"Greetings, my queen. My name is Sheilalev Kirsten Ortfalcon." A young girl said, wearing a purple dress filled with ribbon and frills. She bowed gracefully, with her blond hair fluttering a tad. Her eyes were identical with the man alongside her—a vibrant color of gold.
"Your majesty, this is my daughter, Sheila." Julian Ortfalcon says, picking up his daughter as he lets her sit in a chair stacked with few pillows to accommodate to her height.
It was a very sunny morning, filled with clouds that were analogous to cotton candies; chirps from the birds were music to Sheila's ears. Inside the palace's garden villa was quite a spectacle—there were red roses surrounding the villa—at full bloom. She adjusted her seat on the chair, and then halted when different kinds of sweets—cookies, cakes, doughnuts and some fruit tarts, appeared before her.
"Sheila, my dear, do you prefer milk over tea?" The queen asks.
"Anything shall be able to satisfy my palate, my queen; I believe that everything laid upon her majesty's tea party will be of great indulgence." Sheila answers in an obviously rehearsed tone. Julian Ortfalcon sniggered.
"My… Julian." The queen chuckles in surprise. "She's pretty well-versed for a five year-old. Pray, who is her Etiquette teacher? I must employ her when my baby girl is born."
Sheila found herself staring at the queen, who, even in her maternal state, was strikingly beautiful. She possessed a silver-colored hair, and purple eyes. Her smile was gorgeous—and everything about her was bursting with grace. Sheila felt enthralled; almost failing to notice a milk spilt to her dress.
"I—I'm sorry!"
Sheila blinked. "Huh?"
"Noah!" The queen bellows; she then snapped her finger, and then maids walked towards the young Sheila—who was apparently red in the face as she stared at the boy holding an empty cup of spilt milk. The boy had pair of blue eyes and a platinum blond hair, similar to the man holding him.
"Your Majesty, Sietrich." Julian bows, "this is my daughter Sheila."
Sheila hurried down to stand and bow, but the king gestured her to stop. The king had a pair of green eyes, and his age was almost the same as Sheila's father.
Sheila felt mesmerized. The royal family carried an air around them that speaks of glory and beauty.
Except for a certain royal—
The boy in his majesty's arms.
"The maids shall provide little Sheila a change of clothes. I sincerely apologize for Noah's recklessness, Julian."
"Worry not, your majesty. Sheila is a pretty tolerant child, she understands."
**
The statement was not true. Sheila felt a burning rage towards that child. The dress was her favorite, handpicked by her sick mother. The maids picked a new dress for her, equally beautiful. Although this was the case, Sheila preferred something her mother had picked. It was prepared just for this event. Her father was finally promoted as the head mage of the palace, since her grandfather already bestowed the title finally to him.
The Ortfalcon, for generations, was a friend of the Feuerkriegers. They were not servants of the family unlike families of warriors that are bound to serve the the royals: The Wainwrights and the watchdog for generations, the Adelard House. At a young age Sheila had known this due to her enhanced memory that the Ortfalcon line carried in their blood for many years—something that made Sheila a genius. Her mother once said that she may have the potential to overthrow even Magierstadt's prodigy, Eulalia Fortunatorum.
She returned to the villa and tried to muster the sweet smile her mother trained her to have—especially to this occasion. Her eyes fluttered to the spectacle from the distance. She observed how the king and queen was sitting alongside each other as they had their hands intertwined, with her father chattering happily along with them. But Sheila felt that there was something missing to the picture.
The boy was not inside the villa.
"Hey…"
Jolting in surprise, Sheila squealed a bit as she noticed a boy about her height in front of her.
The boy who spilt a milk to her favorite dress was now smiling,
With a rose in his hand.
"I'm sorry." He says, and then grinned. "Daddy always apologizes with a rose when he fights with mommy."
Sheila stared at the rose, who was obviously clumsily picked, a petal falling off from the rest.
"Will you be my friend?" Asks the boy, much to Sheila's surprise.
The boy tilted his head a bit, his platinum-blond locks radiant against the sun like individual threads of silver and gold. "My name is Noah Ecclesiastes Ein Feuerkrieger. You are?"
Sheila accepted the rose, catching a whiff from its scent.
Pouting as she blushed, she mumbled. "I'm Sheilalev Kirsten Ortfalcon."
Noah smiles. "Are we friends then? You accepted the rose. Mommy accepts the rose when she forgives daddy."
For a second, Sheila found herself mesmerized by his smile, but quickly she recuperated with a glare.
"But this doesn't mean I forgive you from ruining my dress." Sheila retorts as she stares at the rose in her hand. She slowly lifted her gaze and met his sapphire eyes, and then she proceeded to respond with a sweet smile.
"However, who would say no to a prince?"