1711, Aethiel Palace, Kestramore City
La Nuit du Ciel Doré, or The Night of The Golden Skies, a night of endless festivities and magic, was approaching near, and soon, the kingdom's future queen consort would be officially chosen.
The Night of The Golden Skies is almost legendary to the ordinary Ravaerinnian, as it had not been held for over two hundred years.
According to tradition, towards the very end of The Choosing Ceremony, a grand, prestigious ball shall be held. The entire palace would be lit up with thousands of candles painted with liquid gold, and during that one night, all citizens were allowed to the palace, where they could eat and dine to their heart's desire.
Then, at the stroke of midnight, fireworks would be launched into the sky. In the darkness of the night, the golden sparks of the fireworks were like a shower of stars, and it was as if the skies had turned gold, hence the name.
For the past two hundred years, the monarchs of Ravaeryn were either roped into arranged marriages, or chose to marry commoners, as such in the case of King Guillaume and Queen Isabel. Tonight, the sky would light up again, just like it had been two hundred years ago.
A week prior to the grand event, representatives from all twelve houses were invited to the palace, where they would stay until the new princess consort is finally chosen.
Giuseppe le Comte, the General of the Southern Wing had elected to come, and he brought his dear wife, Maeve le Comte along with him.
The general was immensely tall and possessed a mane of thick, unruly red hair, reminiscent of a wild lion, while Maeve le Comte had long, sleek black hair and was rather petite. With a single glance, it is clear who Jessamine inherited her looks from, although her cool temperament is definitely inherited from her mother.
The members of House le Prince had also arrived in great style and splendour, though who knows what they had to pawn in order to afford that.
The Count of Fiorio, a short, stocky man with thin strands of blond hair on his balding head stepped out of the carriage first, followed by the Countess, a remarkably fair and handsome woman with long, straight blonde hair that resembled corn silk.
Alberta le Prince was born Alberta Blanchard, so it should not be a surprise where she got her sheer good looks from. The last person to exit the carriage was Nathaniel le Prince, Marguerite's older and only brother. A true testament to their father, Nathaniel was short and plump, and for some reason was always sweating. His pale skin was constantly red and blotchy, making it seem as if he had a horrible rash. His hair, thankfully, had not fallen off yet.
Shortly after the guests from Fiorio arrived, a splendidly gilded carriage with polished black wooden walls followed suit, and the loud neighing of the four Cantergarrian stallions could be heard from far away.
Black and burgundy banners hung on the sides of the carriage, the signature colours of House de Fontaine. The carriage came to an abrupt halt, and a footman hopped off from the front of the carriage. He pulled the carriage door open, and out came the Duke of Lorewell, Elliott de Fontaine.
His long robes were made of sultry black velvet, with cuffs that were intricately embroidered with red silken thread. Even his hat was black, save for the single bird feather sticking out of it, which was dyed bright red using carmine.
While most would attribute his dark attire as a way to distinguish himself as the head of House de Fontaine, the truth is that Elliott's wardrobe was not always this dreary before.
In his youth, the duke preferred bright colours such as turquoise and chartreuse, but following the death of the duchess, he had only ever worn black, and even Catarina, his own daughter, had no recollection of him wearing a colour other than black.
"Father!" Catarina exclaimed upon catching the glimpse of him, and immediately, relief flooded her heart. She was constantly on the edge for the past few weeks, but now that the Duke of Lorewell was here, then she could finally let her guard down. No one would be able to hurt her now.
"Nina!" he called out, pulling her into a tender embrace. "How have you been? Have you been eating well?"
Catarina hummed in confirmation as she bobbed her head up and down. "I have. See, my cheeks have become so round!"
"Clearly," he chuckled. "Though I cannot wait for this ceremony to end, so that we can all go back home."
While Elliott was glad to see her, she could still see the disdain and constant vigilance in his stance whenever he talked about the ceremony, as if he did not want her to have anything to do with it. But even though he possessed great power and wealth, Elliott de Fontaine was still a commoner at the end of the day, and he had to submit to the royal family.
To tell the truth, Catarina did not understand why he and her cousin, Rafael, were so opposed to her marrying into the royal family. Most noble families would even go as far as to offer up their daughters to the prince, but House de Fontaine sought to shield their daughter instead.
If she were to become queen, wouldn't House de Fontaine gain even more power, thus become more prosperous?
But this was her first time seeing her father in months, and she did not want to mark their long-awaited meeting with an argument.
So she said, "I agree. Here, I have to wake up early every morning. It's such a nuisance at times."
"Well, once you return home, you can sleep until noon and nobody will bother you."
After a few minutes of chatter, Elliott left to engage in a conversation with his close friend, Vince Olivier.
Catarina then stalked off to find Jessamine, but before she could even spot her, she felt a light smack on the back of her head. It was not at all painful, though it did indeed shock her.
"Ah, what is the little kitty cat doing over here?" she heard a familiar voice say, and instantly, her features morphed into that of annoyance.
"For the last time, Alessandro, my name is Catarina, not little kitty cat!" she growled through gritted teeth as she swiftly turned around to see Alessandro d'Augustine standing behind her with a rolled up piece of parchment in his hands, presumably the object he used to smack her with.
"Easy there, kitty cat. You must be hungry, aren't you? Otherwise, you wouldn't have been so angry. Listen, I know where you can find some rats-"
His taunts morphed into a howl of pain when Catarina forcefully stomped on his toes, and at that moment, he was certain that his bones have inevitably shattered.
Though it was Catarina's way to take revenge on the ever so annoying Alessandro, to the average bystander, the entire scene might seem like a lover's quarrel.
Standing near a marble beam was Julian, silently watching as Alessandro crumpled down to the ground while Catarina smiled in satisfaction.
Alessandro let out another howl, which sounded remarkably genuine, making Catarina somewhat concerned.
"Does it hurt that much?" she warily asked as she bent down, worried that she might have seriously injured the Prime Minister's son.
Alessandro's wails died in his throat as he looked up at her, and in an instant, he clutched her hand and dragged her down onto the floor beside him.
"For once, I managed to trick you!" he cackled. "Has my acting improved, little kitty cat?"
Catarina's face flushed into a brilliant shade of red, but gradually, her embarrassment mellowed down into a hearty laugh.
"You did, you slimy rascal," she huffed, kicking Alessandro in the shin as she stood up.
Despite her roughness towards him, anyone could see the affection she had for him, a result of years of friendship and petty conflict. Julian, who had never witnessed the two interact, was visibly shocked by their closeness.
Nathaniel le Prince had a very different, almost visceral reaction, however.
"Sister, is that her? Elliott de Fontaine's daughter?" he hissed to Marguerite, though his eyes had not left Catarina for even a split second.
"It is. Look at that thief's daughter, behaving like an absolute buffoon. A testament to her lowly bloodline-"
"She is the most beautiful creature I have ever witnessed," Nathaniel gaped, his eyes wide with adoration. "Sister, I must marry her. She is the one for me, I am certain!"
Marguerite scowled as she slapped Nathaniel's fair, round cheek. "Are you stupid? Why would you want to marry her, the thief's daughter? Our bloodline will be tainted by her!"
Although Nathaniel looked and behaved like a fool, he was actually the furthest thing from it. After all, what else would you expect from the brother of Marguerite le Prince?
"Can't you see, sister? She is her father's only child, his heiress! The man who marries her will come into possession of endless wealth and power. She will need to marry someday, and if that man were to be me, then our house will be saved! All of House de Fontaine's wealth shall be mine! And you, you will marry the prince and become queen! Sister, this kingdom will become ours!"
And Nathaniel was right. Catarina indeed had to marry in order to produce an heir to inherit House de Fontaine's vast fortune. If she were to marry him, then House de Fontaine's wealth would become House le Prince's. Wouldn't that be the most fitting outcome? The cruel, greedy family's wealth is seized and returned to the rightful, ever so virtuous family. Isn't that the definition of poetic justice?
Despite all that, Marguerite was still dissatisfied. The children produced from their union would undoubtedly have the le Prince name, so Elliott de Fontaine's line would die out. But it also meant that le Prince and de Fontaine would be mixed, and Marguerite abhorred the idea of that.
"I refuse to allow our pure bloodline to be tainted by her. No one knows where her mother came from. She could have descended from a dirty, diseased prostitute for all we know. Or even a band of thieves! Do you truly want someone like that bearing your children?"
Nathaniel's pale blue eyes twinkled as he said, "Who said that I would keep her? Look at her now, so feisty and lively. Once she's mine, I will ravage her body and soul. She will be my slave, and once I'm tired of her, I will lock her up in a convent. The most fitting ending for the daughter of a thief."
Marguerite glanced at the laughing, ever so joyful Catarina. Wouldn't it be fun to see all that joy drained from her face?
"Fine," she said to Nathaniel. "I will help you."
"Miss, is this Castelonian silk? It is so soft and fine!" Rosie's voice rang as she knelt beside Catarina.
The latter looked up from her needlework and nodded towards Rosie. "It is. I asked my father to bring it here for me, for the ball."
Rosie nodded absentmindedly as she marvelled at the yards of deep red silk. The magnificently woven Castelonian silk felt smooth to the skin, almost as if it were water.
"Do you like it that much, Rosie?" Catarina asked, amused by her maid's reaction.
Rosie beamed, pressing the bundled up silk against her cheeks. "I do, miss. It is the most beautiful piece of fabric that I've ever seen."
Catarina set the needle and thread on the table and turned towards Rosie. "Well then, when it's time for you to get married, I will personally make a dress from the finest Castelonian silk for you."
"Miss, I can't accept that," Rosie gasped.
"Enough. I've already decided to make it, so now, all you have to do is to look for a husband."
Rosie's face blushed at the thought of having a husband, so she quickly steered the topic in another direction.
"Miss, what will the dress look like?" she stammered.
"Hmm... It will be made of fabric, and it will have two sleeves, a neckline, a bodice--"
"Miss!"
Catarina chuckled at Rosie's reaction, then, she retrieved the small, leather-bound notebook laying on top of the table. The pages of the notebook were yellowed and falling apart, save for the single sheet of fresh parchment nestled in between the pages. Catarina pulled out the folded up parchment and handed it to Rosie.
"Here. See for yourself."
Sceptically, Rosie took the piece of parchment. But when she unfolded it, all the doubt quickly melted away.
"Miss, did you sketch this yourself?" she gasped.
Catarina nodded. "I did. Why, do you not believe me?"
"To be frank, a little bit," Rosie giggled. "It seems almost too beautiful to be true."
"Well, I did refer to my mother's notebook. She has hundreds of magnificent designs that I could never come up with," Catarina said, pointing at the leather-bound notebook.
"Your design is beautiful, Miss. Enormously so. If you were to wear it at the ball, all eyes will be fixated on you, I swear!" Rosie beamed.
Catarina glanced at the bundles of silk and lace strewn all over the floor, then towards her red, bleeding fingertips. "I hope so," she murmured.