Chapter 95: An Audience With The Emperor

While Penelope was heading back, she ended up bumping into a figure who was also making her way briskly in the opposite direction.

The lady gasped softly as they collided, and the ornate velvet box she had been clutching slipped from her fingers, tumbling to the polished marble floor right between them with a sharp clacking sound.

“I am so sorry—” Penelope began, an instant apology already leaving her lips before she looked up and froze.

The woman standing before her was none other than Catherine, the very same lady she had briefly brushed past when she was first being escorted to the sapphire wing yesterday. Catherine, in turn, seemed equally caught off-guard, her eyes widening slightly as she recognized Penelope.

Both their gazes shifted to the fallen box resting near Penelope’s slippers.

Without hesitation, she crouched, carefully picking up the velvet case and rising to hand it back to her.

“I believe this is yours?” Penelope said, offering a warm, polite smile.

Catherine returned the smile, but her expression was stiff, strained, and visibly uncomfortable. Before Penelope could even ask if she was alright, Catherine abruptly snatched the box back, pulling it close to her chest like a guarded secret.

An uneasy silence settled between them, the lingering chill in Catherine’s demeanour cutting through the warm, bustling hall.

“Are… you alright?” Penelope asked, unable to stop herself. The few times she had crossed paths with this woman, she always seemed desperate to avoid her.

Thinking she might simply be a shy, soft-spoken noblewoman unaccustomed to strangers, Penelope took it upon herself to break the ice.

“It’s nice to meet you… again,” she said, maintaining her gentle, welcoming smile. “We always seem to run into each other. I’m Lady Penelope.”

Catherine blinked, staring at her in silence.

She took in the effortless sweetness of Penelope’s expression,a radiant smile that only highlighted her striking beauty.

A sharp pang of envy pierced Catherine’s heart.

Was this the smile she had used to win His Lordship over?

Was this the gentle facade she had used to capture the heart of the most sought-after man in the empire? Just the mere thought irritated her more than she was willing to admit.

“Lady Catherine,” she dropped, her tone clipped and devoid of warmth.

The name hung in the air, instantly dropping the temperature between them.

“Lady Catherine,” Penelope repeated softly, inclining her head with poised grace. “A pleasure to formally put a name to the face. But I mean it. You look exceptionally pretty.”

Catherine’s grip on the velvet box tightened until her knuckles turned pale beneath her sheer silk gloves. She looked at Penelope, at the radiant, unbothered elegance she possessed, and the effortless warmth in her eyes.

It irked Catherine to her core.

Alongside the compliment, it felt almost like a mockery to her, hearing the woman she had been rejected for say nice things to her.

Was this her way of flaunting?

For years, Lord Vincent Devereux had been an unapproachable, cold titan of the nobility, an untouchable bachelor whom no lady in the capital could even dream of nearing. Yet here she stood… his wife, glowing with the kind of quiet confidence that could only come from being genuinely cherished by him.

“I am the Duke’s sister,” Catherine replied coolly, forcing her chin up to meet Penelope’s gaze. “Though I doubt we shall have much occasion to run into each other after tonight, Lady Penelope. Capital society can be… quite overwhelming for those unaccustomed to its treacherous currents.”

“Is that so?” Penelope murmured calmly. “I find that as long as one keeps their eyes open and minds their footing, the currents are easily navigated. But… I truly appreciate the concern, Lady Catherine.”

Her earnest response only earned a tiny, bitter scoff from Catherine, who felt as though her subtle thorn had bounced harmlessly off armor. She simply clutched the box to her chest, took a step back, and gave a stiff curtsy.

“If you will excuse me, Lady Penelope. I have urgent matters to attend to before the banquet.”

Without waiting for a dismissal, Catherine turned on her heel and hurried down the corridor, her delicate slippers clicking softly against the polished marble as she practically fled from the hall.

Penelope stood in place, watching her retreat until Catherine’s figure completely disappeared around the corner. Only then did Penelope let out a long breath of relief, pressing a hand against her chest.

Her heart was beating just a little faster than usual.

Phew!

That was close!

She had actually spoken to Lady Catherine.

The fact that she had been bumping into the same woman Vincent had rejected before their king made her feel strangely uneasy.

No wonder the lady had been avoiding me, Penelope thought, a rueful half-smile touching her lips.

If she were to be entirely honest, she had expected an even worse encounter.

Judging by everything Martha had drilled into her head back at the Devereux estate regarding the social battlefield of the capital, and the lingering shadows of Vincent’s past suitors, she didn’t quite know whether to consider this brief exchange a victory or a warning.

Catherine’s presence wandering near the sapphire wing yesterday suddenly made complete, crystal-clear sense now.

Penelope couldn’t deny it: Up close, Lady Catherine truly was exceptionally gorgeous, with a refined, delicate beauty that fit right into the opulent halls of the Imperial Palace.

It was a shame, really. Under different circumstances, she might have enjoyed getting to know her. But with that burning flash of envy in Catherine’s eyes and her icy departure, it was glaringly obvious that the two of them would likely never get along.

Oh well.

Not like it mattered.

She still needed to find Vincent.

Refocusing her mind on the far more pressing threat, Penelope smoothed down her silk skirts, squared her shoulders, and turned back toward the sapphire wing with quick, deliberate steps.

She had barely taken three steps toward the wing when two tall Imperial Guards in gleaming gold-trimmed armor stepped into her path, their heavy polearms crossing with a sharp metallic clatter.It forced Penelope to stop in her tracks.

“Lady Penelope Devereux,” the lead guard announced, his voice low and devoid of emotion. “His Imperial Majesty requests your presence in the private solar immediately.”

Penelope stopped short, her eyes darting between the two stoic men. A wave of utter bafflement washed over her.

“My presence?” she asked, tilting her head in confusion. “Are you certain you do not mean my husband, Lord Vincent? He was summoned by imperial business not long ago—”

“His Imperial Majesty was explicit, my Lady,” the guard interrupted firmly, lowering his weapon just enough to gesture down the grand, restricted eastern wing. “He requested Lady Penelope. Alone.”

A cold prickle of unease settled at the base of Penelope’s neck.

He wants to see just her?

Why would the Emperor want a private audience with her?

Did she do something?

Vincent wasn’t with her either.

But… can she refuse?

No.

Her husband had made it clear that an Imperial summons wasn’t an invitation. It was a command. To refuse or hesitate was treason.

It just seemed strange that the Emperor would want to summon her alone.

Drawing in a slow, steadying breath, Penelope smoothed the front of her gown once more and lifted her chin with absolute composure.

“Lead the way,” she replied smoothly.

The guards turned in unison, flanking her as they navigated the heavy velvet-draped corridors leading to the Emperor’s private quarters.

It turned out to be another exhausting long walk.

The cheerful preparations for tonight’s banquet had become distant, and as they drew closer, the air grew thicker, heavy with the bitter scent of medicinal herbs and burning incense.

As the massive carved oak doors of the Emperor’s private solar loomed before her, Penelope steeled her heart. Whatever awaited her behind those doors, she would have to face it without Vincent by her side.

The heavy doors groaned on their brass hinges as the guards opened it, and it closed with a muted, authoritative thud that cut off the rest of the palace.

Penelope stepped into the dimly lit, sumptuously carpeted solar. The sharp, medicinal sting of bitter roots and pungent ointment hung thick in the air, barely masked by the sweet smoke of sandalwood incense.

At the far end of the room sat the ruler of the entire empire.

Despite looking weary, his presence was suffocatingly immense. His pale, withered face possessed the same sharp, unyielding structure, as the statues carved in his honor.

Even as she stepped forward to the center, the Emperor did not look up from his desk. He appeared occupied, considering he was holding a quill and writing on a parchment.

Taking a steadying breath, Penelope sank into a flawless, perfectly executed curtsy, lowering her head with utmost reverence.

“Your Imperial Majesty,” Penelope greeted, her voice remarkably steady despite the nervous knot in her stomach. “May the light of the empire ever shine upon your rule. I am deeply honored by your summons.”

Silence stretched in the room.

One second.

Three seconds.

Five.

The Emperor did not tell her to rise.

Penelope remained frozen in her deep curtsy, staring intently at the intricate pattern of the Persian rug beneath her slippers. It was taking so long her poor knees were already starting to tremble.

Was she supposed to rise?

Had she committed a grave breach of etiquette by speaking first?