Chapter 89: The Royal Family Wants to See Me?
The invitation was opened that same afternoon.
Nobody in the office moved.
The golden seal lay broken beside the envelope while Ernest carefully unfolded the thick cream-colored paper. The handwriting was elegant and precise, each stroke of ink betraying the work of an expensive scribe.
He read the contents once.
Then again.
Then a third time.
Hollen’s patience finally broke.
"Well?"
Ernest looked up.
"It’s an invitation."
"I can see that."
The older man pointed at the paper.
"Read it."
Ernest cleared his throat.
"’By order of His Majesty’s Household, Master Ernest Teucher is cordially invited to attend the Royal Palace of Belfast in two weeks’ time. His Majesty’s family wishes to personally receive the founder of Helmarte Machine Works and co-owner of Helmarte Soap Works.’"
The room became quiet.
One clerk’s pen slipped from his hand.
Another forgot to breathe.
Hollen simply stared.
"The royal family wants to meet you."
"Apparently."
"You."
"Yes."
"The fourteen-year-old who accidentally turned soap into a national industry."
Ernest laughed.
"I prefer intentionally."
The older man ignored him.
The royal family.
Not a minister.
Not a guild official.
Not a tax collector.
The royal family itself.
The implications were enormous.
After several moments, Hollen stood.
"We have a problem."
"What?"
"You have no idea how to behave around royalty."
That smile immediately disappeared from Ernest’s face.
Actually...
That was true.
He knew how to negotiate contracts.
He knew how to build factories.
He knew how to design steam engines.
Royal etiquette?
Not so much.
"I know enough."
"No."
"I’ve read books."
"No."
"I understand social interactions."
"Absolutely not."
The older man folded his arms.
"If you accidentally insult the king, I don’t want to be standing next to you."
The office burst into laughter.
Unfortunately, nobody could tell whether he was joking.
By sunset, Hollen had already solved the problem.
The following morning, an elderly woman arrived at Helmarte Soap Works.
She stepped down from her carriage with the dignity of a queen and immediately surveyed the industrial complex with sharp gray eyes. Her dark dress was simple but impeccably made, and despite her age, her posture was straighter than most soldiers.
Hollen greeted her personally.
"Lady Marianne."
The woman inclined her head.
"Master Hollen."
Then she looked around.
"So this is the famous factory."
"You’ve heard of it?"
"I have grandchildren."
That somehow explained everything.
The older woman finally noticed Ernest.
Her expression changed.
Then changed again.
Then she looked at Hollen.
"This child?"
"He isn’t a child."
"He looks like one."
"I’m fourteen."
She looked back at Ernest.
"You built steam engines?"
"Yes."
She remained quiet for several seconds.
Then sighed.
"I am becoming old."
This earned laughter from several nearby workers.
Lady Marianne Voss had once served as a lady-in-waiting to the late queen and spent most of her life around the nobility of Belfast. If anyone understood royal etiquette, it was her.
Unfortunately, she also possessed very little patience.
The first lesson began immediately.
"You bow like this."
Ernest bowed.
"No."
He tried again.
"No."
Again.
"No."
Three hours later, he was still bowing.
By lunchtime, he wanted to build another steam engine.
Steam engines made sense.
Royal etiquette did not.
"Again."
Ernest sighed.
"Lady Marianne, I’m meeting the royal family, not preparing for war."
She looked horrified.
"Young man, this is significantly more dangerous."
Several workers burst into laughter.
The older woman pointed a finger at him.
"You bow too deeply."
He straightened.
"You don’t bow deeply enough."
He sighed.
"Your hands are wrong."
He moved them.
"Your shoulders are wrong."
He blinked.
"How are my shoulders wrong?"
"They simply are."
Even Hollen laughed at that.
The following days were somehow worse.
He learned how to greet royalty.
How to address princes and princesses.
How to sit.
How to stand.
How to walk.
How to accept tea.
How to decline food.
How to enter a room.
How to leave one.
Apparently, there was a correct way to do everything.
By the end of the first week, Ernest felt mentally exhausted.
One afternoon, Lady Marianne watched him practice another bow.
"Better."
"Finally."
"But still terrible."
His shoulders slumped.
The older woman actually smiled.
"You’re learning."
Hollen entered carrying several papers.
"How is he?"
"He’ll survive."
"That’s reassuring."
"It isn’t meant to be."
The forge owner laughed.
Over the next several days, preparations intensified.
Tailors arrived.
Measurements were taken.
Clothing was ordered.
Apparently, one could not simply meet the royal family while dressed like an industrialist who spent half his time inside workshops.
A new wardrobe appeared.
Dark formal coats.
Fine linen shirts.
Polished boots.
Even gloves.
The costs became absurd.
One evening, Hollen reviewed the bills.
"We spent enough on clothing to buy several wagons."
"Royal meetings are expensive."
"They haven’t even met us yet."
The older man looked pained.
Ernest couldn’t help laughing.
Meanwhile, rumors spread throughout Helmarte.
The founder of Helmarte Soap Works had been summoned to the palace.
Workers discussed it during meals.
Merchants talked about it in taverns.
Even neighboring factories began asking questions.
Why had the royal family called him?
Nobody knew.
Speculation flourished.
Perhaps they wanted steam engines.
Perhaps they wanted investment.
Perhaps they intended to grant him a title.
Some theories became increasingly absurd.
One laborer became convinced that Ernest would marry a princess.
This rumor somehow spread.
Victor nearly choked when he heard it.
"I don’t think kings work like that."
Anna agreed.
"I don’t think fourteen-year-olds work like that."
Ernest simply pretended he had heard nothing.
Two weeks passed quickly.
On the morning of departure, nearly half the factory gathered outside.
Workers stood near the gates.
Clerks watched from windows.
Even several managers had arrived early.
A carriage waited nearby.
Not an ordinary one.
A newly purchased, well-appointed carriage bearing the Helmarte crest.
Two mounted guards waited beside it.
Hollen adjusted his coat.
"I still don’t like this."
Ernest looked up.
"Why?"
"Because kings don’t invite people without reasons."
That was fair.
The young businessman looked toward the industrial complex one final time.
Smoke rose from the engine house chimney.
The loading yards remained busy.
Workers moved through the grounds.
Everything looked familiar.
Comfortable.
For the first time in a while, he felt nervous.
Not because of money.
Not because of business.
Because he had absolutely no idea what waited for him in the capital.
Lady Marianne approached.
"You remember your lessons?"
"I think so."
"Bow once."
He did.
She nodded.
"Acceptable."
This was perhaps the highest praise he had ever received from her.
Hollen climbed into the carriage.
After a brief hesitation, Ernest followed.
The gates opened.
The carriage rolled forward.
Behind them, hundreds of workers raised their hands and shouted farewells.
The journey lasted six days.
The roads became increasingly crowded the closer they came to the capital.
Merchants.
Caravans.
Officials.
Soldiers.
The kingdom’s heart clearly lay ahead.
On the seventh morning, the carriage reached the final hill.
Hollen looked through the window.
Then fell silent.
Ernest followed his gaze.
For several moments, he forgot to breathe.
The Royal Capital of Belfast stretched before them.
Massive stone walls surrounded the city like a giant ring. Towers rose above rooftops, and hundreds of chimneys released thin streams of smoke into the sky. The city was enormous, easily dwarfing Helmarte several times over.
At its center stood the palace.
Even from this distance, it dominated everything.
White stone.
Tall towers.
Countless windows.
Banners bearing the crowned lion fluttered in the wind.
The entire structure sat atop a gentle rise overlooking the capital like the heart of a kingdom.
The carriage rolled forward.
Closer.
And closer.
Eventually, they reached the palace gates.
Rows of royal guards stood at attention in polished armor. Their spears gleamed beneath the morning sunlight.
A captain approached.
He examined the carriage.
Then looked inside.
"Master Ernest Teucher?"
Ernest nodded.
The officer stepped aside and bowed.
"The Royal Household has been expecting you."
The great gates began to open.
Beyond the slowly opening gates, they caught glimpses of manicured gardens, marble fountains, and broad stone roads leading toward the palace itself. Servants in elegant uniforms moved through the grounds while mounted guards patrolled with disciplined precision. Everything looked immaculate. Even the grass seemed trimmed with military accuracy.
The carriage rolled forward at a measured pace, its wheels making almost no sound upon the smooth stone road. Ernest found himself unconsciously comparing it to Helmarte. His industrial district was alive with noise, smoke, and movement. The palace grounds were the opposite. Quiet. Controlled. Every tree, every flower bed, and every statue appeared deliberately placed.
For the first time in years, he felt something unfamiliar.
He felt small.
Not because of wealth nor influence.
But because he had finally arrived at the center of a kingdom that existed long before he was born and would likely continue existing long after him. Factories, steam engines, and millions of riels had made him important, but this place reminded him that he was still only one person standing before centuries of history and royal authority.
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