FIRST IMPRESSIONS, FALSE COLORS
1156 Words
After the formal greetings, a feast was held in honor of Isolde’s arrival.
Candles lit the hall in a soft glow, and the tables were laden with the finest dishes the palace could offer.
Conversation flowed politely, with Selene and Mara quietly observing the scene as Sera stayed close to her brother’s side, smiling gracefully at the visitors.
During the feast, the main reason for Isolde’s visit became clear: she had come to negotiate matters between the two kingdoms, focusing on trade agreements and taxes.
Her poise and confidence impressed some, and when she volunteered on behalf of her family, the gathering raised their glasses in a toast to future partnership.
After the dinner concluded, Selene and Mara accompanied Sera back to her room. Selene brushed Sera’s hair meticulously while Mara stood nearby, ready to assist if needed.
“So” Sera asked casually, “what do you two think of Isolde?”
Mara, ever polite and simple-minded, smiled and said, “Her highness seems… nice.”
Selene, however, only shrugged slightly. “I’m not quite sure yet, your highness” she said, dismissing the question.
Sera gave a light shrug, seemingly unconcerned, and the three eventually retired to their chambers for the night.
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The next morning, Sophie and Mara had breakfast quietly in their quarters. Once the royal family finished their own breakfast, the king spoke to Isolde.
“We will have a banquet today,” he said warmly, “to allow you to rest before tomorrow’s council meeting for trade negotiations.”
Isolde inclined her head politely, agreeing gladly.
The king then turned to Sirian. “You should make time to show Isolde around the palace today.”
Isolde hesitated politely, but the king insisted, and she ultimately accepted.
Sera, standing nearby, watched the exchange with a bored expression.
Sirian, however, smiled and said gently to Isolde, “I’d be happy to show you around.”
Isolde blushed slightly, bowing her head.
“Thank you very much, Your Highness,” she replied.
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The morning sun shone brightly over the palace gardens as Sirian led Princess Isolde along the cobblestone paths.
The flowers swayed gently in the breeze, their fragrance filling the air. Birds chirped from the branches above, adding a soft melody to the serene morning.
“Your Highness, I hope you enjoy the gardens,” Sirian said, keeping his tone polite but easy.
“They are kept meticulously by the palace gardeners.”
Isolde’s eyes widened as she took in the surroundings.
“It’s… breathtaking,” she said softly. “I’ve never seen a garden so beautiful. The symmetry, the colors… it’s almost like a painting.”
Sirian smiled faintly. “I’m glad it meets your approval.”
They continued walking, eventually reaching the center of the gardens, where a Victorian-style gazebo stood gracefully. Its octagonal shape was painted a soft ivory, with delicate latticework on each side partially covered in climbing roses and wisteria.
The roof rose to a gentle dome, topped with a golden finial that sparkled whenever the sunlight hit it.
Stepping inside, Isolde’s gaze lingered on the polished wooden floor, the built-in benches lined with plush velvet cushions in shades of cream and soft lavender.
A small round table in the center held fine china teacups, a silver teapot, and a plate of freshly baked pastries.
Sunlight streamed through the lattice, casting intricate shadows that danced across the floor.
“This… is incredible,” Isolde whispered, almost to herself. “I didn’t expect something so elegant in the middle of the gardens.”
Sirian’s lips curved into a faint smile. “It’s a favorite spot of mine when the palace is quiet. I thought you might like it as well.”
He beckoned to a few maids, who quickly came to serve tea. Sirian poured the hot liquid into the delicate teacups, placing one before Isolde.
She accepted it with a graceful nod, her fingers brushing the fine china.
As they sipped, the conversation flowed naturally. Sirian spoke of the garden’s design, the types of flowers, and how each section had been carefully planned over decades.
Isolde listened, genuinely engaged, occasionally asking questions.
The more they spoke, the more she felt a strange connection to him, a warmth that made her chest flutter.
She mistook it for something romantic, though she kept her thoughts to herself, careful not to reveal too much.
Sirian, for his part, remained composed and courteous, unaware of the thoughts running through Isolde’s mind.
Yet even he found her presence easy, the way she listened and laughed softly, refreshing compared to the formalities of the court.
They spent the morning in the gazebo, shaded from the sun, enjoying tea and pastries, while the gentle breeze carried the soft scent of roses and the distant hum of palace life.
The world outside seemed to disappear, leaving only the two of them amidst the beauty of the gardens.
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The next day, the meeting had begun. Sirian was present, along with Princess Isolde, who confidently answered questions and offered opinions when necessary. Her composure impressed many in the council, though Selene wasn’t there to witness it.
Once the meeting concluded, Isolde made her way to Sera’s chambers, politely requesting permission to enter. Sera welcomed her in, and Selene and Mara, who had been helping with preparations, were excused. Both bowed respectfully before leaving.
A short while later, Selene returned, carrying tea for the princess and Sera, making sure to include an extra cup for Isolde.
Both ladies thanked her politely, and Selene quietly stepped out, leaving them to their conversation.
After some time, Isolde exited the room alongside Sera, who chuckled lightly at something the princess had said.
With a graceful farewell, Sera sent her off, as Isolde had expressed her intent to rest a little before the next engagement.
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Selene had just returned that very evening from the villa, as Sera had asked her to fetch something.
Her mind was full of worries—being so close to the second prince now in the palace made her uneasy—but she had no choice but to focus.
Lost in thought, she almost bumped into someone…
“Ah! My apologies your highness!” Selene exclaimed, bowing quickly.
She looked up—and froze. Princess Isolde’s gaze was sharp, a cold disdain flashing before it morphed into a polite, composed smile.
“Oh, Lady Veyrant,” Isolde said sweetly, her tone dripping with false charm, “how careless of you. I would hate for someone of… your talents to soil your fine dress any further.”
Selene blinked, taken aback. Her talents? That was clearly a backhanded jab.
But Isolde didn’t wait for a response. With a curt nod, she walked away, her smile still perfectly in place.
Selene straightened up, frowning. “What was that…?” she murmured to herself, confused and a little irritated. The words were polite, but the insult was unmistakable.
- Writer
