Unintended invitation

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It feels as if time had frozen until the hour of the banquet. With the memory of what I committed the entire day buried, pushing me into a daze. Before I knew it, the dress had been adorned on my body, and fragrances kneaded into me like a shadow to my limbs. Only until my hair was combed and restyled with more luxurious flower-shaped jewelry did I came to realize what they were saying.

"-Your Highness, are you listening? These are important tactics in winning prince Blaise's heart." I tried to pay attention, but my heart is in such a frenzy, I couldn't draw feelings of guilt towards the wasted chattering of baroness Bernice. Here I am being told on how to do the things I already failed. Each heavy ornament on my hair, tugging down my spirits slowly.

I look at my side view, of how both Monica and Lydia have left for reasons undisclosed, as though a secret is about to unfold. This only occurs when there's an insidious intrigue about to place. I start to dread what is yet to be spouted from baroness Bernice's mouth.

As if on cue, baroness Bernice sighs and then hands over a rolled-up message that fits into my fist. I look at her in precaution then open it up slowly only to blink twice upon the information. Only to gasp in surprise. Her dislike for Prince Blaise was always suspicious but to think there is such a secret.

"Her highness, Princess Ingrid is having an affair."

I carefully ponder on what to do with this particular information. On one side, Prince Blaise is dead set on marrying her. On the other side, she is cheating on him. And on an unimportant side, I desire him, so so much, my heart aches simply at the thought of it. Whether it is envy, whether it is longing, I do not know, only the fact he would bring happiness to me.

Is it truly wrong to pursue someone whose partner is having an affair and have yet to be wed? I consider to myself, tapping the table lightly with my finger in a rhythmic motion. Before I could decide on what to do, Baroness Bernice grasps my hands and lock eyes with me.

"If rejection comes to you, use this princess Athaliah. Men are at their weakest when they feel unneeded. Fill in that gap, your highness, Princess Athaliah." She whispers like a chant I cannot forget. However, memories of the day wash over me, and I feel defeat fill me instead. I have grown in age, and the day I am sold off in a marriage is not too far. Should I not target a more realistic and secure target?

Realizing the unlikeliness of the situation and the futility of even attempting, I push the piece of paper back into Baroness Bernice's hands instead, giving up on his highness, Prince Blaise before any love story could be written. There is simply no time left, and his heart is taken.

"Lady Bernice, there is no use in this. Prince Blaise is dead set on her and I have already been rejected." I explain, however, none of my words get through to her. Even after recounting all the incidents, she merely tells me to push harder. That no wall is too hard to climb.

For all the propriety the dark blonde baroness seems to have, she is totally determined to shove me into prince Blaise's bed and quite literally forever there. With an, even more, firmer grip she pushed the message back into my hands towards the hidden compartment in my sleeves where tiny items and messages could be hidden. Something all my clothes had in common.

Aristocracy sleeves are long to portray power. But for me, it is quite a literal thing. I could only frown at how alike I am to a spider ensnaring people in an invisible web. Masquerading under a mask of civility whilst plotting things that are anything but civil in nature. Watching one butterfly after another wither under my hands. The dark days haunt me, but I simply do not know how to repent.

I snap back to attention before I could reminiscence the event that truly caused me to wish to stop all of those horrendous deeds. The ruination of a life for the sake of mindless revenge. A petty scheme that stopped feeling so trivial at its occurring. The weeping of a jailed father mourning the separation of his daughter. Brown locks, a short body, and a name that never fades. Matilda Rosaine.

"That is exactly why you'll need this. Only warriors fight battle up front, those who are incapable use their wits." Of course, as someone so trained in this way, I recognize the "wisdom" in it. But somewhere there I just refuse to partake in such a diabolical thing. How much more chaos do I have to brew until they are satisfied?

Still, in spite of my displeasure, I have no choice but to keep the message with me as Monica and Lydia came into the room, ushering us to quickly enter the great hall lest we become late in our own birthday ceremonies. This is already very late in the eyes of the early comers, as baroness Bernice believes there is just so much more impact in coming when everyone is already there.

Needing to cool down, I command them to enter the great hall first. I sat in the room with my eyes closed for a period of time. The roaring wind of the unclosed windows calls for me to scream out. Yet I stay without words and instead went to the hallway that leads to the garden.

There is a certain air to this place. A certain mysticism. I could almost imagine fog rising to the east. The young moon lights up the flowers in the aftermath of sunset and I am left to admire the subtle way it falls upon the flowers. The small desire to pluck the flowers irking me.

There is a beautiful flower in front of me. A beauty I have gotten used to day by day. And the first thought I have was to pluck it. What difference will there be for them? I am already thrown in a downwards spiral. The rising frustration overtakes me and I crouch near the bushes before thrusting my hands into them.

But, what greeted me wasn't thorns or the texture of leaves, it was much softer than flowers. So much like a baby's skin or silk. Tender and smooth. I move my fingers around and rubbed only to be glared at by a dangerous pair of eyes. There was so much pressure and wrath in the air, I hesitated to peer inside but did so anyways.

There in the bush of blue delphinium. Was the man who proposed to me this morning. Same eyes, same nose, same lips. Yet bearing such a different impression. I shiver over how menacing he looked under the moonlight. Like a harbinger of death inches away from hauling me away.

I immediately retracted my hand. The frigid air replacing the soft and warm feeling. 'His skin was so soft.' I somehow think to myself but quickly bring myself back to reality. There is an angry man who I accidentally slapped and rubbed just inches away.

'What do you do when you accidentally stepped on a lion's face?' I ask to myself, only to come to the conclusion, 'run.' And so I got up on me legs and ran away, only to hear a rustling sound, I gulped and turned around, to see the man walking towards me.

His cravat half pulled down the neckline, revealing the untied collar of his shirt and the well-defined collarbone hiding beneath. I started sweating at the thought of what was going to happen, here is a completely able-bodied man, enraged, coming after me.

Everything about him felt imposing at that moment. A savagery gone haywire. Stripping away the restrained and forced gentleness in his previous gait. Despite the fact he is currently the one losing his mind, this impending sense of doom, of being under his control only grew stronger. It was but a stare, ferociously hanging on me yet somehow, I felt like he had me wrapped under his fingers already.

I am left to fear.

Especially when the words that ensued following his chase of me, were an earth-shattering incomprehensible sentence. "So, you are the one they sent. I am rather furious, being ambushed by strangers and injected with a drug. But since you offered yourself up to me, how can I refuse? Athaliah."