Rise of the Unfavored Princess

Ch. 29: The Spring Ball Pt. 2

A little girl in yellow has not stopped staring at me with an unpleasant look ever since she’s set her eyes on me. A woman stands beside her, the similar snooty features implicating her at the girl’s mother, was more subtle than her daughter. But the curl in her lip is still visible to my eyes from where I’m seated.

Boredom drives me to make conversation with Marie after an hour or two of watching other guests mingle and dance. While I’m still spellbound by the dazzling silhouettes of swirling fabric and the glistening decorations, they don’t hide the core of rot and malice within.

“Marie, isn’t it pretty in here?” I ask, making a show of admiring the room as the low-key orchestra in the corner jump into another pleasing melody. I know that someone accustomed to wealth would not be so startled by the hall the Spring Ball is taking place in, but if I truly wanted to fit in with the people here, I have a feeling it would look silly, like a child playing dress-up.

“Very lovely, your highness,” she replies, her eyes shining. Marie is very impressed by the grandeur of the hall but she still takes care of me diligently, handing me a handkerchief to wipe my mouth of crumbs. The sound of echoing footsteps and a sudden lull in conversation is not missed by my sharp ears as I engage Marie in light, childlike banter but I pay it no mind as if I haven’t noticed.

“Hello, Winter. I’m surprised you came,” says an irritating, young voice that almost coaxes a frown out of me. I turn to my half-sister with a smile as if I never noticed her.

“Jules!” I exclaim with a grin, marveling at how her face went through a hundred different expressions at the nickname I just appointed her.

Such a grand stage to cement my position as the dunce of the imperial family, it would be foolish of me to assume that this night would pass without mishap. This situation is akin to one of the cheerleaders making her dislike of her intended victim clear by ‘accidentally’ dumping her milk carton over them as she walked past, giving a carte blanche to the rest of the school to treat the victim as the new punching bag. Nothing I haven’t seen before.

Julia recovered from the blow of the unfortunate nickname I had just dealt her, magnificently ignoring the few titters from the bystanders watching the gentle showdown between sisters.

.....

“Just call me Julia,” my sister replies dryly, touching the blinding, ostentatious display of wealth upon her head, her tiara, as if to remind herself who she was. Princess Julia, daughter of the current Empress, granddaughter of Chancellor Duvernay, and rumored promised child if it wasn’t for me.

A smile at her even more sweetly as she fires a scathing glare at me before reaching for my hands with bad intentions.

“Sister,” she starts in a weak attempt at sounding kind, “I think you look very modest today. It is fitting attire for you.”

We look like the perfect picture of two sisters getting along. I squeeze her hands from her ‘compliment’ as she all but tells me that I am not fit to wear something grand because of my identity.

“You are always so nice to me, Jules. If it wasn’t for Mother selecting this pretty dress for me, I wouldn’t have had anything else to wear. I’m so grateful Mother was able to find me a dress that you would approve of.” I rebut in the same, gentle tone.

A few eyebrows raise at my statement and although no one cuts in. I smile pleasantly to myself while Julia’s face further sours. I’m not particularly skilled at the type of veiled discourse I’m currently engaging in, but Julia makes it too easy. With a sentence or two, I’ve insinuated that my elegant, yet excessively simple for a formal dress was not the result of my lack of knowledge but the doing of the empress. To insult my appearance in future gossip is to insult the empress’ decision.

Julia is slow on the uptake on account of her actually being a 5 year old, but when she understands the implication of what I’ve said, her mouth puckers as if she sucked on a lemon.

“You-!” she starts, ditching her friendly sister act and yanking her hands out of mine.

“What’s wrong?” I ask innocently as if I haven’t said anything wrong. My words are a catalyst, breaking the dam holding back Julia’s ferocious feelings.

“Why are you acting like this? Do you think you are my superior? Let me tell you, you are nothing! You are lower than dirt, you slave!” Julia’s cheeks are rouged with rage, her curls bouncing as she goes off on me. As adorable as Julia is, her temper has no rival out of all the noble ladies.

I let my lower lip slightly wobble as if I’m hurt and Julia’s golden eyes shine with victory, not expecting the next blow I throw at her.

“Why are you calling me a slave?” I whimper out like I’m about to cry. I can feel the crowd watching us subtly shift closer, a pack of hyenas drawn in by the weakness I’m displaying.

Julia scoffed, already the winner in her mind. “Of course, because you were born from a slave. That makes you one, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t even know who my mother is. The only parent I know is our father, the emperor.” I tap my hand on my chin, allowing a shocked expression to fill my face. “Julia, are you- are you calling our father a slave?”

Gasps fill the hall and one of the musicians who had heard what I said misses a note on his cello, filling the air with discord. Finally, those faux friendly masks of the nobles are stripped away, revealing raw fear.

Who didn’t know about the unfortunate Count and his family who were all executed on the grounds of insulting the Emperor’s parentage? After all, my father and I aren’t so different, both children born outside of their father’s marriage. Only anyone who knows the whole, bitter truth of the matter is long dead.

I revel in the dismay that has taken hold the moods of those around me and watch as Julia’s face contorts at the implication of what I’ve said. I mentally pat myself on the back for remembering obscure details from the web.

“What? What, no! My father- our father is not... he is of the noblest birth! I would never suggest that!” Julia says desperately, looking at the looming crowd for support.

But this was an affair even they couldn’t step in to mend. Insulting the ruler was a death sentence and no one wanted to touch this case with a ten-foot pole. As a princess, Julia would most definitely be spared, but if they said the wrong statement in defense of Julia, it would be their heads on the chopping block.

“Mooommmmyyyyyy!”

My half-sister’s eyes fill with tears as she finds no friends from the nobles who are suddenly disinterested in our conversation. Julia runs back to where Empress Katya is sitting with an unpleasant expression on her face. I wave to my ‘mother’ as if the previous situation didn’t just occur in front of me. She manages a thin-lipped smile on her face as if someone is holding a knife to her neck and demanding it of her.

“Your highness!” someone calls from behind me. I whirl around, my long braid nearly whipping me in the face and exclaim in surprise.

“Sir Finn!” I say cheerfully, almost completely forgetting about Julia. The young knight looks dapper tonight in an old-fashioned suit with coattails, gloves, and a shiny pin that denotes his identity as a member of the royal guard. His blonde hair has been oiled back, giving him a classy vibe that makes him seem a few years beyond his age.

The younger noblewomen in the crowd blush behind handkerchiefs and preen themselves like peacocks hoping to be noticed. I suppress a snort at their desperate actions, especially as one young woman who couldn’t have long since celebrated her debut in society drops her embroidered hanky right by Finn’s foot. As if I would leave Finn for these wolves.

I grab his hand enthusiastically, Marie forced to keep up as we make our way through the crowd. I take special care to step on the flower-covered handkerchief as we make our way through the crowd, digging my heel in a bit before continuing. I throw one last look over my shoulder, the warpath we’ve made efficiently scattering everyone so that the informal throne my father and my brothers had sat around are visible.

Emperor Helio’s cushioned red seat is completely empty and my triumph over Julia fades into a hollow victory. I think about my father’s flat, cold gaze that did not even deign to look my way once through the night. My heart hurts a bit and I blame my emotions on being trapped in a young body. Just to stop the threat of tears brimming behind my eyes, I laugh a little, startling Finn to look down at me.

“You alright?” Finn asks as we reach the outdoor terrace, abandoned due to the pervasive winter chill that hung around even though it was springtime.

“Yes.” No. My mom is long dead. My dad is a supreme asshole. My step-mom and half-sister want to kill me.

I offhandedly wonder if I’m somehow feeling the previous Winter’s sadness, but quickly dismiss the idea as I would have felt her emotions beforehand if this was the case.