Ashes of the First Prince

A young man and woman hurried through the bustling marketplace that sprawled before the grand palace gates. The man, Oscar Morgans, carried a scroll case slung across his back, a book in one hand, and a small bag containing their entry tokens in the other. He wore a simple tunic and trousers of fine linen, the attire of a scholar, with leather sandals on his feet. His sister, Hazel Morgans, trailed behind, her brow furrowed in displeasure. She clutched a delicate porcelain cup, its contents sloshing precariously as she navigated the throng of merchants and commoners. A small, embroidered bag hung from her wrist, adorned with a jade pendant shaped like a rabbit. Her silk made robes, a vibrant shade of rose, shimmered in the afternoon sun, and her embroidered slippers peeked out from beneath the hem. "Hazel, we must hasten," Oscar urged, his voice tight with impatience. "At this pace, we shall miss the procession." "Then let us miss it, Brother Oscar," Hazel retorted, taking a sip from her cup. "If it were not for the Emperor's anniversary celebrations, I would have gladly remained at our country estate." "Little Sister, you know we cannot avoid this obligation," Oscar sighed. "Now, come, we must hurry!" He reached for her hand, pulling her along as he increased his pace, weaving through the crowd towards the imposing palace gates. From the opposite direction, two figures approached with equal haste. "Your Highness, there is no need for such speed," a young man pleaded, breathlessly trying to keep up with the imposing figure before him. "We shall arrive in good time." The other man, Prince Calhoun, cast a withering glance at his attendant, silencing further protests. His richly embroidered robes, adorned with symbols of his rank, marked him as royalty. His handsome features and commanding presence drew the attention of all those around him. As fate would have it, Prince Calhoun Dixon and Hazel Morgans collided amid the bustling marketplace. Hazel’s porcelain cup slipped from her grasp, its contents staining the Prince's pristine robes. The Prince recoiled, his displeasure evident. His eyes fell upon the young woman before him, her face flushed with confusion. Despite her obvious distress, her beauty was undeniable. Her large, expressive eyes, framed by long lashes, met his with a mixture of shock and defiance. For a moment, the Prince was captivated, his anger momentarily forgotten. He observed her delicate features, her full lips slightly parted in surprise, and the delicate curve of her nose. A spark of annoyance flickered in her eyes, threatening to ignite into full-blown anger. "Do you have no eyes in your head?" she demanded, her voice sharp. The Prince, still momentarily mesmerized, remained silent. His attendant stepped forward, "My lady, it was an accident, surely..." "Silence, Sandon," the Prince interrupted, his voice regaining its usual authority. "We are late." With that, he turned and strode towards the palace gates, his attendant scurrying after him. Hazel watched him go, fuming. "How rude! He couldn't even offer an apology!" She glanced at the shattered porcelain cup on the ground. "Alas, my poor jasmine tea," she lamented. And so, the children of the esteemed General Marlow Morgans, Oscar and Hazel, cross paths with the arrogant Prince Calhoun Dixon, setting the stage for a tale of unexpected encounters and palace intrigue. Oscar Morgan took the porcelain cup from his sister's hand, its contents long spilled, and handed it to a passing servant. "Perhaps you should be more mindful, Sister," he chided gently, a hint of amusement in his voice. He paused, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "That noble man seemed strangely familiar..." He shook his head, dismissing the thought, and guided Hazel towards the palanquin that awaited them. As they settled into the cushioned seats, Hazel noticed the same two men from the marketplace boarding another palanquin nearby. She scowled and turned her head away, pretending not to notice them. The palanquins, carried by sturdy bearers, joined a procession of other dignitaries and nobles making their way towards the Imperial Palace. The journey was long, but the siblings were relieved to have secured a place in the procession after their initial carriage had been delayed due to a damaged wheel. "Hazel, we are finally on our way," Oscar said, a sigh escaping his lips. "I feared we might be left behind." Hazel remained sullen. "It would have been better if we had," she grumbled. "Why did we even bother?" She turned to her brother, her eyes filled with frustration. "You know I have no desire to return to the capital, to be paraded about like a prize pony. And yet, you side with our parents!" "Hazel, you misunderstand," Oscar replied patiently. "Our parents only wish what is best for us. Mother was adamant about your return." "Education is merely an excuse," Hazel insisted. "They must have some suitor in mind. Why else this sudden insistence on my presence?" "They would never force you into marriage," Oscar assured her, concern etched on his face. Unbeknownst to them, their conversation carried to the palanquin behind them. "Your Highness," Sandon, the Prince's attendant, whispered urgently. "Why did you not reprimand that impertinent girl? It was her fault, spilling tea on your robes! You should have allowed me to chastise her." "She is not someone you can handle, Sandon," Prince Calhoun Dixon replied, a faint smile playing on his lips as he leaned back against the cushions. Sandon frowned, bewildered by his master's cryptic response. Before he could inquire further, the Prince closed his eyes, feigning sleep. However, his attention remained focused on the siblings' conversation. "They will undoubtedly try to arrange a match for me," Hazel continued, her voice laced with apprehension. Oscar, hoping to lighten the mood, teased, "No ordinary suitor for you, Sister. They will likely seek out a powerful lord or a wealthy merchant's son." "I want neither!" Hazel exclaimed. "What?" Oscar feigned surprise. "But every young woman dreams of such a match!" "I am not like other women, Brother," Hazel retorted. "I have read countless tales of these arrogant nobles. They are cold, emotionless, and treat women with disdain... like..." she searched for the right word. Oscar, ever the playful brother, offered suggestions: "Like a worn-out scroll? A chipped teacup?" "No, no!" Hazel waved her hands dismissively. "Like... like..." "A discarded silk handkerchief?" Oscar offered with a grin. "Yes! That's it!" Hazel declared, her eyes flashing with indignation. "They use women and cast them aside like worthless rags!" "You could have used a scroll or a teacup for your analogy," Oscar chuckled, but Hazel ignored him, her anger mounting. "They are heartless creatures," she continued, "capable of stopping a woman's heart with a single glance. They are consumed by their duties, with no time for family or affection. They look down upon everyone..." Oscar watched his sister with a mixture of amusement and concern as she ranted, her face flushed with emotion. "And they are also..." "Enough, Hazel, I understand," Oscar interrupted, stifling a laugh. Hazel fell silent, her expression puzzled. Oscar, relieved to have stemmed the tide of her complaints, leaned back against the cushions. Meanwhile, in the palanquin behind them, Prince Calhoun listened intently, a broad smile spreading across his face. "She hasn't changed a bit," he murmured to himself, much to Sandon's astonishment.