The Emperor, A Neglectful Father

The next morning, Lexzandra wakes up to a sky painted in hues of dawn, the palace grounds bathed in a soft, golden light. Birds chirp melodiously from the gardens below, and a gentle breeze carries the scent of blooming flowers through the open windows.

The grandeur of the palace is juxtaposed with the tension simmering within her, a reminder of the regal world she must navigate with newfound resolve.

Lexzandra's heart pounds in her chest as she dresses meticulously for her audience with the king. Nerves twist in her stomach, and her hands tremble slightly. She knows this meeting is crucial, the first true test of her resolve and newfound identity.

Lexzandra stands before her mirror, carefully examining her reflection. She is dressed in a gown of soft baby blue, chosen to highlight her striking features and convey a sense of maturity and grace.

The gown is simple yet elegant, adorned with delicate silver embroidery along the hem and neckline. The fabric shimmers subtly in the light, and the long lace sleeves taper to graceful points at her wrists.

She wears her hair in a loose updo, a few tendrils framing her face, which she hopes will give her a dignified yet approachable appearance.

"Elara, do I look presentable?" she asks, turning to her maid who stands by, holding a small tray of accessories.

"You look more than presentable, Your Highness," Elara replies, her voice filled with encouragement.

Lexzandra nods, her mind already on the meeting. "Thank you, Elara. Now, let's go."

The walk to the king's chambers feels longer than usual, each step heavy with the weight of her purpose. The palace's opulent halls, with their gleaming marble floors and richly decorated walls, seem to close in on her, reminding her of the grandeur and the power she must now face.

Upon arriving at the king's chambers, Lexzandra is met with the stern faces of the guards.

Lexzandra's brows furrows in frustration, her eyes darting back and forth between the guard's stern face and the closed door behind him.

"I must speak with the king. It's urgent," she insists, her voice tinged with desperation.

The guard's expression remains stoic, unmoved by her plea. He stands tall, arms crossed firmly over his chest, a silent sentinel guarding the entrance to the king's chambers. "I'm sorry, Your Highness, but the king is unavailable at the moment," he states matter-of-factly. "You'll have to come back later."

Lexzandra's anxiety bubbles to the surface, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. "I can't wait. This is important," she implores, her voice tinge with urgency.

Despite her impassioned plea, the guard's demeanor remains unchanged, his stance unwavering. "I understand, Your Highness," he begins, his tone softening ever so slightly, "but I can't let you in."

Undeterred, Lexzandra decides to wait. She stands firmly outside the grand doors, her posture straight and her expression resolute.

Hours pass, and a dull ache begins to gnaw at Lexzandra's legs, gradually intensifying into a throbbing pain that pulses with each beat of her heart.

With each passing moment, the strain becomes more pronounced, as if invisible weights are tethering her to the spot.

"Just a little longer," she murmurs to herself, trying to drown out the protests of her protesting muscles. "You've come this far; you can't give up now."

Each step feels like a Herculean effort, but she pushes through, her determination acting as a shield against the relentless assault of pain.

Finally, after four grueling hours, the heavy doors creak open, as if the emperor had taken sympathy on her. Lexzandra feels a surge of relief and determination as she is summoned inside.

"Announcing Princess Lexzandra von Leynthall," the chamberlain declares.

She steps into the king's chamber, her heart pounding but her resolve unshaken. The room is grand and imposing, much like the man who rules the kingdom.

The king, Theodore von Leynthall, a man in his late fifties, exudes an air of authority. His stern face is framed by a well-groomed beard, streaked with gray, and his eyes are sharp, betraying years of experience and wisdom. His regal attire, a deep crimson robe with golden embroidery, reflects his status and command.

As she looks at him, the pain intensifies, and she wonders if this is the real Lexzandra's pain, surfacing from deep within her subconscious.

The king sits on his chair near the study desk, his expression as stern and unyielding as the walls around them.

"Why are you creating a scene, Lexzandra?" Theodore asks, his voice dripping with irritation. "What is it that you want now?" He clearly expects this to be another one of her frivolous requests.

But Lexzandra stands confidently, her posture composed. "Your Majesty," she begins with a grace that catches him off guard, "I am here to address some serious issues that have come to my attention."

The king raises an eyebrow, surprised by her calm demeanor. "Continue," he says, leaning back slightly in his chair.

Lexzandra takes a deep breath and recounts the recent events. "I have been unwell, unconscious for nearly a week," she says, intentionally mentioning her illness to evoke some sympathy. "During this time, I have discovered alarming issues regarding the management of my palace."

Theodore notices the paleness of her skin, the way her cheeks seem hollowed, and how thin and fragile she appears.

Her modest dress, simple and unadorned, is a stark contrast to what a princess should be wearing.

It irks him.

Has she always looked this frail? The thought nags at him, but he realizes he has never bothered to notice anything about her. She has been an afterthought, a constant reminder of his second wife, whom he neither loved nor respected.

'Why is she so thin? And why that dress?' he thinks, irritation bubbling up. A princess should not appear so diminished.

"Continue," he says, his voice gruff. He conceals his thoughts behind a mask of authority, but Lexzandra's appearance has already made an unexpected impact on him, stirring questions he has never considered before.

"Your Majesty, i confronted Lady Irina and I have discovered that the resources allocated to my palace have been steadily decreasing.

The meals are bland and poorly prepared, and the staff is overworked and underpaid. Upon further investigation, I learned that Lady Irina has been embezzling funds meant for my palace."

The king's expression hardens. "These are serious accusations, Lexzandra," he says, though his tone suggests he still harbors doubts. "Why now? Why are you bothering with this all of a sudden? What are you truly planning?"

Lexzandra grinds her teeth in frustration but chooses to play the victim card, softening her expression. She takes a deep breath and looks at him with earnest eyes.

"Father, I understand your skepticism. I know my past actions haven't given you much reason to trust me," she begins, her voice trembling slightly for effect. "But my recent illness gave me time to reflect on many things. I've realized the errors of my ways and how my actions have not only hurt myself but those around me."

Theodore's eyes narrow, but he remains silent, allowing her to continue.

"I want to change, Father. I want to do better for the people and for myself. The issues with Lady Irina and the cook are just symptoms of a larger problem. I neglected my responsibilities, and I am here to correct that," she says, her voice steadying with conviction. "I truly want the best for the people of our palace. My intentions are sincere."

She pauses, giving her words time to sink in. "I realize I was wrong in the past, but I am asking for a chance to prove myself. To show you that I can be a responsible and worthy daughter," she continues, her eyes pleading. "I need your support to make these changes, Father. Without it, I fear things will only get worse."

Theodore studies her for a long moment, his gaze intense. Lexzandra holds her breath, hoping her words have reached him. "Father," she repeats softly, emphasizing the familial bond she hopes to strengthen.

The king's stern expression wavers slightly, a flicker of uncertainty passing through his eyes.

When she receives no answer, she decides to continue before the king changes his mind. "I've brought the ledgers from the palace. They detail the allocation of resources and the discrepancies I've found." She presents the documents, her hands trembling slightly. "These ledgers show that a significant portion of the funds meant for my palace never reached us. Instead, it seems Lady Irina has been diverting them for her own purposes."

The king takes the ledgers, his eyes scanning the pages with a furrowed brow. "I need you to see the truth, Father."

"You investigated this by yourself?" the Emperor asks, half in disbelief and half in shock. Lexzandra nods, her blue-lavender eyes twinkling with resolution.

Thoedore brushes his beard slowly, his eyes going through the papers. He is unsure but maybe Lexzandra is telling the truth. He keeps the documents aside and meets her eyes.

"Very well. I'll look into this matter but know this Lexzandra– if you are playing some games, the consequences will be severe."

A small smile appears on her face and she bows, "Thank you for your kindness, Your Majesty."

The king's stern gaze doesn't soften, but he nods slightly.

Lexzandra takes this as a small victory and presses on. "I also need to address another matter before you dismiss me, Father," she says, her tone resolute. "It's about the state of my palace, or rather, the lack thereof."

The king arches an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed but curious. "Go on," he says tersely.

Lexzandra clasps her hands together, summoning every ounce of courage.

"It is a disgrace for a princess to not have a lady-in-waiting when every noble daughter, whether a duke's daughter or a marquess's daughter, has one. I stand here, a princess of this empire, with only Elara, a low-ranking maid, to serve me. This is not only humiliating but also impractical. My palace is grossly understaffed, and the servants I do have are overworked and insufficient to maintain the standards expected of royalty."

The king strokes his chin, contemplating her words. Lexzandra seizes the moment to drive her point home.

"Father, I request your permission to hire a suitable number of servants and, most importantly,a few lady-in-waitings. This is not just about my comfort; it's about restoring the dignity of my position and ensuring that I can effectively carry out my responsibilities. I ask this not out of vanity, but out of necessity."

The king looks at her long and hard, clearly weighing her words. Lexzandra holds her breath, hoping her plea has struck a chord.