Chapter Text
The gentle sounds of quiet and ultimately pointless conversation filled the night air. Royals from the two nations chatted and danced at the first ball of the social season. In the past, there had been a third nation that also engaged in the revelry, but that nation had since disappeared.
This left the other two kingdoms to mingle amongst themselves, talking about courtly gossip and trivial topics. One particular royal was sick of it.
Princess Niki of Desolis sighed as she asked about someone’s shoes for the third time in a row. She tried to remind herself of the merits of conversation, but it was hard to put up with this just for the sake of “political leverage”. She could only cheer silently when she was finally released from the tedious conversation.
Her pale gold dress gently swished on the wooden floor as she strolled over to her younger brother, Prince Tubbo. Tubbo was over by the table of refreshments, preferring to eat instead of talking to older and more pompous nobles. Niki knew that they should talk to other people, being a part of the royal family of Desolis and all, but for a few minutes she was happy to join her brother next to the plentiful pastries and appetizers.
“How are you enjoying the night?” she asked, grabbing a tart off the table.
The prince had his mouth full. “Ish no ah‘ful,” he said. Swallowing, he corrected himself. “It’s not awful. Not really great either.”
Princess Niki nodded. “You get used to it. Rather, you’re forced to get used to it, because this is what happens for the rest of the social season.”
“Nobody here is my age, though. I hate talking to people that are so much older than me. The SMP people are so weird.” Poor Tubbo was only 16, younger than most of the people gathered here.
Niki could empathize, remembering her first time at a social ball. “At least we’re not Eret, who has to talk to everyone. Especially King Dream.” She and Tubbo’s sibling, Eret, was the Monarch Regent, standing in for their ailing father. As the leading ruler for now, Eret was under more pressure than the other two siblings. Right now they were talking to two of the lords from the State of the Mincra People, more commonly abbreviated to SMP.
Prince Tubbo shuddered. “King Dream scares me. I know it’s custom for them and all, but why does he have to wear that mask? He’s so creepy!” Dream was the king of the SMP. Dressed in a green coat, the king wore a decorated green mask. It was custom for the royal family of the SMP to wear masks that covered the top half of their faces. This king preferred a simple white one, but he had others for formal occasions. Still, the lack of visible expression was unnerving.
“It is creepy, isn’t it? I can never tell what he’s thinking…”
“I’m glad I don’t have to be stuck in meetings with him. That’s father’s job… well, more Eret’s now, I guess…”
Niki brought the conversation back to the food. “How do you like the pastries?”
“You know, they’re really quite dry!”
On the other side of the ballroom, Lord Karl of the SMP excitedly talked about the upcoming jousting tournament.
“My friend in Drywaters runs it. Sir James of House Beast? You might have heard of him. He’s really rich but he gives his money away a lot. Anyways, it’s a tournament. Uh, so you joust against each other? And people bet money? It’s a lot of fun. I even think that King Dream and Duke Nicholas will compete.”
“King Dream will compete?” Eret raised an eyebrow, mildly surprised to see a king competing in a tournament.
“Yeah, he and Duke Nick have been talking about going at each other for ages. He might not look like it, but he loves to fight.”
“Really? Lord Punz, what do you think?”
The other noble, also from the SMP, looked up. “Hmm? Wouldn’t surprise me. His Majesty loves a good challenge.”
“Your Majesty, you haven’t explained your situation as Regent. Forgive me for prying, but I really want to know.” From his tone, it was obvious Karl had been wondering from the start.
“Ah, unfortunately, my father has taken ill and is currently unable to attend any events for this year. I am standing in for him while he recovers,” Eret sighed, not wanting to give too much away. They didn’t want Desolis to seem weak. Eret fixed their face in a neutral expression. In truth, they were worried about their father.
“Will he recover? Will he be fit to rule again?” Punz seemed like he was asking out of sincere worry, but a flash in his eyes betrayed the true meaning of his words. Is Desolis vulnerable right now?
“It is luckily not an illness of the mind, nor does it appear to be terminal,” the monarch answered smoothly.
“Good.”
Duke Quackity entertained a group of gathered nobles, regaling them with stories of a faraway land. He laughed and lifted a glass to his lips as he ranted about gangs, drugs, and muggings. The duke, who was from Desolis, was a master storyteller. His tales were full of action, drama, and heaping amounts of comedy. He began his next story, about when he parodied the king of the SMP and almost caused a diplomatic incident.
King Dream stood next to a window, looking at the blinking lights of the city outside. Drywaters was neutral ground, a place not controlled by any of the three kingdoms. The first ball of the social season, the time of year when the two kingdoms would get together for special events and meetings, was always held here. Dream thought about the days ahead. For the lesser nobles, this season was a time for mingling, good food, and parties. For the king, it meant a time of trade discussions, diplomacy, and politics. He hasn’t needed to worry about the safety or security of his country for a few years, but he still felt the twinges of anxiety. Luckily, the SMP had only Desolis to worry about in terms of competitors, and the two kingdoms were in a secure alliance.
He whirled around at the tap of his shoulder. His two companions, the dukes George and Nicholas, stood in front of him. The dukes were his closest friends and appointed advisors.
Duke George held two drinks in his hands and offered one to the king. Dream gratefully accepted, having forgotten to grab one while he was lost in thought.
“Cheers,” he said, and the trio toasted to a new season.
A note played, long and stretched out, from a violin. The first song of the night began, a bright composition that sounded like a summer breeze had blown across the instruments. A few nobles pranced in the middle of the ballroom. The sweet notes filled the warm summer air. When the song concluded, polite clapping filled the room. People set drinks and plates down, preparing to join the next dance. A classically formal routine. It was the same as every ball, and hardly anything changed, save for the occasional interruption of a toast.
The orchestra started playing a waltz, and nobles moved to either find partners or move off to the sides of the large ballroom. Shoes made clicking sounds on the hardwood floor, timed to the 1-2-3 rhythm of the music. Muffled words were exchanged on the outskirts, and occasionally the click of glasses could be heard. The orchestra kept up the swelling music. The music was quick, and regal, and nostalgic. It was a rhythm that had stood the test of time. Violins and cellos kept up the harmony as the practiced movements of royalty filled the center of the ballroom. Sound overwhelmed the guests as the steps and the instruments and the voices overflowed the ballroom.
Then it all fell silent.
The instruments and people stilled. Everyone turned to look at the door.
There stood five people, dressed in the royal colors of a kingdom that had not been seen for five years.
The Antarctic Empire had returned.