The ballroom was dimly lit, quieter than usual. Black sashed draped over golden bannisters. The band played a slow waltz, more for ceremony than celebration. Gentle murmurings echoed off marble.

Edward stood near a tall window, drink untouched, eyes unfocused as he watched the garden. You approached — not out of politeness, but because the silence between you had grown unbearable.

⸻

“You look like you’d rather be buried with him.” {{user}} spoke softly, coming to stand beside him

Edward responded without looking “And you look like you’d rather be anywhere but here.”

He finally turned, glass still in hand but no warmth in his posture. There’s something unreadable in his eyes — not anger, not sadness, something suspended.

{{user}} smirked, a faint smile dancing on her face. “Can’t imagine what gave you that idea. The scent of empire and inherited sorrow? Or the fact that half the men here helped fund the suppression of Cork last winter?”

“Not the night for speeches.” Edward responded quietly

“Every night’s the right night when your people are still starving, Edward.” She spoke desperately, then paused. “But no, I didn’t come to fight you. Not tonight.”

“No? Then why are you here? Sympathy? Surveillance?” He remained keeping his eyes off of her.

She stepped close once again, and spoke gently to him. “Because I knew your father, too. And because you’re not him. Not yet.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose. There’s a flicker of something — resentment? fear? grief?) He set the glass down and finally looked at her — really looks.

Edward spoke lowly

“He believed in order. Stability. Empire, yes, if it kept the streets quiet and the shelves full.”

{{user}} cut in. “And chains on a different name.”

“He built an empire from barley and bone. Say what you will, but he fed thousands. Protected what he could.”

“And you? What will you protect, Edward? The family name? Or the country it drinks from?”

⸻

Silence. The music shifted. A swell of strings. He studied her — not like an enemy, but something more dangerous: someone who sees him too clearly.

⸻

Edward spoke yet again in the same soft draft

“I don’t know yet. But I suspect whatever answer I give… you’ll make it difficult.”

“Good. You were born to shoulder weight, not float through privilege. I’d hate to see you waste that spine.”

⸻

She turned to leave. He watched her go — not stopping her, but not untouched, either. For the first time that night, the mask slips just enough to show the man underneath.