Rise of the Unfavored Princess

177 Ch. 176: Just Desserts

Sometimes, in the midst of political machinations, it is important to find a moment of normalcy. But even so, I can’t help but tap my finger on the vanity impatiently as Marie messes up one of my signature hairstyles for the second time in a row.

“Maybe I should reach out to them and cancel,” I propose as the lilac hair ribbon is tugged out of a loose braid. “Or maybe I should invite Elias instead.”

“No, to both, your highness.” In the mirror, I can see Marie tut in disapproval. She has been a little off lately in small ways, the forgotten shoe here and a messed-up hairstyle there. It’s been a week since the shocking trial verdict, which means the flames of gossip have not yet abated. Lord Berrick has declined from appearing in court since that day, which has made the following charges far easier to slip in undetected. I cannot help but smile to myself as I think of how the subtle plan Augustus and I implemented to quietly take back land, and by extension, true power, into imperial hands. I may not like this family, but unfortunately, as a member of it, my fate is very much tied up in how well we are doing.

The Duvernay hold great sway over many of the landowning nobility who collectively are the true seat of power in the Erudian Empire. It’s about time we chip away at that properly. But as fun as it was to plan, I know it will be an utter bore to watch those minor stipulations and rules get twisted and manipulated in a divorce trial, maybe even worse than watching paint dry, so I am choosing to abstain from watching. Lief has also been relieved of his duties but for some reason, when I told Marie, she did not appear as relieved as I thought she would be.

“Are they still due to arrive at one?”

“Yes. Lady Bourdain and Lady Laroche are due to arrive soon. It was you who planned to invite them for tea thus it would be utterly uncouth of you to disinvite them on a whim,” she reasons with me.

I let out a long sigh. “No, you’re right. I’m just… not in the mood to pretend everything is alright.”

A flash of understanding dances through Marie’s eyes even as she questions me. “But did the trial not go as you desired, your highness?”

“Well, yes. But the trial isn’t even over. And I haven’t hacked away at enough roots for the tree called House Duvernay to never recover. If my axe is discovered, the tree can still easily recover.”

.....

I can all but see the question mark hovering over my nursemaid’s head.

“…I don’t understand. The roots?” Marie inquires.

“The foundation,” I simply explain.

The rose motif I found by the shrine in the older part of the palace comes back to mind with a vengeance. House Duvernay is nearly as entrenched in the empire as the imperial family. Their vine of thorns is firmly wrapped around our necks, simultaneously strangling us and feeding off of us in order for the Holy Church to survive. In fact, if nothing else, they’ve grown tighter in recent years. By performing a coup and killing off a good portion of the imperial family, my father’s rise to power has inadvertently fed the rose’s thorns even more blood.

“How does the axe factor into this though?” Marie further asks, poking away at my analogy. She is awfully inquisitive today, but in all fairness, since her nephew has been involved, she has been a lot more concerned regarding the nitty gritty than she used to be.

“Tell you later!” The third time proves to be the charm and Marie has finally created a suitable hairstyle to be seen by outsiders. I know that Julia has a full stylist team that assists her in getting ready, a team that must be gathering dust as she hasn’t been out in a long time and was only recently ungrounded. But I am a bit simpler and prefer the assistance of Marie and Lady Arabella.

I let out a huff of disappointment at the thought of hanging out with 2 literal children who do somewhat behave their age. “I really should’ve just invited Elias instead.”

“That won’t do, your highness.” There’s something in Marie’s tone that catches my attention, like a hangnail caught on a stitch of clothing.

“Oh?” I murmur, silently urging her to elaborate. The air grows heavy around us.

Marie clears her throat. Her official tone is very at odds with her usual demeanor, it’s as if someone is speaking through her.

“Elias is no longer allowed to come to the palace. You are a young woman, only a few years from your coming-of-age ceremony. It won’t do for-“.

“Was it my mother?” I interrupt, a touch uncharacteristic for me since I typically try to treat everyone around me with that 21st-century courtesy. But there is a buzzing in my head that won’t go away from the moment she uttered those words.

“...”

“My father?” I press, ultimately hitting the nail on the head. Marie looks away in discomfort.

“His Majesty deemed it so a few days ago,” she confirms.

I smile to myself, one that is all teeth and accompanied by very little charm. “So now he wants to act like a father, hm?”

The white-haired girl in the mirror begins to laugh.

“Ha. Ha ha.” She doesn’t sound amused at all though. In fact, if you listen closely, she sounds like she is trying not to cry.

“That won’t do. That won’t do at all,” the girl in the mirror and I mutter to ourselves.

A foreign, fiery emotion nearly takes ahold of me, the kind that would give me the courage of 100 men and make me do something crazy like burn a building down with the same smile still on my face. But I push it back down in a place where it bubbles and burns, threatening to overflow at any moment.

No, it’s not heartburn. I fear this is something much worse. This ‘thing’ grows steadily year after year, threatening one day to swallow me into the bottomless pit of rage that I know sits at the very bottom.

Without my notice, my breathing has sped up and I have to forcefully slow it down. I am not the kind of person who gives in to her baser emotions. I’m better than that. My mother, my real, true mother, raised me better than that. I release my viselike grip on the back of my seat and rise to my feet as if nothing has happened, even though my aching palm and racing heartbeat both say otherwise.

“Well then, shall we greet my guests?” I cheerily lap my hands together and Marie as well as my less-than-faithful head attendant standing by the doorway jump.

Nina, Nina, Nina. Naughty Nina has fallen back into her old ways of serving as the empress’ eyes and ears. The remainder of my poor mood is swept under the rug as I think of how to take advantage of this discarded chess piece that has surprisingly been reused according to the secret note Emma found under her bed.

‘Will you be able to?’ The devil on my shoulder croons. ‘You are too merciful with your traitorous maids. The first one is now a countess. The one before still works at her current position with the generous salary you give all under your service.’

It’s right. Nonetheless, I wait for the angel’s rebuttal, a call from my conscience, urging me to be better than my opponents. I hear nothing from it, nothing at all.

Guests at the central palace are typically deposited in a small reception hall and that is where I find Antonia and Elsbeth. Their eyes are nearly as wide as the saucers each of them holds with the sort of delicate care that suggests a childhood spent rigorously training in manners. Judging by how they are able to hold the tea cup without dropping it out of PTSD, their governesses must be nicer than Ms. Laroche.

“Antonia! Elsbeth!” I call out with a wider-than-normal grin in an attempt to cover up my adult-like mannerisms. They both brighten as I rush into the room but don’t forget themselves as they curtsey simultaneously.

“Your Highness!” They chirp. “It’s an honor.”

Antonia, in a darling chestnut gown that compliments her skin tone and shimmers in the sunlight like gold, looks completely at ease in the finery of the palace that is none. Elsbeth’s voice holds a tremor, but she follows through with her etiquette seamlessly.

I haven’t seen either of them since that fateful day at the opera, but they look just as carefree, well-fed, and happy as any other girl hailing from a noble family ought to be. I do envy that, although I don’t let it show as I wave for them to sit back down and carry on with their refreshments.

“The honor is all mine, to host my new friends in my home. Shall we go to the garden? I’ve had the palace chefs prepare a delightful assortment of treats from all over the empire. Whoever can correctly guess which province, town, or city each dessert comes from, or gets the largest number correct, might win a secret prize I specially prepared,” I announce with a boisterous attitude better suited for a larger occasion than a dessert tasting. But when you are young, there are few occasions bigger or better than an excuse to eat something sweet.

“How fun!” Shy Elsbeth surprisingly exclaims first. She clumsily claps her hands together in delight, nearly spilling tea on her lap.

“What a idea! You’d both best watch out,” Antonia boasted with pride. “My mother delights in traveling all over the empire and I’ve tasted my fair share of delectable wonders.”

Antonia has always looked like the sharper one between the two, I have little doubt that the victory shall be hers. Linking my arm in each of them, I surprisingly find myself enjoying this pretense at youth. It’s a cosplay that has begun to feel like a second skin the longer I wear it.

I’d forgotten how astoundingly easy to make friends when you are young. When I was at the tail end of my college years, I was whisked away into this dumb web that has turned out to be far more dangerous and frightening than the romantic comedy it was portrayed to be. But still, I remember how hard it had been for me to make any lasting friends as a young adult outside of my then-fiancé, Jonathan, and my childhood bff-turned-betrayer, Hallie.

Ever since I awoke as a baby, my sole companion in times good and bad has been loneliness. I can truly count the number of friends I’ve made on one hand – Marie, Emma, Julian for a brief span of time, Ethan, and Augustus on occasion. That list grows shorter when you remove Marie and Emma from that list, as I often wrestle with the uneven nature of a relationship where one party is technically at the beck and call of another.

So that makes up a grand total of 2 friends: Augustus and Ethan. And they are both boys that I can’t have any girl talk with.

“You eat like an oaf!” Antonia boldly declared as Elsbeth miraculously shoves an entire eclair into her mouth with one bite.

“I do not!” she insisted around a mouthful of custard filling. “Your Highness, do you think I eat like an oaf?”

“Of course not! Anyone who says such a thing...” I lower my voice mischievously, forcing both of them to lean across the white garden table to hear me. “Must be an oaf themself!”

The two girls titter so long and loudly that Elsbeth nearly chokes on her food and we have to take a moment to pound her on the back. Their unladylike guffaws could be flattery or just the average 12-year-old’s sense of humor. I don’t particularly care either way. It makes for a light and airy occasion, like a chill sitcom you put on TV that you can enjoy without any serious emotions.

But of course, even with Peppermint successfully kept away from meddling with my life, this world was once the setting of a cliché romance story. Hence why, when a familiar face decided to crash my tea party, you will all be delighted to know that I was quite prepared.

“Julia!” I exclaim, dropping my eclair onto my plate in fake shock. Antonia and Elsbeth go quiet, a wise decision considering the whispered rumors they’ll no doubt have heard or been warned about by their mothers.

“So very kind of you to join us on this lovely day. Marie, if you could bring out that chair I left for her? I wouldn’t want my dearest sister to be uncomfortable,” I finish, playing the part of a welcoming host with ease.

What I didn’t prepare for, however? A kind, polite, and dare I say, changed Julia.

Her ringlets are as tight as ever, although they spill down her back now as her hair has grown considerably. The blush-colored dress and bonnet she wears lends to her sweet appearance, one that burns my eyes as she rushes forward to grab my hands with near-unnatural speed.

“It would be my pleasure, Winter. My greatest pleasure.” Her grasp is tight, but not too tight. Her eyes are round, her golden pupils flat and unreadable. Her smile actually resembles a smile, not the baring of teeth she used to flash at me in the past. This is not Julia. This is someone, something new.

And I do not care for it at all.