turned to face the crowd. Rose forced herself to breathe, her gaze sweeping across the room. The nobles and representatives were all on their feet, some clapping enthusiastically, others more reserved. Somewhere in the crowd, she caught sight of Prince Artheur. His expression was composed, as always, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something she didn’t dare linger on.
The rest of the ceremony passed in a blur of formalities and speeches. Angel spoke with his usual charisma, his words steady and powerful as he addressed the guests and reaffirmed their commitment to the kingdom. Rose listened, nodding when appropriate, but her mind was a swirl of emotions she couldn’t quite untangle.
When it was finally over, the applause once again filled the hall, and the tension in Rose’s shoulders began to ease. Once they descended from the dais, Angel leaned in slightly, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.
“See? That wasn’t so bad.”
She shot him a look, her lips curving into a wry smile. “Easy for you to say. Your crown’s basically glued to your head at this point.”
Angel smirked, tilting his head just enough for the light to catch on the intricate details of his crown. “Practice makes perfect,” he quipped, the faintest trace of humor tugging at his voice. “Besides, it’s not so bad once you stop thinking about it.”
“Not thinking about it?” Rose gave a pointed glance at the golden circlet on her head. “This thing feels like it’s trying to remind me of every bad decision I’ve ever made.”
“Then wear it as a badge of honor,” he said, his tone light but his words carrying an edge of sincerity. “The crown’s not meant to be comfortable, Rose. It’s a reminder of the responsibility that comes with it.”
She let out a small sigh, her fingers twitching with the urge to adjust the thing, though she resisted. “I get that, but maybe they could’ve made it, I don’t know… lighter?”
“Talk to the jeweler next time,” he replied with a shrug, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Tell them to design it with comfort in mind.”
Her laugh came soft and fleeting, easing some of the tension coiled in her chest. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”
“So I’ve been told,” he said with a teasing grin, his hand brushing lightly against hers as they made their way through the hall. The crowd of nobles and representatives had thinned slightly, though the air still buzzed with the murmurs of conversation. Rose could feel their eyes on her—some curious, some admiring, and a few scrutinizing.
Angel, as always, seemed unbothered. His strides were confident, his crown sitting effortlessly on his head, like it was an extension of him. She envied that ease, that natural presence he carried. It was as if nothing fazed him.
Once they reached the side chamber where refreshments had been laid out for them, Rose let out a quiet breath of relief. The room was smaller, more private, though a few attendants lingered by the edges, ready to assist if needed. Angel gestured for her to sit, and she sank into one of the plush chairs, the weight of the crown suddenly feeling even heavier now that she wasn’t in front of a crowd.
“You’re making that face again,” Angel said casually as he poured a glass of water and handed it to her.
“What face?” Rose asked, taking the glass but narrowing her eyes at him.
“The one where you look like you’re about to murder someone but can’t decide who,” he replied with a smirk, grabbing a piece of fruit from the tray and leaning against the table. His crown caught the light as he tilted his head, giving him an almost ethereal look—regal and annoyingly smug.
“I’m not about to murder anyone,” she muttered, taking a sip of water. “I’m just… processing.”
“Processing?” Angel raised an eyebrow, popping the fruit into his mouth. “Is that what we’re calling ‘stress-eating with your eyes’ now?”
