Liam, however, seemed unimpressed.
He chewed the corner of a soft cloth toy, blinked at the candles, and occasionally tossed peas onto the floor with deep concentration.
The only person he truly reacted to was someone standing near the wall.
A maid.
Young, plain in her black uniform and white apron, holding a folded napkin in her hands.
Her name was Elena.
At least, that was what Alexander remembered from the household staff list.
She had joined the mansion six months ago, after Mrs. Whitman’s death. Quiet. Efficient. Never late. Never noticed.
Except by Liam.
Every time Elena passed behind his chair, Liam’s eyes followed her.
When she poured water, he smiled.
When she adjusted the curtain away from the candle flame, he giggled softly.
Alexander frowned.
He had seen it before, hadn’t he?
Liam reaching toward her in the nursery corridor.
Liam calming when she sang under her breath while folding laundry.
Liam falling asleep once while she stood outside the door humming a tune so faint Alexander had thought it came from memory.
A tune Clara used to sing.
His hand tightened around his glass.
No.
That was impossible.
The dinner dragged on.
Then came the moment that shattered everything.
Liam suddenly placed both tiny hands on the edge of his high chair tray.
He leaned forward.
His little face scrunched with determination.
One of the servants gasped.
Alexander turned sharply.
“Liam?”
The baby pushed himself upright.
His knees wobbled.
His tiny legs trembled beneath him.
For weeks, Liam had tried to walk. He had fallen onto cushions, crawled angrily, cried into Alexander’s shoulder, then tried again. But now, beneath the chandelier’s golden glow, he balanced himself with both arms lifted.
The room froze.
Alexander slowly stood, every breath trapped in his throat.
“My boy…” he whispered.
Liam took one step.
Small.
Unsteady.
Miraculous.
Then another.
Alexander’s eyes burned.
For a second, he forgot the dinner, the women, the empire, the watching servants. He forgot everything except the impossible beauty of his son moving forward on his own.
“My brave boy,” he breathed.
But the three women saw opportunity before they saw wonder.
Sofia rose first, her emerald dress shimmering as she knelt gracefully on the marble.
“Come here, sweetheart,” she said, opening her arms.
Amelia quickly moved beside her, eyes shining with carefully arranged tears.
“Come to me, my darling.”
Isabella laughed softly, tilting her head.
“Over here, little prince.”
Alexander’s expression hardened.
Little prince.
Clara would have hated that.
Liam stopped.
His curls bounced as he looked at the three women.
Three smiling faces.
Three open arms.
Three futures being offered to him like gifts wrapped in perfume and silk.
For one breath, the entire room waited.
Even the candles seemed still.
Then Liam turned away.
Not toward Isabella.
Not toward Sofia.
Not toward Amelia.
He turned toward the wall.
Toward the quiet maid holding a napkin.
Elena went pale.
“No,” she whispered.
Liam took one shaky step toward her.
Then another.
The room fell into a silence so sharp it felt like glass.
Isabella’s smile vanished.
Sofia’s arms froze.
Amelia’s lips parted.
Alexander stopped breathing.
Because Liam was walking straight to Elena.
The maid did not move. Her eyes filled with tears so fast they spilled before she could hide them.
“Liam,” she whispered, barely audible.
The child laughed.
Not babbled.
Laughed.
A bright, delighted sound that pierced the cold mansion like sunlight breaking through locked doors.
Then Liam stumbled forward and reached for her.
Elena dropped to her knees just in time to catch him.
She wrapped her arms around him with instinctive tenderness, not performance, not calculation. Her face crumpled as she pressed him to her chest.
“My little star,” she whispered.
Alexander’s blood turned cold.
That phrase.
Clara’s phrase.
Clara had called Liam that every night.
My little star.
No one knew that.
No one except Alexander.
And Clara.
The room erupted in whispers.
Isabella stood abruptly. “What is this?”
Sofia slowly lowered her hands, her expression unreadable.
Amelia looked from Elena to Alexander, then to Liam, as if calculating how quickly the evening was collapsing.