In the Volkshalle, April 19th, 1938.
Alexander was in his bedchamber, donned in a velvet bathrobe that draped elegantly over his broad shoulders. The morning light filtered through the heavy curtains, casting a soft glow over the room's opulent decor.
Alexander moved to the wardrobe, where a team of male attendants awaited him. They stood respectfully, holding various formal outfits, each meticulously selected for the occasion. The meeting with the diplomatic envoy from the Kingdom of Zambesi was a significant event, one that required a display of both authority and elegance.
The attendants began presenting the outfits, one by one, each accompanied by a brief description of its design and significance. Alexander observed them silently, his discerning eye quickly assessing the suitability of each option. His standards were exacting; he knew the power of first impressions and the subtle messages that attire could convey.
Finally, his gaze settled on an ensemble that immediately struck a chord with him. It was a pristine white suit, immaculately tailored, with a waistcoat that added an extra layer of sophistication. The outfit exuded a sense of control and refinement, perfectly aligned with the image Alexander wished to project. The attendants quickly moved to assist him, expertly dressing him in the chosen attire.
As the final touches were made, Alexander glanced at himself in the full-length mirror. The suit fit him like a glove. But—as the attendant was about to fix the collar, something within Alexander snapped. His hand shot out, gripping the attendant's wrist with a force that startled the young man. The grip was tight, almost painful, and the room seemed to grow colder in that instant.
A bitter memory flooded Alexander's mind. He was no longer in the Volkshalle, no longer the composed and powerful leader of Valoria. Instead, he was back in that darkened room, years ago. He remembered the moment vividly—the feel of Prince Theodore's hands around his throat, squeezing the life out of him as if he wanted to kill him.
The terror, the helplessness, and the burning humiliation all surged back with a vengeance.
In the memory, Theodore's face was twisted with rage, his grip tightening as he hissed words that still echoed in Alexander's mind. "You are nothing like us. You don't belong here bastard."
"Sir?!"
At that moment, Julieanne entered the room and saw the scene unfolding before her. Alexander's grip on the attendant's wrist was unnervingly tight. The attendant stood frozen, his eyes wide with fear and confusion, not daring to move.
Julieanne's eyes widened in shock, quickly assessing the situation. She had seen Alexander in many moods, but this was different. There was a darkness in his expression, something far more intense than the usual calculated demeanor he displayed.
"Your Excellency!" she called out, her voice firm but laced with concern. She stepped forward, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. "Let him go."
The touch and the sound of her voice snapped Alexander out of the bitter memory. His eyes refocused on the present, and he blinked as if just realizing where he was. He released the attendant's wrist abruptly, the young man stumbling back a step, cradling his hand with a look of bewildered relief.
Alexander's face softened, the hard lines of his expression easing as he took a deep breath. He turned to Julieanne, his gaze meeting hers. For a moment, there was a flicker of vulnerability, quickly masked by the stoic composure he was known for.
"Julieanne," he said.
"I… apologize for that." He glanced at the attendant, who was still trembling slightly, before turning his gaze back to Julieanne. "I lost myself for a moment."
Julieanne offered him a small, reassuring smile, though her eyes remained concerned. "It's all right, Your Excellency. What happened?"
Alexander took another deep breath, steadying himself before he responded.
"It was nothing. Just... an old memory," he said.
Julieanne studied him for a moment, her concern deepening. She knew better than to press him when he was like this, but she couldn't ignore the intensity of what she had just witnessed. This was something deeper, more personal.
"Your Excellency," she began carefully, "if there's anything you need to discuss, or if there's anything troubling you, you know I'm here."
Alexander turned away from the mirror, his gaze now fixed on the ornate carvings of the wardrobe. "I appreciate your concern, Julieanne," he replied, his tone softening slightly. "But this is something that you shouldn't worry about."
Alexander straightened his posture, his expression regaining its usual composure. "For now, let's focus on the meeting," he said, his tone resolute. "The envoy from Zambesi will arrive shortly, and we cannot afford any distractions."
Julieanne nodded, understanding that this was as much a command as it was a dismissal of the topic.
"Of course, Your Excellency. Everything has been arranged according to your instructions. The reception hall is prepared, and the diplomatic staff is in place. All that remains is your presence."
Alexander took one final look in the mirror, smoothing down his suit and adjusting his cufflinks with precision. The earlier moment of vulnerability was already receding into the depths of his mind, replaced by the steely determination that had become his hallmark.
The memory of Theodore would not control him; it would serve only as a reminder of what he had overcome and what he still needed to achieve.
"Very well," Alexander said, turning to face Julieanne. "Let's not keep our guests waiting any longer."
With that, he strode towards the door, his footsteps echoing softly on the polished floor. Julieanne followed closely behind, her concern still lingering but her focus now on the task at hand. As they made their way through the corridors of the Volkshalle, the staff they passed bowed or curtsied, their respect for Alexander evident in every gesture.
The grand doors to the reception hall loomed ahead, and with a nod from Alexander, they were opened by the attendants stationed there. Inside, the hall was a masterpiece of Valorian architecture, with high ceilings, intricate moldings, and grand chandeliers casting a warm glow over the polished marble floors.
A murmur of conversation filled the room, but it hushed almost immediately as Alexander entered. Whatever happens here soon, will go down in history as this is where they'll receive the first foreign diplomat.