The Forsaken Princess

Chapter 3

In the following days, Mr. Marlow took it upon himself to acquaint Rosanna with the palace. His approach left a distinct impression on her. He spoke only when necessary—no tales of Catelian history, no introductions to irrelevant personnel, and tours restricted to areas within her purview. This trait, she soon discovered, extended beyond Mr. Marlow to the entirety of Catel's staff. They operated with remarkable efficiency, eschewing small talk in favour of directness. Conversations were purposeful, devoid of the pleasantries she had grown accustomed to in Esnir where they were surrounded by larger realms and diplomatic finesse was crucial. Observing the directness of Catel's work ethic, Rosanna contemplated its merits—efficiency in action. It was something she could learn.

Mr. Marlow also exhibited a keen interest in gauging her reactions to the various sections of the palace. The Royal Gardens, meticulously manicured, unfolded before them during a leisurely stroll. The Art Gallery, a treasure trove of Catel's rich artistic legacy, unveiled portraits depicting royal lineages and scenes from legendary battles. As they traversed the grand hall, a resplendent space adorned with deep blue and golden tapestries, dazzling chandeliers, and priceless artefacts, Mr. Marlow’s watchful eyes assessed Rosanna’s response to the visuals. Why, she wasn’t sure. All she learnt was that his eyes were more expressive than his words. As someone driven by a curiosity that sought understanding rather than mere observation, her impatience grew. She couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for his overworked eyes, diligently fulfilling their duty while the rest of his face remained static.

These locations were undoubtedly showcases of beauty and cultural significance, but she yearned for a different kind of knowledge, something more profound and insightful than the splendour of physical spaces.

“Do you have a library?” she once asked Mr. Marlow.

A moment of silence lingered before he responded, "Regrettably, the royal library is not at the disposal of our esteemed guests."

"Ah, I see. Is there perhaps, a library accessible to the public?"

“I shall instruct one of my subordinates to compile a list for you.”

There it was—another instruction veiled as a suggestion not to inquire any further. Yet, it was a courtesy. She expressed her gratitude and withdrew to her quarters, a realisation dawning upon her that they were not nestled within the guest palace but rather tucked away in a distant corner of the expansive palace landscape.

Over the days she continued to await word from Sir Gareth with increasing concern, the lack of news gnawing at her. Anxious for any update, she had attempted to depart the palace to check on him, but the chamberlain had intercepted her intention. Madam Ravenshaw had assured Rosanna that, in a week's time, she would have the opportunity to explore the capital, once she was introduced to her Catelian companion. Urgency gripped Rosanna, and she explained to her the pressing nature of the matter. In a manner reminiscent of Mr. Marlow, the chamberlain made word to send individuals to gather information. Yet, the awaited news failed to reach Rosanna. The impulse to command the chamberlain to permit her departure rose within Rosanna, but the reality of her delicate position held me back.

A week had quietly elapsed since then, each day bringing a semblance of normalcy. Still, Rosanna would gladly revisit any of those uneventful days compared to the present one. The evening had arrived, marked by the grand welcome banquet, and her nerves seemed to have scattered over every corner of the palace. She recalled attending such gatherings with her family in the past, but this was different. Catel was no Esnir, and she was no longer the child who merely observed. This opportunity beckoned her to forge alliances, both for the sake of Esnir and her personal quest to ensure her safety.

Securing the strings on either side of the mask to her ears, she reminded herself of the challenge of making connections without revealing her face. She surveyed her reflection in the half-body mirror of her chamber, observing the careful craftsmanship that went into the Esnir dress she wore. The garment draped gracefully, red and golden flares lining its ends. The gown boasted layers that swirled and danced with every step, boasting a canvas of golden patterns and vibrant red hues draped elegantly over her form. Its sleeves were lined with minor embroidery of doves, the Esnir symbol. Her hair flowed in long waves down to her waist, a simple contrast to the embellished gown.

A carriage awaited Rosanna just outside the entrance of her residence. The idea amused her, considering the close proximity of the grand hall where the banquet was to be held. Yet, Madam Ravenshaw, ever meticulous in protocol, had insisted that she make the short journey by carriage.

The grandeur of the Catel Grand Palace unfolded before her as she stepped out of the ornate carriage. The polished marble steps led to towering doors adorned with deep blue carvings. As she approached, the guards flanking the entrance stood taller, their gleaming silver armour reflecting the soft glow of the palace interior.

A designated herald announced her arrival with practised formality. "Her Royal Highness, Princess Rosanna of Esnir." The proclamation echoed through the hall, resonating with a weight that momentarily silenced the bustling atmosphere within.

The colossal doors began to creak open. The air carried the fragrance of exotic flowers arranged in elegant vases, mingled with an almost nauseating mix of perfume. Chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, casting a warm, golden glow over the assembly of nobles, courtiers, and dignitaries gathered for the occasion. Rosanna’s heart pounded in her chest, the rhythmic thud accentuating the weight of every step she took. Stepping into the hall, she felt a curious mix of anxiety and determination as the eyes of the Catelian nobility fixated on her.

Despite the nerves that prickled at her skin, she steeled herself with composure. Her name lingered in whispers of the other guests as she walked down the expanse of the hall. The rhythmic sound of her footsteps intertwined with the soft rustle of silk as her gown swept the marble floor with each step. As she progressed further into the hall, the assembly of noble men and women parted, creating a path that led to the central stage where the Catelian monarchs sat on their thrones. She felt the weight of collective scrutiny, a reminder that her actions here would create ripples that reached beyond Catel and Esnir. A wave of self-consciousness washed over her, but she straightened her posture, meeting the collective gaze with a composed demeanour.

The thrones of the emperor and empress, positioned on a raised platform, came into view. Coloured with ornate designs and draped in regal fabrics, they exuded an aura of authority. As Rosanna ascended the final steps to the elevated platform, the eyes of the assembled court followed her every move. The atmosphere crackled with anticipation, the silence laden.

Rosanna curtsied, and the emperor and empress inclined their heads in a gesture of acknowledgment. "Rosanna Fayrin of Esnir greets Your Imperial Majesties. I am grateful for your gracious hosting, Your Majesty”

"Welcome once again," the emperor said. "Take pleasure in the banquet. Let the melodies of our imperial band enchant your evening.”

In response to his cue, the violins initiated a soft melody, signalling the banquet's resumption.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," she responded, extending her appreciation with another curtsy. A momentary relief settled upon her shoulders.

The brief exchange with the emperor had concluded unexpectedly fast. Rosanna welcomed this deviation, eager to step out of the spotlight. She would seek solace for her frayed nerves amidst the bustling banquet. Here, within the lively gathering, she could momentarily escape the intense scrutiny accompanying her role as the representative of Esnir.

Alas, she should have anticipated the onslaught of other guests as soon as she stepped off the platform. A group of ladies, seeming mostly her age, approached her, bombarding her with various questions. Why had she come? Why had her parents not accompanied her? How long would she stay here? What was Esnir like? Rosanna found herself at a loss. Questions poured down on her, and her eyes darted around as her mind drowned in the clamour. Behind her mask, she felt her cheeks pale with anxiety. Such direct attention was unfamiliar to her.

Amidst the crowd, a particular lady emerged.

“Enough, girls. How is she supposed to answer when you’re pelting her all at the same time?” Her voice halted the onslaught of questions from the young ladies.

The lady approached Rosanna, her auburn curls cascading down her waist, perfectly complementing her forest green gown. She curtsied, and Rosanna mirrored it quietly.

"Lady Olivia Blackwell greets Your Royal Highness," the lady announced with poise.

The Blackwell family. Renowned even in Esnir for their prowess in commerce and trading, they held significant influence.

"What a splendid dress, Your Highness. Truly, Esnir's style remains in vogue," Olivia complimented. Just as Rosanna prepared to express gratitude, her tone shifted. "But I must say, the mystery surrounding your veiled visage intrigues many. What led to such a decision?"

Sensing the weight of judgement in her words, Rosanna tightened her composure. Eliza had done her job well, spreading rumours about her scars. Olivia’s inquiry only echoed the scrutiny she had faced from noble ladies back home. "It is a matter I would rather not discuss lightly, Lady Blackwell."

“A lady's wait, upon her face. A lady's fate, her standing's grace."

Giggles echoed among the girls, their eyes fixed on Rosanna, waiting for a response. She had fallen silent, her mind navigating through the corners of memory. The saying sounded familiar, she had heard about it somewhere before.

“Indeed,” Rosanna quickly responded once she remembered, “it is an inspiring poem. Then, you must know of its later lines, ‘In language spun, of wisdom, wit, and courtesy. The face, a vessel not the key, but servant to the mind's decree.’”

She had glimpsed the poem from the Catelian Book of Etiquette once; a refined tome bound in rich velum, outlining the social protocols of the empire. It detailed the nuances of courtly behaviour, offering a useful guide to navigating Catel's noble society.

Olivia's face darkened from the answer, but she retained her smile. “I am simply worried for Your Highness. As a princess, what are you to do? Would words suffice to ground your position here?”

Clearly, the lady had substantial support that empowered her to provoke Rosanna.

She chose my next words, carefully, she hoped. "In truth, Lady Blackwell, with a countenance like yours, you would undoubtedly triumph in a battle for love. However, a princess' role extends beyond marriage. It involves maintaining a country, handling diplomatic relations. As well, while I may not have a suitor at present, there are numerous roles a lady can fulfil. Appearances may leave impressions, but substance creates enduring legacies. A princess' duty encompasses the strength of character, the wisdom to govern, and the ability to navigate the complexities of a realm."

Olivia, grinning with confidence, then boldly proposed, "If appearances are only so fleeting, why not cast away the mask, Princess?"

It dawned on Rosanna that she had gone too far in the debate. She hesitated, not willing to succumb to the dramatics of such a request. The air hung heavy with tension, and she sensed the weight of expectation.

"Oh, splendid!” Another lady emerged, hands clasped in anticipation, her tangerine orange hair cascading in waves, and her topaz eyes gleaming like precious gems. Clearly another significant figure, given the hush that enveloped the room. "I am looking forward to learning more about you, Princess Rosanna. A princess who wields words and promises action. We need more of you in our society!" she exclaimed.

Olivia reddened. "What are you insinuating?"

"Hm? I was just contributing to the discussion. Isn't it all just friendly discourse?" The newcomer turned to Rosanna, curtsying. "A pleasure to make acquaintance with you, Princess. I am Emily of House Hawthorne."

The name Hawthorne resonated; Rosanna had heard of the viscount's flourishing merchant association that extended to the icy regions in the north.

As the two ladies exchanged a brief yet intense moment, it became clear that Blackwell and Hawthorne were at odds with each other. Despite the tension, Rosanna’s curiosity piqued. These ladies, with their unwavering confidence as they locked eyes, drew her attention. The other girls could only breathe irregularly in the palpable atmosphere. While she might not have left a favourable impression on them, there was much to learn from these encounters.

All of a sudden, trumpets blared, their resounding notes slicing through the palpable tension. All eyes swivelled towards the massive doors, where a cadre of trumpeters stood poised. Trumpets? This was the first time she had witnessed an arrival announced in such a way.

“First Prince Leonardo Calidus!”

The proclamation echoed, abruptly stifling the ambient murmur. A hush enveloped the hall; no whispers or sidelong glances this time. The assembly, save the sovereigns, gracefully bowed in unison, gazes fixed humbly upon the floor. Rosanna dutifully followed suit, yet beneath the mask's concealing veil, her eyes tracked the unfolding spectacle.

The prince appeared at the expansive doorway, a commanding figure draped in resplendent golden armour, flanked by two silver-clad sentinels on either side. A natural parting occurred in the sea of onlookers as he confidently traversed the same path Rosanna had taken, advancing toward the ruling couple.

Prince Leon. This was him. The reason she was here.

For a moment, his penetrating gaze rested on her, prompting a swift redirection of her eyes toward the ground.

Upon reaching the platform, he ceremoniously lifted the helmet from his head, revealing a face that had long been away from public view. His features were indiscernible from the distance, yet his white hair, reminiscent of his mother's, radiated luminously beneath the chandeliers. The prince gracefully descended to one knee, a gesture of deference that echoed through the hall. The assembly, now freed from their bowed postures, rose in unison, their eyes expectant.

"Your Majesties, I have returned bearing good news. The rebellion has been quelled, the border city no longer in a state of unrest."

The emperor nodded slowly in acknowledgement. "Congratulations, my son, for yet another one of your countless victories. You bring honour to the empire."

A cascade of applause erupted in response to the emperor's commendation, gradually subsiding as the prince ascended to his full height. The empress, her face adorned with warmth, beckoned him closer. "Come here, my prince."

He approached her, and they entered into a private discourse. The banquet resumed, filling with music and chatter once again. Olivia and Emily had disappeared, to Rosanna’s relief, but she was once again inundated by inquiries. But unlike Olivia’s pressing queries, theirs were framed by simple curiosity, and she endeavoured to satisfy them with answers as genuine as she could muster.

“You must be today’s main protagonist, Princess Rosanna.”

She stiffened upon hearing the gentleman’s voice from behind her. The ladies who had surrounded her now flocked in his direction, their faces adorned with sparkling eyes and wide smiles. Mr. Marlow could learn a thing or two from them about facial expressions.

“Prince Leon! Your Highness! Welcome back!” a chorus of greetings erupted from the ladies.

No, why was the prince here? Did he not have friends to reunite with after such a long time away from home?

Rosanna’s astonishment must have been apparent, as the prince opted to approach and confront her directly. She reluctantly looked up, way up. The man was excessively tall. And absurdly good-looking. His striking blue eyes and silvery-white hair marked him unmistakably as a scion of Catelian royalty, broad shoulders and well-defined build adding to his imposing figure.

“Rosanna Fayrin of Esnir greets Your Royal Highness.” She curtsied, attempting to regain her composure in the wake of his unexpected presence.

He reciprocated her greeting, but instead of a simple bow, he placed his right palm over his heart and respectfully lowered his head. A surprising gesture, as no one else had greeted her this way since my arrival. This was the Esnir manner of greeting. Then, the prince extended his hand toward her. She stared at the hand, puzzled. Was this yet another form of greeting?

"If I may, could I have your first dance?" he asked.

She felt the collective gaze of the other girls fixate on her like hawks eyeing their prey. The prince's outstretched hand hovered in the air, waiting for her response. The grand hall, once filled with the buzz of conversation, had hushed to an expectant whisper. A dance with the first prince? The idea alone was enough to cause a stir among the ladies present. The room held its breath, awaiting her reply.

Gathering bits and pieces of courage she didn't know she possessed, she curtsied once more, this time in acceptance. "It would be an honour, Your Royal Highness."

Prince Leon offered a smile, his eyes holding a glint of amusement. The ladies around them erupted into whispers, and she felt the weight of their scrutinising gazes. The prince led her to the centre of the hall, where the musicians began to play a tune, setting the stage for their dance. His hand gently found its place on her waist, the other hand skillfully guiding hers to rest upon his shoulder. The music enveloped them, dictating the graceful movements of their dance.

Sporadic glimpses revealed his striking features—piercing blue eyes that complemented glistening white hair styled in a side part, and a sharp jawline accentuated his countenance. The prince effortlessly commanded attention, leaving no doubt why the ladies gravitated towards him on the dance floor.

As they twirled and glided across the polished floor, the Prince spoke in a low, conversational tone. "I've heard that you declined the proposal. Is it true, Princess?"

His straightforward question caught her off guard, and she hesitated for a moment. "Well, Your Highness," I replied, "I find that our kingdoms have different values and traditions. It wouldn't be a suitable match."

His gaze held hers, and there was a glint of something unreadable in his eyes. "I see," he simply said, smoothly guiding her through the dance. The atmosphere shifted as he steered the conversation into an unexpected direction. Shifting places, he extracted something from his pocket—a golden locket that shimmered beneath the warm light. It bore a striking resemblance to the one she had lost in battle on the night of her arrival in Catel.

Rosanna stumbled mid-step, a chill running down my spine. "How did you…?" she started, her eyes narrowing.

His grip on her subtly tightened, compelling her to maintain the dance. Had he been watching her from the start? Or had he sent her those assassins? For what reason? A surge of hostility rose within her, but his next words caught her off guard again.

"I am not the one you should fear. In fact, I can be your ally. As long as you cooperate, Sir Gareth's safety is assured."

Her eyes, fixated on the patterns of his armour, snapped up at the mention of her knight. She couldn't hide the disdain bubbling to the surface. "I will not be coerced or threatened, Your Highness. I do not make deals with those who play games with lives."

He averted his gaze with casual indifference, remarking, "An assassination amidst a marriage proposal. I'm uncertain whether the folk from Esnir are cunning or simply imprudent."

“The folk from Esnir? What are you talking about? I was the target of that night,” she responded, her tone sharp with confusion and a trace of anger. And then it dawned on her. Her pulse quickened at the accusation. "Do you think me audacious enough to attempt to assassinate Catel's chief of battle?"

His gaze remained unyielding, and for a moment, the hall seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them locked in a silent confrontation. Then, with a chilling calmness, he revealed, "Your knight has admitted to everything.”

It was inconceivable. Sir Gareth would never involve himself in something as sinister as an assassination. Rosanna met the prince’s icy gaze with a fiery determination, indignation swirling within her.

"Why would Esnir seek the demise of a Catelian prince? We have no interest in dismantling your empire; we thrive independently," she retorted, her words laced with defiance. "An assassination disguised under marriage is a baseless accusation. I have already conveyed my intentions of declining the proposal. If you release Sir Gareth, we will promptly leave the empire at the earliest opportunity.”

Silence ensued, and a flicker of doubt began to creep into Rosanna’s thoughts, spurred by the prince’s mention of Sir Gareth's supposed confession. Indeed, her parents had dispatched her to Catel upon learning of a marriage proposal, an undeniable truth that she couldn't evade. Olivia Blackwell's words about marriage being the pivotal role of women echoed in her mind, and the realisation stung. She was the stubborn one who refused to accept it.

But assassination? If Catel was aware of such a threat, why had they allowed her entry into the palace in the first place?

As she stood there, still drawing breath, it became apparent that the prince's mention of Sir Gareth's life concealed a deeper motive. Had he possessed any evidence and wished to act on it, she would have faced a public execution by now, with Esnir implicated in the process. A wave of apprehension swept over her, momentarily eclipsing the tension that had fueled their confrontation.

She scrutinised him warily. "You... what is it that you want?"

As the final notes of the song faded, Leon bowed. Then he raised his head to her eye level, meeting her gaze as he quietly conveyed a request that sent waves through her still world.

"I would like to marry you."