The Forsaken Princess

Chapter 2

The search for a hospital for Sir Gareth had been challenging, but the capital city, with its array of protective auras emanating from various buildings, provided ample alternatives for tending to his injury. A choice offered, not enforced, Rosanna had granted him the agency to decide his path. If he wished to rejoin her here, he could.

The temple bell struck midnight, and through the carriage window she watched the palace loom before her, a colossal silhouette against the night sky. Its towering spires reached toward the heavens like silent sentinels. The creaking of the main gate adorned with metalwork announced her arrival. They passed through the gates, revealing a sprawling expanse of manicured gardens, their flora bathed in the gentle glow of strategically placed lanterns. The air was filled with the sweet fragrance of night-blooming flowers, the wind gently blowing the enchanting autumn scent.

The carriage slowed, guided by the winding cobblestone path that led to the palace's heart. It came to a stately halt in front of the central edifice. As Rosanna stepped out onto the cobblestone courtyard, a sea of shadows and moonlight playing at her feet, the vastness of the palace unfolded before her. To her left and right, secondary structures with arched doorways and elegant windows extended. The courtyard echoed with the hushed sounds of the night, along with the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. Her gaze ascended to the towering facade, where balconies overlooked the courtyard, each a vantage point into the palace's opulent interiors. Windows adorned with stained glass.

As she ascended the grand staircase, two figures awaited her at the pinnacle, framed against the backdrop of the palace entrance. Dressed in a gown reminiscent of the night sky, the celestial hues accentuated the first figure’s striking deep azure eyes. Her straight, black cascade of hair bespoke a meticulous grooming that mirrored the meticulousness expected in her role. Every movement, from the poised bow to position of her hands, exuded an air of sophistication, a woman well-versed in the art of courtly diplomacy. Beside her stood a more reserved male figure. His attire, though meticulously tailored, lacked the opulence of the chamberlain's, yet his every movement exuded a quiet efficiency. A silver beard and moustache adorned his weathered countenance.

"Your Highness, Princess Rosanna of Esnir, it is an honour to welcome you to the Catel Grand Palace," the lady intoned, her voice a cold blend of formality and courtesy. With a simple bow toward Rosanna, the lady initiated the Catelian greeting. “I am Chamberlain Elara Ravenshaw.”

Returning the gesture with a respectful inclination of her head, Rosanna mirrored the Catelian bow, reminding herself of the need to navigate their customs with finesse. "Thank you, Madam Ravenshaw. It's a pleasure to be here."

She inclined her head in acknowledgment before proceeding to introduce her companion. "Household Steward Quentin Marlow," she began. "He oversees the day-to-day operations of the palace, ensuring that the Palace runs smoothly and efficiently. You'll find his guidance invaluable during your stay."

Mr. Marlow, as Rosanna decided to address him, executed a precise bow. "Princess Rosanna, welcome to the Catel Grand Palace. If there is anything you require, do not hesitate to inform me."

The formality of the welcome wasn't lost on Rosanna. It was a welcome laced with meaning, a tacit acknowledgment of the obligation that now bound her to the Catel Empire.

Now weariness clung to her bones, a reminder of the arduous journey that had led her here. With a polite nod, she conveyed her fatigue to Madam Ravenshaw and Mr. Marlow, and they commenced our quiet procession through the corridors of the palace.

The route unfolded beneath the subdued glow of sconces, their flickering flames casting shadows that danced upon the walls. Each step resonated through the vastness of the corridor, the soft echoes blending in with the distant hum of palace nightlife. The sounds reverberated through hallways adorned with statues and art, each piece meticulously placed to narrate the saga of the empire's triumphs and tribulations. Portraits of past rulers stared down from heights, their eyes seeming to follow their every move. Arched doorways led to large chambers, while towering pillars soared toward the vaulted ceiling. Countless columns embellished with serpentine carvings framed the path. As they moved forward, the occasional whisper of a gentle breeze accompanied them, stirring the leaves of trees that lined the palace grounds.

Madam Ravenshaw guided Rosanna through yet another wing, a section seemingly reserved for visiting dignitaries and esteemed guests. The subdued lighting accentuated the grandiosity of the decor—a blend of textured walls, richly embroidered drapes, and polished marble floors. As they walked, Rosanna glimpsed ornate doors leading to rooms that hinted at unknown guests within, guarded by the watchful eyes of vigilant sentinels. A shiver ran through her as she avoided their gazes.

Finally, they arrived at her appointed chamber. The doors swung open, and the subdued lighting unveiled a room adorned with Catelian craftsmanship. Madam Ravenshaw gracefully gestured toward the room, extending a formal invitation for her repose. She stepped into the chamber and the doors closed behind her, leaving her in the embrace of solitude. Alone in this foreign space, she contemplated the future that awaited her. The looming paintings on the walls seemed to mock her predicament, capturing the essence of queens and princesses who had danced this very dance, leaving their imprints on the cold stone walls. She pondered the inevitability of her situation. Like those before her, she was a pawn in a game. The Catel Empire, with a web of politics far wider than Esnir, and its deeply enchanted history, had become her golden prison. Her journey had just begun, and within the folds of the grand palace, she knew, with a sinking sensation settling in her stomach, a spread of challenges and revelations awaited.

*

“My lady, what about this billowy golden gown? It would complement the shade of your beautiful black tresses splendidly.”

Rosanna glanced towards the source of the suggestion, finding Eliza Mills, a maid in the employ of Steward Marlow introduced to her this morning. As she held forth the resplendent golden gown, her eyes sparkled with zeal. Eliza’s own dress, adorned with subtle golden embroidery, hinted at the unassuming elegance of even the uniforms of Catel's household staff.

Eliza had not spoken her mind directly, her suggestions hiding more than they reveal. Her choice of the golden gown, though well-intended, aligned more with Rosanna’s golden metal mask than her hair. The mask that shadowed not just the hues of her eyes but also the absence of the scars that should have marred her face.

It was the intangible mark of a harrowing incident, a result of the machinations of an undiscovered relative who had sought to eliminate her, considering her then-burgeoning magical abilities a threat to their standing. The flames of their schemes had nearly claimed her life. But she had survived, her scars miraculously healing over time, although she had told of its healing to no one. Since the incident, she had instead told everyone, including her parents, that her face was scarred permanently. And that she could no longer use her powers.

Because she knew where she stood: she was a princess with no realm, a royal without a home. In this foreign country, she would play her part while safeguarding the only remnants of her true self.

As Eliza presented the flowy golden dress with hopeful anticipation, Rosanna gently declined, reasoning, "I will be in the presence of the emperor and empress, and donning hues of their regalia would be an affront to their sovereign status. A modest beige gown shall suffice. I have one in my possession for this occasion."

Eliza, though momentarily taken aback, quickly recovered. She nodded, acknowledging Rosanna’s choice, and swiftly retrieved the appropriate gown from Rosanna’s suitcase.

“Say…”

The maid paused searching through the suitcase and looked up at her, perhaps anticipating another instruction. “Yes, my lady?”

"Are you curious about my mask? About what happened to my face?" Rosanna asked, noting the astonishment lingering upon Eliza’s features as she looked up to face Rosanna. The question, unspoken but present, tiptoed on the lips of those hesitant to pry into the affairs of a foreign princess, a distinguished guest of the empire. Distinguished, at least to those who were not aware. A playful smile adorned Rosanna’s lips, hidden from her view. "A tiger scratched it."

Eliza gasped, a hand flying to her mouth. "That sounds dreadful!"

"No, was it truly so?" Rosanna pondered aloud, her finger tapping her chin. Eliza's thick eyebrows knitted in confusion. "Oh no, I remember now. It was a crow that did scratch at me one eve when the windows were accidentally left open. I was but a tender youth, and the memory had slipped my mind."

"That doesn't sound any better!" Eliza exclaimed.

Rosanna sucked in a breath, quickening the rhythm of my tapping, her gaze fixed upon the ceiling, feigning profound contemplation. "Or perhaps it was..."

Eliza sighed and returned to the suitcase. "Princess, whatever transpired in the past, I assure you that I will do my utmost to ensure your safety during your time here."

Her words sounded sincere, yet they echoed the same assurances Rosanna’s Esnir maid had given her after the fire. Right before she had tried to drown Rosanna. Regardless of Eliza's true intentions, the princess couldn't afford a glimmer of trust in their relationship. As a denizen of the palace, trust would be a fool's gamble.

But perhaps, she could exploit the illusion of trust.

She leaned forward. "Here, listen closely, I recall it with certainty now."

She chose to share with Eliza the essence of her true story, omitting details of the fire’s deliberate arrangement, ensuring it appeared a mere accident. As she narrated, Eliza simply listened, her eyes widening with the sympathetic glint of anyone who first heard the story. But the glimmer of sympathy would soon fade into conspiracy. Such tales served to engage the minds of those embedded in routine, especially among the palace staff.

Rosanna would use Eliza to satisfy the inquisitiveness of servants and their masters, allowing the tales to weave through their conversations, kindling their imaginations. So they would pity her. She was a tragic survivor, and she would pose no threat to anyone, nor would she be of use to anyone. She had come quietly and she would leave quietly.

Later, Rosanna was led through the labyrinthine corridors of the grand palace once again to the revered audience chamber. Eliza had told her she was the first guest to the chamber in the past two years. One would have felt honoured, but Rosanna knew where their intentions lay. The chamber would be a snare for her. The final sign that there was no going back. The flickering torches along the corridors cast elongated shadows, creating a play of light and darkness that danced along the lavish golden patterns lining the walls.

Finally, they arrived at the chamber. Richly adorned doors loomed on either side. The air hung heavy with the weight of expectations, and her steps echoed across the polished marble floors, each footfall a reminder of the gravity of this encounter.

Upon entering the audience chamber, her senses became engulfed by the vastness of the space. Towering cream columns, embellished with golden carvings, rose like guardians of the imperial court. Plush navy blue carpets, woven with intricate patterns, softened the imposing marble floor beneath. Sunlight filtered through stained glass windows, casting kaleidoscopic hues across the room. The chamber itself was an opulent tableau, where the thrones of the emperor and empress sat elevated upon a dais.

As Rosanna remained standing in the centre, Madam Ravenshaw executed a discreet cough. Her not-so-subtle reminder echoed through the air, a subtle nudge urging Rosanna to fulfil the requisite formality of greeting the emperor and empress.

The emperor sat with an air of quiet power. His gaze, discerning and composed, locked onto Rosanna’s as she approached. Beside him, the empress maintained an unreadable expression. The silence that ensued was palpable, punctuated only by the rhythmic ticking of an ornate clock. The weight of their presence bore down on her, and she stifled the flutter of nerves that threatened to fail her outward calm.

She offered a respectful bow, her movements practised out of necessity. "Your Imperial Majesties," she addressed them, her voice betraying a subtle tremor. "I am Rosanna of House Fayrin, here at the behest of my father, the King of Esnir. I extend my deepest gratitude for the honour of being received in your esteemed presence.”

The emperor acknowledged her introduction with a nod. "Welcome, Princess Rosanna. We trust your journey has been pleasant."

She almost grimaced openly. Pleasant. It would have been perfectly pleasant if she had received news of Sir Gareth by now.

The empress added, "Indeed, welcome. We are eager to learn more about Esnir and your… relationship to our empire."

Their eyes, keen and expectant, scrutinised not just Rosanna’s words but the subtleties of her body language. The empress's words lingered, and Rosanna could sense the unspoken expectations hanging in the air. Her heart quickened. She nodded graciously, acknowledging the weight of the welcome.

"Your Imperial Majesties, I am honoured to stand in the illustrious presence of the rulers of this great empire," I began, "The ties between Esnir and your esteemed empire have long been known within our shared history. It is with utmost respect and admiration that I stand before you today."

The emperor's stern countenance softened subtly, while the empress continued to observe with discerning eyes. This was it. She’d practised the next words thousands of times before the mirror, but every time was no more nerve-wracking than the previous. This could determine her life… or death.

"As for our relationship," she said, choosing her words carefully, "it is one of friendship, forged through years of mutual understanding and respect. Esnir values the stability and prosperity of this region, and we seek to maintain amicable relations with our neighbours."

A ripple of anticipation coursed through the hall, and she knew the moment had arrived to address the matter at the heart of the audience.

"In the spirit of transparency," she continued, her gaze meeting the empress's unwaveringly, "I must address the matter of great importance to both realms. Your generous proposal for a marriage alliance has reached the ears of my family, and we are truly honoured by the consideration given to Esnir. Such an alliance would undoubtedly strengthen the bonds between our realms." she paused, allowing the weight of the acknowledgement to settle, before adding, "However, as some may be aware, an accident has left me with a mask that veils my visage. Esnir, with the utmost humility and respect, is cautious of tying the reputation of a princess with such visible marks to a prince of the esteemed Catel Empire. We hold your realm in the highest regard, and it is out of concern for the potential impact on your standing that we must decline this noble proposal.

“To fortify the bonds between our realms," she continued, shifting the focus, "Esnir proposes an alternative path. We would be honoured to sponsor this year's biannual hunt, inviting our allies from the Far East. This event would not only showcase the strength of our alliance but also provide an opportunity for the Catel Empire to mend connections with the East, which, as we understand, haven't been on the most favourable terms."

These were the sharp words of her own father, as he had instructed her to convey clearly. She knew it was a big risk, a large offence to the empire. But she believed her father, leader of the Eastern Confederacy, capable enough to predict a more favourable outcome for Esnir with this bold statement.

The grand hall held its breath as her proposal lingered in the air. The empress's expression tightened, her features hardening into a mask of displeasure.

"Princess Rosanna, your audacity in refusing our generous proposal is, frankly, astonishing," the empress began, her tone sharper than before, "To suggest that the reputation of a Catel prince could be tarnished by a visible mark is an insult to our integrity and an affront to our noble line. This alternative proposal of a mere hunt is hardly a suitable replacement for the alliance we graciously offered. And you dare stand before the Catel Empire, and suggest that we are on bad terms with our neighbours? Such audacity! We pride ourselves on maintaining amicable relations with the surrounding realms--- this is an insult to our court!"

A murmur swept through the courtiers, their eyes darting between the empress and Rosanna. Rosanna met her gaze with composure, though the storm brewing in her eyes hinted at the storm within.

Amicable relations. Such was the rhetoric echoed by every Catelian, a steadfast assertion that belied a historical truth: their ancestors, wielding formidable magical prowess and advancements, had once endeavoured to unite the world. This ambition, however, had birthed enduring tensions between Catel and the surrounding regions that persisted even in the present day. Yet, acknowledging this historical truth was a forbidden discourse. Instead, Rosanna knelt onto the ground.

"Your Imperial Majesties, I meant no disrespect. Esnir acknowledges the esteemed reputation of the Catel Empire in maintaining diplomatic relations. My intention was to propose an opportunity to foster even stronger ties, not to cast doubt upon your empire's standing."

The emperor, a more tempered voice in the exchange, raised a hand to quell the burgeoning tension. "My esteemed empress, let us consider the proposition before we cast judgement. The princess offers an alternative that, if approached with diplomacy, could prove beneficial to both realms."

The empress was not easily swayed. "Beneficial?" she retorted, her anger simmering just beneath the surface. "To suggest that we host an event in place of a union, as if we are desperate for Esnir's patronage!"

The emperor's gaze lingered on Rosanna as the empress's displeasure showed.

"I must commend your bravery, Princess Rosanna," he said, his voice carrying a note of caution. "To arrive here with so little entourage and announce a rejection of this nature takes a courage seldom seen in diplomatic affairs. I admire your commitment to honesty and transparency, even in the face of such delicate matters." The empress shot a disapproving glance at the emperor, her disapproval evident.

However, he continued, undeterred, "While the empress rightly expresses her concerns, I am inclined to see this as an opportunity for a different kind of alliance—one built on understanding and cooperation rather than solely matrimonial bonds. However, it would be remiss of me not to express my concern about the potential repercussions of such a public announcement, both for Esnir and for the diplomatic ties between our realms. Extend your stay in the Catel Empire until after the biannual hunt, three months from now.” He turned to the empress, seeking to temper the rising ire. "My love, perhaps Princess Rosanna's stay in our empire could be an opportunity to showcase the strength of our diplomatic ties and, in time, reconsider the marriage alliance. It would be unwise to let a single moment jeopardise the potential benefits this union could bring."

The empress reluctantly nodded in agreement. "Very well, but make it clear to your kingdom, Princess, that this is a temporary arrangement. We will entertain this alternative for the sake of diplomatic decorum, but we expect a more favourable resolution in the future."

Rosanna bowed respectfully, acknowledging the compromise.

"Princess, I extend an invitation," the emperor declared, breaking the tension with a slight smile. "In two weeks, in honour of your arrival and the beginning of what I hope will be a fruitful stay, we shall host a welcome banquet. It would be an opportunity for our realms to come together in celebration and understanding."

Rosanna offered a gracious bow. "Your Imperial Majesties, I am humbled by your gracious invitation. I look forward to the banquet."

With that, they exchanged parting pleasantries, the weight of the exchange lingering in the air. Rosanna exited the grand hall, the courtiers' whispers following her, and she pondered the future that awaited—an extended stay in the Catel Empire, a welcome banquet teeming with expectations, and the mountainous task of bridging international relations.

As she made her way through the ornate corridors of the imperial palace, the weight of the decision and the path ahead settled upon her. "Just three months," she whispered to herself, the words a quiet reassurance in the midst of uncertainty. “Three months, and I can go home.”