Awakening Love: Reborn to Be His Duchess Chapter 354: Prince's Toast

Alaric drew a slow breath and steadied himself.

He adjusted his robes, rose from his seat, and lifted his wine cup before offering a formal salute toward the imperial throne.

"Father."

Theodric looked down at him from above.

Alaric raised his head, his voice clear and resonant.

"Tonight's banquet has gathered many distinguished guests within Lyndor Hall. Music and dance fill the palace with celebration, and envoys from Nordia have traveled a great distance to join the occasion. Seeing such a scene fills me with pride."

He paused briefly, admiration appearing naturally on his face.

"In recent years, under Father's wise governance, Avenlor has enjoyed favorable seasons and lasting peace. The people live in prosperity, and the realm stands strong. Your Majesty's authority reaches far beyond our borders, drawing nations from across the world to pay tribute. Even Nordia now sends envoys seeking friendship and alliance. Such a flourishing age exists only because of Father's tireless dedication to the kingdom."

He raised his cup high.

"I firmly believe that under Father's leadership, Avenlor will continue to prosper and stand strong for generations. The people of the realm will live forever in peace and stability. Though I am unworthy, I offer this cup to wish Father enduring health and blessings. And I offer it to our great kingdom, may its glory last for ten thousand generations!"

The speech rang with grand momentum. Listening from her seat, Elowen thought privately that it contained little of substance.

It was, essentially, an extravagant display of flattery. But Theodric clearly enjoyed it.

When he looked at Alaric, a satisfied smile appeared on his face. The resemblance between Theodric and Cassian suddenly struck Elowen.

The two brothers were remarkably alike.

Both of them enjoyed praise.

Whenever Elowen complimented Cassian a little, the corners of his mouth nearly stretched to his ears.

And now Theodric, after hearing only a few flattering words from Alaric, was already in high spirits.

Besides, tonight was Christmas Eve. On such a joyful occasion, auspicious words were always welcome.

"Good! Well said!"

Theodric laughed heartily and lifted his golden cup.

"For Alaric to possess such insight pleases me greatly. Prosperity for the realm and peace for the people are precisely what I desire. Come, all of you. Drink with me and Alaric. Let us toast to Avenlor's enduring strength!"

The assembled officials immediately echoed in unison.

"We offer our congratulations to Your Majesty and His Highness! May Avenlor stand strong forever!"

The hall burst into lively celebration.

Amid the chorus of praise, Alaric drained his cup in a single swallow, a faint curve forming at the corner of his mouth.

He knew the performance had worked.

Once the Christmas passed, his period of confinement would naturally come to an end.

"Sit," Theodric said with a smile.

"Thank you, Father."

Before sitting down, Alaric's gaze drifted toward Elowen.

When Theodric had called for everyone to drink, Cassian had remained seated in his wheelchair.

Elowen, however, had risen.

As she moved to sit again, Cassian turned slightly and naturally steadied her arm.

Elowen did not resist.nAfter settling back into her seat, she even turned toward him with a small smile.

The sight struck Alaric like a spark landing on dry timber.

Jealousy exploded through him in an instant. That smile used to belong to him.

What right does Cassian have to it?

Alaric sat down. A servant refilled his cup.

He tilted his head back and drained it in one swallow. The wine burned down his throat, and his mind cooled slightly.

Elowen could never truly care about Cassian.

With so many eyes on them, she simply has no choice but to put on a show, playing the part of a devoted wife.

It doesn't matter. I've already pleased Father tonight.

Soon enough, Elowen will leave Cassian, that broken man, behind and come back to me.

After another round of wine, the performance of music and dance began to draw to a close.

The melodies softened, then faded entirely as the dancers bowed and withdrew.

For a brief moment, the hall fell into unexpected silence.

Theodric frowned slightly and was about to speak.

At that moment, Byron, Nordia's deputy envoy, rose from his seat and offered a respectful bow.

"Your Majesty, please allow me to report. Our Fifth Princess of Nordia, Flowira, wishes to present a sword dance to entertain Your Majesty and the honored guests."

Daphne's head snapped up.

This is it. The real highlight of the evening.

"Oh?" Theodric sounded intrigued. "Flowira can perform a sword dance?"

Byron replied, "Nordians excel in riding and archery, as well as the blade. But tonight is a night of celebration. Princess Flowira sets aside the battlefield's steel and turns it into a dance, as a wish for lasting peace and friendship between our two realms."

Theodric nodded with interest. "Excellent."

The palace musicians fell silent, replaced by the deep rhythm of drums that rose gradually through the hall.

With each beat echoing against the marble floor, Flowira stepped into Lyndor Hall.

She had clearly prepared carefully for the occasion.

Her attire carried the bold character of Nordian fashion.

Her upper garment was fitted and tailored from deep red brocade. Below, layered trousers and flowing panels of embroidered silk formed a sweeping skirt, the fabric stitched with silver and gold threads that depicted wolves racing across the plains.

Her long hair was braided into several narrow plaits adorned with turquoise and silver ornaments, all gathered high behind her head, leaving her forehead clear and proud.

Flowira held an ornate curved blade in both hands. The sheath glittered with red and blue gemstones.

She stopped before the imperial dais.

Without drawing attention to the gesture, she cast a quick glance toward the Duchess of Duskmoor seated nearby.

Then she placed her right hand over her chest and bowed deeply according to Nordian custom, her movement crisp and powerful, without a trace of the delicate softness expected of most noblewomen.