The Princesses

"That would be thirty-six silvers in total. Just a moment, let me pack these for you. Here you go," the shopkeeper said, handing the package. "Please come again!"

"Thank you," Ingrid replied, her lips pulling into a strained smile.

After much thought, she chose her materials—brushes, paints, and canvases— envisioning the masterpiece she wanted to create.

"Should I paint the garden?" Ingrid thought and sighed. "It will not be the same."

Ingrid turned around, and bumped into someone. The package slipped from her arms, landing on the floor with a sharp thud that echoed through her. 

"Why... is everything going awry," Ingrid thought, watching the paint spill on the floor.

"You wretch! Do you realize how much this dress costs?" the noblewoman exclaimed, raising her brow.

Ingrid looked at the lady's dress, then to her bag of coins. "Will this be enough for payment?" she thought.

"I deeply apologize. How much is it?" Ingrid asked, her voice gentle.

Seeing Ingrid wearing a wimple — a sign of either nuns or widows — the noblewoman raised her chin and scoffed. "It's worth more than your life!" she said.

"She reminds me of some awful people," Ingrid thought, her gentle face slowly turning into a grimace.

As she dwelled on the thought, a sudden surge of unrestrained fury seized her. In an instant, the calm facade shattered, and her temper flared like a storm. Time blurred, and in the blink of an eye, she found herself standing outside the store, the aftermath of her outburst echoing in her ears like a distant thunder, leaving her disoriented and drained.

"What happened inside, milady? There seems to be a commotion," the coachman asked Ingrid. "Milady?"

Ingrid came back to her senses and slowly remembered what she did.

"L-let us return to the palace," she responded weakly.

Inside the carriage, Ingrid's hands shook as she clutched the edges of her seat, trying to steady her trembling fingers. Her breathing came in ragged gasps and the rhythmic clattering of the horses' hooves against the cobblestone road mirrored the chaos in her thoughts. 

"I did it again," she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible above the noise of the carriage. Ingrid closed her eyes, attempting to shut out the world around her and focus on the slow, deliberate rhythm of her breathing.

In the dim light filtering through the carriage window, she forced herself to calm down. 

She took deep breaths and visualized a tranquil scene — a serene garden, bathed in soft sunlight, with gentle breezes rustling the leaves of ancient trees. In her mind, she walked through this peaceful oasis with her mentor and guardian, Princess Katarina, the imaginary sensation of grass beneath their feet grounding her.

Gradually, as the minutes passed, Ingrid felt the storm within her start to subside. She unclenched her fists, feeling the pain in her palms as if it were a reminder of the consequences of her actions.

"I thought it won't happen again," she whispered.

With each passing moment, the carriage carried her further from the chaos, allowing her to gather the fragments of her composure. Ingrid focused on the distant horizon, determination flickering in her eyes.

In the quiet corridor, Tara had just closed the door when Ingrid's suddenly appeared. "Princess?" she exclaimed.

Tara, a maid in her late 50s with graying hair and a slender frame, perhaps due to having no children of her own.

"Greetings, Tara. Kindly inform Her Highness of my presence," Ingrid said softly, holding a battered package in her arms. Her once white dress was now smeared with paint.

Tara nodded. "Of course." She gently opened the large wooden door and announced, "Your Highness, Princess Ingrid is back."

After a few moments, Tara motioned Ingrid to enter.

The room, with its pristine white walls and tasteful furnishings, exuded an air of quiet elegance.

Lying on the bed was Princess Katarina, a woman whose over fifty years of age had done nothing to fade her inherent beauty. Her long hair, adorned with graceful gray strands, was intricately braided, a testament to the care she still took in her appearance.

Yet, the beauty Ingrid saw now differed from the one etched in her old memories. Over time, Katarina's once healthy and vibrant body had become frail and skinny. Her once rosy and full cheeks had narrowed, highlighting the toll of age and illness.

 "Foolish child, how are you here?" Katarina asked, her voice weak.

Ingrid lowered her gaze to the ground. "I asked the coachman to turn back," she answered.

"Of course, you did," Katarina sighed, well aware of Ingrid's tendency to give concise answers. "How far did you go?"

"Not far."

"Did you see the capital?"

"Yes, Your Highness."

"Mind telling me more?" Katarina asked.

Ingrid maintained her gaze on the ground with a calm face, recalling her recent adventure. "It exceeded my expectations," she responded. "I saw a lot of stores... and people... And there was a beautiful old stationery store." 

"And?" Princess Katarina held her breath, her gaze searching Ingrid's face for any sign of her true emotions. She let out a deep sigh. "You know what I wish to hear, child. Speak the truth. Why have you returned, despite all my efforts to send you away from this accursed place? And why are you here in such a disheveled state?"

Silence hung in the air before Ingrid mustered the courage to speak. "I am sorry," she said.

"Are you not going to provide an explanation? At least answer my first question." Katarina said.

Ingrid did not reply.

Katarina sighed again. "I've invested years and a considerable fortune in securing your departure from the empire. Yet, you return without offering any justification? Foolish child, do you aspire to become like me?" she asked.

Ingrid met Katarina's gaze. "That, I do not mind," she said calmly.

"What do you mean, you don't mind?" Katarina retorted, trying her best to remain calm. "Do you really want to live in seclusion?"

"I don't wish to leave you alone, Your Highness," Ingrid evaded the question.

"Well, I am going to leave you alone. Time is slipping away from me, and you know that well," Katarina said. She wanted to be angry, but when she saw Ingrid's face, all she could do was sigh. She closed her eyes.

"I raised you like my own child, my dear," Katarina said. "I am glad I had you. But you are the last royal captive in this prison. Tell me, Ingrid, do you think this decision of yours is not something you will regret later on?"

Ingrid paused, her voice steady but with a hint of vulnerability. "Your Highness, from the moment I could read, I was already taught about my duty as a princess," she said, her gaze dropping to the floor.. "To bring peace to my kingdom is an honor I accept," Ingrid replied

"You-" Katarina's words were cut short by a fit of coughing.

Ingrid's heart raced as she noticed the blood staining Katarina's handkerchief.

"Your Highness, I'll fetch the doctor!" Tara exclaimed before darting out of the room.

Alone now, Katarina gently motioned for Ingrid to draw closer. "Come," she beckoned.

Ingrid approached with a graceful stride, though her knees trembled beneath her.

Arriving at the bedside, Ingrid carefully set the package down and knelt, her movements deliberate and gentle. 

"What does the package contain?" Katarina asked, her voice gentle.

Ingrid looked down. "I purchased brushes and paints... for a gift I wanted to create for Your Highness. But..." Her words hung in the air, carrying the weight of her disappointment at the mistakes she had made.

Katarina sensed this and sighed.

"My dear child," Katarina whispered as she gently cupped Ingrid's face. "If only you are not in this palace, you would have effortlessly graced the high society."

Katarina paused and sighed. "Right now, they may have forgotten our existence, but after my passing, this prison will once again draw their gaze. Since you have wasted my efforts to set you free... at least remember to keep yourself safe... once I am gone."

The room seemed to blur around Ingrid, as tears gathered in her eyes.

Katarina's gaze softened at the sight. "Oh, my dear," she said, her voice gentle, "If men witness such vulnerability, they will kneel before you. Perhaps save your tears for a more strategic moment, not at my death," she added, her tone light despite the gravity of the situation.

"Inappropriate timing for jokes, Your Highness," Ingrid answered solemnly.

Katarina's smile softened, her gaze full of affection. "I jest not, my love. Your beauty is undeniable, and you must recognize it."

"Thank you... mother," Ingrid whispered.

"Hmm? What did you say?"

"Thank you, Your Highness."

"You cheeky child, are you shy?"

"I am already going 23, Your Highness. Yet you still treat me like a child," Ingrid replied.

Katarina laughed.

"But, indeed, you are 23," she thought as she watched Ingrid. "I thought I could send you out of this wretched place before I leave." 

After that night, Princess Katarina of the Kingdom of Soklova succumbed to three severe bouts of fever, leaving the world behind.