The journey to Altheria ended up taking longer than it should have. Despite his steady recovery and renewed energy, Elliott still tired easily—forcing the entourage to take multiple stops and travel at a pace that was, as Gabriella put it, "appropriate for a man who almost died last month."
Elliott, of course, tried to insist he was fine. He did this at every stop, and every time Gabriella vetoed the claim without hesitation. If he even looked faint, she ordered the carriage to halt. If he yawned, she called for rest. At some point, he stopped arguing, though he sulked visibly while pretending to admire the scenery.
Most of the time, he sat by the window, watching the landscape roll by. The flat, familiar plains of Velluria slowly gave way to steep, mist-shrouded hills. The terrain grew sharper, the air cooler. Altheria looked nothing like home—its forests were denser, darker, and older. The mountains cut the horizon like jagged teeth, their peaks shrouded in a silvery haze. The light here was different too— softer, mysterious, almost ancient in the way it filtered through the clouds.
He'd read about Altheria's geography before, of course, but reading about something and seeing it firsthand were two very different things. Elliott had traveled little outside Velluria; the life of an emperor with a fragile constitution wasn't exactly suited for leisure tours. Now, with his nose nearly pressed to the glass like a fascinated child, he was seeing a foreign land that had once been his political rival—and soon, the home of the man he loved.
By the time their carriage finally reached the Altherian capital, the coronation ceremonies had already begun. Between the frequent stops, slow progress through the mountain passes, and Elliott's tendency to tire easily, they were running embarrassingly late. What was supposed to be an early morning arrival turned into a bright afternoon entrance.
The city was alive with celebration. Banners bearing the moon-and-mountain crest hung from every tower. The streets were overflowing with people—cheering, waving flags, tossing flowers. The coronation of a new monarch was clearly a festival in Altheria, and the entire capital was basking in it.
The palace gates loomed ahead, grand and glittering. The moment the Vellurian carriages stopped, panic rippled through the palace staff. Servants froze mid-step. Messengers gawked. Everyone who saw the Vellurian banners—and the figure stepping out—looked like they had seen a ghost.
After all, Emperor Elliott Lancaster was supposed to be in a coma. And Queen Regent Gabriella was not supposed to come either—they had agreed to send a dignitary in their place.
So when the Altherian representative approached the carriage, expecting a diplomatic envoy, and instead found the Vellurian emperor himself stepping down—alive, walking, very much conscious—his soul nearly left his body.
"Y-your Majesty… Emperor Elliott Lancaster!" the man stammered, bowing so low it looked painful. His face went an impressive shade of white. "We- we were informed a representative would be coming! This is… this is a surprise! But— of course— a very welcome one!"
He immediately realized how that sounded and blurted out in a rush, "I mean—an honor! An unprecedented honor!"
The poor man's eyes darted wildly, as though searching for divine help. Every Altherian within sight knew exactly who the new king used to be—Aiden Lancaster, the adopted Vellurian prince. And everyone knew who the emperor was to him. This was not a diplomatic surprise; this was a personal earthquake. The man standing in front of him was the single reason King James hadn't started his reign with executions or mercy alike. And that same man was supposed to be bedridden miles away.
Elliott, ever gracious, waved off the stammering and smiled faintly. "Please, do not fret. The fault is mine. I failed to send word ahead of time—it was my intention. I wanted to surprise King James." He lowered his voice conspiratorially, tone almost playful. "Consider my presence… unofficial, for now. I would appreciate it if you didn't spread word of my arrival just yet."
The representative looked as though Elliott had just asked him to hide a ticking bomb. "O-of course, Your Majesty! Absolutely! I will— I will make sure this news does not reach His Highness! Your secret is safe with me! Please, come inside quickly before anyone sees!"
He ushered them in with the frantic energy of a man hiding a live animal in his coat.
Once inside their suite, the doors finally closed behind them, and peace returned. Elliott sat on the edge of a chaise, looking mildly contemplative. His plan, it seemed, had been derailed.
"So much for surprising him before the ceremony," he sighed, disappointment heavy in his tone. "I suppose the surprise will have to wait for the coronation itself now."
Gabriella gave him a flat look over her teacup. "Do you want him to leave his own coronation midway to run to you?"
Elliott blinked, caught off guard. He opened his mouth to argue—then stopped. The mental image arrived uninvited.
He imagined the coronation hall, Aiden—King James now—standing tall on the dais, the crown hovering above his head. The crowd of nobles, the priests, the foreign envoys—all silent. Then, his eyes would wander, out of habit perhaps, to the audience. He'd spot Elliott.
The crown would probably slip. The scepter would clatter to the floor. There'd be a collective gasp. Aiden would abandon all decorum, sprint down the steps, and in front of the entire continent, grab Elliott by the shoulders, face full of horror and fury. Somewhere behind them, someone would faint. Maybe a priest. Possibly two.
"…He might do that," Elliott admitted weakly.
"There's no might," Gabriella said dryly. "He will. The coronation will go down in books as the shortest and most bizarre in history."
Elliott sighed, his smug excitement deflating under the weight of practicality. "So… what do we do? I can't just... Not witness it."
"You," Gabriella said, pointing at him like a general delivering an order, "will sit in a very secluded spot. Somewhere he cannot possibly spot you. You will remain silent, still, and utterly unnoticeable. He will get through his coronation without causing a national incident. You can break his sanity after the ceremony—preferably at the banquet."
Elliott nodded slowly, his disappointment quickly transforming back into excitement. Yes, that made sense. That was better, actually. More dramatic. More regal.
Surprising Aiden at the coronation banquet instead of mid-ceremony was far more poetic. Aiden, finally crowned and relaxed, basking in the relief of surviving the day—only to turn around and see Elliott there. Whole, healthy, and very much alive.
Elliott could practically see it. Aiden's expression—shock first, then relief, then the unmistakable flash of anger. It was going to be glorious. Elliott's grin stretched wide as his mind started spinning again, planning details. The lighting, the music, what outfit he'd be wearing. Oh, it had to be perfect.
"All right," he declared, practically glowing. "The reception banquet it is."
He would let Aiden have his moment with the crown, his empire, and his people. And then, when the world's eyes were still on him—he'd give him a far greater gift.
Himself.
And perhaps, a minor heart attack.
XXX