The planning of Regis' birthday celebration went along largely without his knowledge or intervention. He knew only what date it was to take place on and that, after several polite discussions, the council had turned over the planning to Grand Duchess Lavian Antares, who had immediately enlisted the help of Weskham. Wes, at least, had the good sense not to ask Regis' advice on any details. He also wisely decided not to share any. Some scattered conversations were sufficient to assure Regis that suitable attire was being arranged for Noctis, Reina, and Crea, and beyond that he had very little interest in the entire subject.

The month passed with very little note. Accordo's people were still stirring in discontent, but the council was beginning to give up hope that it would ever develop into more than that; their two operatives were still safely undercover, and that was the important part. Niflheim was disconcertingly quiet. One or two of the council half-halfheartedly suggested an attempt to infiltrate the empire and determine what they were up to, but the idea never took root. The wheels were set in motion for moving the young Ignis Scientia into the Citadel, but it was postponed until after the birthday celebration. At least no one had tried to return to the subject of the heir.

On the morning of Regis' 33rd birthday, he breakfasted alone and in his own room, as he most often did, these days. The dining room had been put to use but a handful of times in the past three years. Regardless of how accustomed Regis became to her absence, it was never enjoyable to eat alone at an empty table. He might have gone down to the main hall to take his meals with the court—and sometimes he did—but that morning he preferred to avoid the crowds as much as possible while he still could. Besides, the main hall would be busy in preparation for the night's event.

He spent the day fitting in as much of his regularly scheduled tasks as possible before he was inevitably called away. He was doing a tolerable job keeping the pace Cor set for him in the mornings, which at least made him feel a little less old, even on a day designed to remind him how old he was growing.

It was just past three in the afternoon. Strictly speaking, he should have returned to his rooms by then to prepare, but someone would come by and pull him away from his work before it was too late. He had a small pile of proposals to sift through and whatever he didn't finish this afternoon would only be added to tomorrow's schedule.

At three-thirty, Avunculus arrived. "Sire, an hour and a half remains before the ball begins…"

Regis glanced at the clock over the mantle, making a sound of acknowledgement, but not setting aside his work.

"I do believe you were expected upstairs half an hour ago, Your Majesty," Avun ventured after a moment.

Regis sighed. "Very well."

And he waved Avun away, buying for himself a sliver of postponement in that way. He stretched it another thirty minutes. Avunculus was never going to return and remind him of the time; he wasn't a timid man, but he also knew his place very well.

He would, however, remind Weskham of the time, trusting that Wes would see to the rest.

He did, of course.

There was hardly a pause between the knock and the door opening. Weskham stuck his head in first, found Regis still at his desk without intent to rise, and entered fully, shutting the door quietly behind him.

"Regis." He came to stand in front of Regis' desk. Then he stood in silence until Regis put down his pen and looked up. "I realize that you don't want to attend. But, given that we've already told everyone you will, I'd like to think you will do me the courtesy of not embarrassing me in front of the entire kingdom by failing to attend your own birthday party."

Regis sighed. "I shall not leave you explaining to all my guests that the king chose not to attend. But I do have an hour and I must finish this."

"It isn't going to walk off your desk if you leave it alone," Weskham said. "It will take me an hour to make you presentable."

"I am presentable!"

Weskham gave him a long-suffering look.

"Oh, very well." Regis stacked his papers and rose. "But I shall dock your pay for each minute that I am early."

"Gods forbid that you be early." Weskham ushered him out and fell into step beside him.

"You have been spending far too much time with Clarus," Regis said.

"Sire, long-suffering and patient I may be. But I challenge you to face a month of the grand duchess breathing down your neck and come out the other side with your patience intact."

"You make a good argument," Regis said. He didn't complain for the rest of the evening. At least not to Weskham.

Regis let Weskham deal with him however he deemed suitable. Truthfully, Regis could not tell the difference when Wes was through with him. Yes, his beard was trimmed, he had not a hair out of place, and all the creases on his clothes lined up, but exactly who was going to notice any of those things?

They left his rooms together and encountered no small amount of activity in Reina and Noctis' room on their way out. Regis paused in the doorway, looking in.

The only time it was quiet in their rooms was the dead of night. Just now, classical music was playing over the stereo (they had moved on from Petrus and the Coeurl at last, thank the Gods), Reina was singing along, undeterred by the lack of words, Noctis was screaming from the other room, one of his nannies was calling after him, and Crea was sitting in the midst of everything, looking both impatient and harried as a maid laced her into her dress.

Reina saw him first. She was already in her new dress—a satin bodice and a fluffy skirt, reminiscent of a ballerina but much too long for that sort of dancing, all in black as befitted her station and bloodline—but her hair still hung loose around her shoulders. Nevertheless, she smiled brightly up at him.

"Daddy! It's your birthday!"

Crea flinched as if struck and turned toward the door, earning a rebuke from her maid. "Your Majesty—! Are we that late?"

"No, but I may be early."

Weskham had stopped as well—though he was a few steps down the hall. He was impatient to be downstairs, but resigned to the fact that Regis was never walking out without his children, now that he had crossed paths with them.

"Well, if you could just keep walking and pretend you never spotted what my nursery looks like in complete and utter disarray, that would be lovely," Crea said.

Noctis ran through in the opposite direction, holding a toy car, which, for some reason, was flying and blowing raspberries. He stopped long enough to shout "Hi, Daddy!" before carrying on.

"Your Highness, please! We must comb your hair!" His nanny followed.

Crea deflated. "Too late."

Regis laughed and stepped into the nursery. "To be perfectly honest, I am almost relieved to discover you are not, in fact, omnipotent."

"Oh well," Crea said. "I had you convinced for three years. This is your fault, you know. This is what happens when you make me get all dressed up, too. He knows he can get away with it and I can't chase him down."

"All finished, Miss Vinculum."

"Thank the Gods." Crea rose from her seat, took a step in the direction of the bathroom—where Noctis was still shouting—and then stopped herself. "I can't chase him down, anyway. I hate dresses. How did I let you talk me into this?"

She rounded on Regis, but he couldn't even begin to feel contrite. The last dress he had seen her in had been lovely, but this one had been made for her. While it was just possible to forget that any sort of artistic talent was required by the Citadel tailors when the only products of their labor he witnessed were iterations of the same suit he had always worn, more or less, he was struck now by how much effort must have gone into the design. It was a dusky blue gown, floor-length, with minuscule crystals in the top and a half-way sheer skirt. Beyond that, he didn't have the words to describe such a dress, save that she looked an entirely different person, wearing it. That might have been part the dress, and part the makeup and hair, but whatever it was, it had him practically staring at her.

He averted his gaze as rapidly as he could manage and hoped she hadn't noticed.

"How can I help?" He asked.

The raspberry-blowing car was back. Noctis narrowly missed crashing it into Regis' knee.

"You can start by catching that and holding him at least long enough to get his shoes on. Preferably until his hair is combed, as well," Crea said. "Reina, come here, little princess. Let's do your hair."

Regis had no objections. Weskham very nearly did, but in the end he merely stood in the doorway and resigned himself to the fact that Regis' perfect hair might be slightly less perfect by the time he was through with Noctis.

It took the better part of ten minutes to finish getting Noctis dressed. Afterward, Regis distracted him while they waited for Crea to finish with Reina's hair. By the time everyone was ready, they were certainly late. Regis had no regrets about that—Weskham did, but he kept them to himself, only stopping them for a moment so that he could fix Regis' hair again and straighten his suit. It had almost certainly been straight before.

They left together, all five of them. Or, more accurately, Reina and Noctis raced down the hall while Regis, Crea, and Weskham followed behind. The twins didn't get very far ahead; they still couldn't reach the button for the elevator. But, after they had all stepped inside and ridden the lift to the lower levels, the little ones did startle the Crownsguards standing outside when they bolted out of the elevator and down the main Citadel hall.

"And we'll never see them again," Crea said.

Regis sighed. He lifted his voice and called after them, "Noctis. Reina. Stay where I can see you."

Reina halted immediately. Noctis slowed and turned a moment after, retracing his steps back to his sister.

"Okay!" Reina said.

Noctis ducked behind her, doing his best to make himself unseen, as if that meant he was free from any promises his sister gave.

And that was his children in so few actions: Reina, following instructions to the letter on the first asking, and Noctis, testing to see exactly how far he could stretch the rules before he met with repercussions. It was fascinating to witness such different personalities forming in children who were otherwise so close together.

Crea was looking at him oddly.

"Have I done something?" He asked.

"I was just thinking how much better they behave for you than anyone on my staff," she said.

"I thought I might flex my muscles and force them to behave, since I have coerced you into a dress." He offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

She hesitated for only a heartbeat before taking it.

"And here I have not even told you how nice you look in it," Regis said. "How rude of me."

"Don't make it worse."

"I mean every word!"

She made a face at him and he spotted the young woman underneath the custom dress and artful makeup. She dropped her gaze and stared ahead. They walked more slowly than usual; he suspected it was because she was unused to her shoes and skirt.

"You look nice, too," she said quietly.

"I look the same as ever."

"No you don't." She looked up at him. "Weskham's doing, I bet."

Weskham inclined his head. Regis shook his. He looked exactly the same.

They managed to catch up with Reina and Noctis before reaching the main hall. The doors were thrown wide open and the lively murmur of a sizable crowd drifted out from inside. The Crownsguards at the door bowed as they approached, but Weskham insisted on tugging Regis' suit straight one more time and rearranging everyone before they entered. He scooped up Reina and pushed her into Regis' arms, and managed to catch Noctis before he wandered in by himself. Evidently it would not do for Regis to enter with Crea on his arm; instead he held Reina in one arm and Noctis' hand on his other side. Crea and Weskham entered behind.

So far as Regis could tell, the room looked much the same as ever, save that it wasn't usually so full of people. From the main doors, the hall swept left and right nearly as far as the eye could see. Like most of the Citadel, it was tiled in black marble and accented in stone columns, around which peeked statues of gold. The ceiling rose high enough overhead that the one room took up two stories of space. Most of it was unused; save for the space occupied by the crystal chandeliers none of that second story was in functional. One long table of polished ebony stretched the full length of the room. On the near wall, sideboards ran the full length; on the far wall they were broken in places because the wall itself opened between pillars to allow guests into the ballroom, later, for dancing.

Dancing. They were expecting him to dance, weren't they? Well they could eat that hope right now; he had agreed to attend and be polite. Nothing in Clarus' advice included dancing with whatever courtiers the council and the Grand Duchess had arranged to throw at him. He had no interest.

No sooner had they entered than the attendant on the door was crying out, "His Royal Majesty, King Regis Lucis Caelum the One Hundred Thirteenth. Their Royal Highnesses, Princess Reina Lucis Caelum and Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum."

A hush fell over the room. It was all the more uncanny for the fact that there must have been five hundred people present. Clarus, who stood beside the door, turned toward him. The look on his face said he was not pleased that Regis was a few minutes late. To be fair, Regis wasn't sure exactly how late they were.

The silence was punctuated by the sound of five hundred people rising from their seats, more or less at once. Noctis and Reina both stared wide-eyed around the room. For all that the entire city knew their names and faces, they had scarcely ever seen such a crowd before.

"Your Majesty." Avunculus stepped from the long line of attendants that stretched down the hall on either side. With swift efficiency he had the three of them seated: Regis' chair was easily the tallest in the room, directly in the center of the table. Reina and Noctis were seated to his right with Crea beyond them. In spite of how pale and tight-lipped she had grown, Regis could not spare a moment to speak to her. He was too occupied with what sat across from him to even glance at anyone who sat beside him.

Traditionally, the king and queen sat in the center of the table on opposite sides. Rather than change the chair and fill that place with someone else, they had left her chair vacant. Directly across from him. He squeezed his eyes shut, briefly, steeling himself for a long night of staring down that reminder. But this was his birthday and every titled courtier in the city was in attendance. He would put on the front that they all expected to see.

Conversation resumed when all were seated once more. Regis averted his gaze from the empty chair across from his and glanced to his right, where Reina was staring at her reflection in the gold service plate and Crea was talking Noctis out of tasting all of his shiny silverware. They never failed to bring the smile back to his face.

Beyond them, the table was arranged vaguely according to rank—among other complicated considerations that Regis never had to worry about. A few seats down on his right, past Crea, Cor and, a little farther down, Weskham sat; across the table on what would have been Aulea's right were Clarus and his wife Fidelia. And to Regis' left was—

His breath stuck in his chest. For a moment he swore he was looking at a ghost: black hair with a shine like ice on a frozen pond, azure eyes to outshine all of her jewels, and a pair of delicately curved lips the color of pink roses. Then his brain began to work once more and he noted the differences. Her nose was a touch longer, her chin a little sharper, and her cheeks not so hollow.

But she still looked like Aulea.

If the grand duchess was still in Lucis tomorrow morning, he was having her executed. And Weskham as well. How could he possibly have thought this would be acceptable? Had Regis not made it perfectly clear that he had no intention of replacing Aulea? And yet, they had dug up some young woman who looked as much like her as possible and sat her right beside him as if—

Across the table, Clarus' expression said that he, at least, had not been privy to this information before tonight. Regis had half a mind to stand up and walk out then and there. Except he had coerced Crea into coming and he wasn't going to leave her here alone. Gods damn it. He should never have agreed in the first place.

As the first course came, the grand duchess appeared to ensure that introductions were made. Only a lifetime of sitting in difficult situations kept him from snapping at her. The young woman's name was Perfida Fallo, the duchess said, and she came with a long list of accolades, which Regis didn't listen to, along with connections to not one but multiple larger businesses in the city. Regis kept his word to Clarus. He was polite. That was the most that could be said for his dinner conversation.

It took more self control as the night went on. The Lady Fallo held none of the reverence for him that most did on their first encounter and beyond; at first that merely grated on him. He liked to think he wasn't the sort of king who required his people to grovel before him at every opportunity, but his permissiveness had its limits. She spoke to him as if they had known each other for years: the celebration was all a waste, she informed him casually, a whole lot of pomp for so little purpose when they could have so easily spent the money on something else; she hated being on display like this and—begging his pardon, but—everyone's attention really was focused on the center of the table, wasn't it? However did he tolerate this all the time?

The nagging feeling of irritation grew throughout the first course and into the second until he realized precisely what it was that troubled him.

She didn't just look like Aulea. She was attempting to act like Aulea. As if someone, somewhere in his history, had observed his wife leaning over and sharing empathetic whispers with him, but had missed the important fact that he had known Aulea since he was five. If Aulea joked that Clarus' hair was going grey it was affectionate and amusing. If a stranger did the same thing, it was insulting. But nothing was quite as insulting as the fact that someone, whether the Lady Fallo or the grand duchess or someone else entirely, had thought it would be a good plan to try and make a carbon copy of Aulea and slip her in beside him as if he wouldn't notice she wasn't his wife.

And that crossed any restrictions he had placed on himself when he agreed to this entire debacle. If any on the council believed they could manipulate him so easily, they were sorely mistaken. And he meant to show it.

He motioned for Avunculus, who was standing behind him against the wall. Avun was at his elbow in an instant.

"Avun, we require some modification in the seating arrangements," Regis said. "Lady Fallo feels uncomfortable in the center of attention. Let us have her seated down with the grand duchess; Princess Reina will have the place on my left, instead."

Lady Fallo openly gaped at him. Even Avun raised his eyebrows, shocked that Regis would ask for such a change in the middle of the meal. But he also understood that Regis would never have asked if he did not intend for it to be done, and immediately.

"Of course, Your Majesty. Allow me to see to the arrangements." Avun bowed. "My lady, if you would accompany me."

She was left with very little choice but to do so; after complaining about her position, she could hardly retrace her steps. Regis took a perverse satisfaction in watching realization settle on her features.