Just some angsty fic for our dear Gilbert...
After you left
The palace bells tolled low and slow, their sound rolling across the capital like a held breath. White roses filled the cathedral from floor to altar, their pale petals soft against the cold marble, as if the empire itself had been draped in mourning. Not a single color dared intrudeโonly white, pure and merciless, the color of farewell.
At the center lay Emmaโs coffin, carved from ebony and trimmed in silver filigree.Upon it rested a crown she would never wear again. The scent of roses hung thick in the air, sweet and suffocating, clinging to every whispered prayer and bowed head.
The foreign princes watched him and Gilbert could feel their quiet glances, the unspoken disbelief lingering behind carefully schooled expressions. They stood among the black-clad nobility, heirs and rulers from distant nations, drawn here by duty and curiosity alike.
An empress and possibly the emperorโs only weakness, had died young. They had expected a spectacle and were disappointed.
Gilbert neither bowed his head low nor did he tremble at the sight of his wife's coffin. His face remained composed, unreadable, with hands steady at his sides. To the attendees, itย looked like indifference. Like steel.
Like a man untouched by grief.
That was Gilbert's intention. As much as he was furious about this whole affair, appearances must still be kept. After all, he was the emperor of Obsidian, also known as the worldwide disaster.ย He stared at the coffin in front of him and laid a white rose on it.
In Obsidian,ย 'the more gemstones decorated at your funeral, the more loved you are'. However, Gilbert had dismissed the Obsidianite tradition since he knew that Emma would have preferred the roses, for they were part of her birthplace and she would have been happier with those.
Happier.
Was she really happy?
Gilbert smiled sardonically, though it never reached his eye. She had given up on her peaceful life in Rhodolite to be with him here. The same woman who had betrayed him by abandoning him.
Oh how he hated her.
Hated her for leaving him with an empire that suddenly felt too vast.
Hated her for dying so quickly, as if slipping away were as simple as turning the page of one of her beloved novels.
Hated her for making him realize, too late, that he had grown too used to her presence.
The rose in his hand trembled, just slightly.
Gilbert tightened his grip until the stem bit into his glove.
Pathetic.
He had survived all the wars, assassination attempts, and even betrayals from within his own bloodline. He had watched nations burn and smiled through the ashes. Yet here he stood, before a coffin, with the sickening realization that the only person who had ever looked at him without fear was now nothing more than an absence wrapped in silk and silver.
It was as if he was back to his young pathetic self once again and it nauseated him.
Behind him, the cathedral remained heavy with silence. A stifled inhale, caught too sharply, was followed by a shaky breath that broke the silence.
Gilbertโs blood red eye flickered to the side.
Robert.
His son stood rigidly beside him, shoulders locked as though he could hold himself together by sheer will. The Crown Prince wore black, his gloves immaculate, and his hair that was the exact shade of his father's were combed neatly into place. He looked every inch the heir of Obsidian.
His eyes were red from the grief he was swallowing whole.
Robertโs jaw clenched. His crimson gaze remained fixed on the coffin as though looking away would mean losing his mother twice.His fingers were twitched at his side, trying his best not to cry.
Gilbert watched him for a moment longer than necessary.
The nobles behind them did not move. They were waiting, as predators didโwaiting for the Crown Prince to falter, waiting for the Obsidian imperial line to reveal weakness.
Waiting for something they could remember.
Something they could use against him.
Gilbert exhaled slowly.
He stepped closer to Robert, and with a single smooth motion, he swept his cape outward. The dark fabric fell like a curtain, shielding the boy from the eyes of the attendees.
Gilbert leaned down slightly, voice low enough so that only his son could hear.
โYou may cry.โ
Robertโs throat bobbed as he swallowed. โIโฆ Iโm fine.โ
A lie. A pitiful one.
Gilbertโs smile remained faint, almost amused.
โYou are not fine,โ he said softly. โAnd you do not need to be.โ
Robertโs hands trembled at his words. His breath hitched. betraying him again.
Gilbert straightened.Then, without raising his voice, he spoke to the masses.
โLet it be known,โ he said with a smile that exuded bloodlust, โthat any individual who dares to comment on my sonโs grief will be executed, royalty or not.โ
Hidden behind the black veil of Gilbertโs cape, Robert finally broke.
His shoulders shook, quiet at first before trembling harder as tears spilled down his face. He pressed his fist to his mouth, trying to silence himself, and to remain dignified.
But dignity did not matter here.
Certainly not in front of his mother.
Gilbert simply stood still, allowing Robert to lean into the darkness of his cloak, and the one luxury he was not granted as a boy.
Weakness.
Gilbertโs gaze returned to Emmaโs coffin.The crown upon it gleamed faintly in the candlelight, mocking him.He wondered if she could hear the bells.
If she could see Robert's small form as he cried.
If she would be satisfied, knowing she had left behind something fragile and precious in a world built to crush it.
Gilbertโs fingers curled around the edge of his cape.
You selfish woman, he thought bitterly.
โฆYou should have stayed.
Behind him, Robertโs sobs slowly faded into shallow breaths, exhaustion overtaking him
He stood beside his son, black cape draped like a shadow over the Crown Prince of Obsidian, and stared at the white roses that Emma had chosen even in death.
Roses that did not belong in Obsidian.
Just like her.
Just like the warmth she had brought into a palace made of ice.
