A few days passed, and people were slowly adjusting to Lyra being a central part of their work, with reports now needing to be directed to her. Of course, members of Nabal's faction resisted and protested by withholding information, but Lyra paid them no mind.
Amidst all this, one thing bothered Lyra more than anything else: Hubris and his relentless attempts to gain her favor.
One day, he arrived with pastries from a renowned bakery, hoping to impress her. Though she accepted them, Lyra warned him not to repeat such gestures. He promised he wouldn't, but as soon as he left, she burned the pastries.
A few days later, Hubris showed up again, this time with massive bouquets of flowers—so large that it took two or three people to carry each one. This irked Lyra to her core. She lied, telling him that she was allergic to flowers and forbade him from bringing them again, or else he would face consequences. Hubris once again promised to comply.
Despite his promises, Lyra didn't trust him. She ordered guards to be stationed around the gardens under her control, including the ones near her office/library and her palace. The enhanced security ensured that only those with permission or members of Lyra's faction could enter.
Unable to meet Lyra in person, Hubris resorted to waiting at the public offices, hoping to see her whenever she came for meetings or official duties. Despite his bright greetings, Lyra never acknowledged him—she acted as if he didn't exist. This led to rumors circulating about her perceived rudeness.
Delilah, concerned, approached Lyra.
"Your Highness, wouldn't it be better to at least acknowledge Sir Hubris? There are rumors circulating, and I fear your reputation may suffer."
"I cannot do that. I despise him. I don't even want to look at him, yet you want me to acknowledge his mere presence?"
"I understand, but people will talk…"
"Let them talk. Tell them the truth—that Hubris is behind the false rumors and that he stole money from the treasury."
"Duke Nabal ensured that the latter part remained a secret."
"Then it's time for that secret to come out. You know the truth, Delilah. You know exactly what he did."
"Yes… that bastard… I mean, Sir Hubris, sexually assaulted you that day."
Delilah blurted it out, and Lyra hissed in response.
"Delilah! We are in public. I warned you never to speak of it."
"I apologize. I forgot where we are."
"Just be more careful next time."
As they continued their conversation, they reached the throne room.
Every few months, Duke Nabal held an international meeting in the throne room, and this time, Lyra would participate.
Upon entering, she noticed the guests had already arrived, with only Nabal and his faction remaining. The guests greeted her with respect, which she returned politely. She stood in front of the throne, and though a few people raised their eyebrows, no one dared comment on the future queen standing in her rightful place.
But Lyra didn't sit; she simply waited for Nabal and his people to arrive. Barely five minutes later, Nabal entered with his faction. The first thing he noticed was Lyra standing before the throne. He immediately assumed she was about to sit down and, irritated, hissed at her.
"Even though you are a Crown Princess, I did not expect you to be so unaware of basic manners. You are not allowed to sit in that chair."
"Oh, my. I didn't realize I gave the impression that I was about to sit there. I was simply waiting for you, who are late to the meeting."
"…"
"Although, I must say, I have the right to sit there once I become Queen. So, my standing here isn't surprising to anyone. But why were you allowed to sit in that chair, Duke, when you're merely a Duke?"
Silence descended upon the room as the tension between Nabal and Lyra became palpable. Nabal gritted his teeth and snarled,
"You seem to be forgetting that I am a regent."
"My memory is far from hazy. I know you are temporarily handling things, but that doesn't make you the King. And it certainly doesn't change the fact that I, as Crown Princess, hold the same—if not higher—authority than you, Duke."
Lyra's words were laced with venom as Nabal's face flushed with anger.
Ignoring him, Lyra turned to her knights and ordered,
"Place a ribbon around the throne, so that only my father, the King, or I, as Queen, can sit in it. This will ensure no one mistakenly occupies it."
Her last words were clearly aimed at Nabal, whose clenched fists betrayed his fury.
"Now, shall we begin the meeting?"
Lyra smiled politely, while Nabal seethed with rage. His aides and supporters calmed him down as the meeting proceeded.
Once the meeting ended, Nabal stormed off to complain to his brother about Lyra's actions. After recounting the events, adding his own exaggerations, he was met with a blank stare from the King.
The King simply shrugged and responded,
"I agree with you that Lyra shouldn't have spoken to you the way she did, especially given your position as her elder relative. I'll speak to her about it. But I also agree with her about the throne—what would people think if you were allowed to sit there? It's good that she's set up two separate chairs for you and her in front of the throne, but still, you should be more careful."
"What?"
"The reason I gave Lyra the official duties is because I couldn't stand to see you shoulder everything alone. I hope she can help ease some of your burdens."
"…"
"I understand your concerns, but give her time. She's young and passionate, so she may not understand everything. But please, approach her with patience and teach her."
"…You place too much faith in me, brother. My hands are already full with keeping my family in check. I suspect Medea is extorting money from me and our children. Hubris was caught rightfully. I'm relieved that the rest of the family wasn't implicated, but what can I do? How long must I remain silent about their actions? I confronted them, but they just became defensive, blaming me as if I were framing them."
"That's troubling…"
"I don't want my family to think of me as a bad father or husband, so I remain silent. I just don't have the energy to fight them anymore."
"Let them be. They'll learn to find the right path soon."
"I hope Wily and Karen learn from Lyra."
"I'm sure they will. Don't worry. They're capable and will succeed."
"…Thank you, brother."
Nabal spoke with a sorrowful expression, but for a brief moment, his face flickered with a small, unnoticed smirk.
Medea's birthday party preparations were in full swing, with the palace in chaos as the staff scrambled for over a week to get everything ready. As the day approached, the tension grew. Everyone could feel that something was bound to happen at this event, the first royal function held at the palace since Lyra had started taking a more prominent role. The atmosphere was charged with division—everyone had to choose a side: either Nabal's faction or Lyra's. It seemed a cold war had begun, and even the maids were clearly divided.
Even Lyra, who had never cared much for party preparations, was going all out this time. She was determined to make a statement with her dress and crown—there was something she had planned.
The public was eagerly awaiting Medea to do something that would humiliate Lyra. Even those in Medea's faction pitied Lyra, as rumors about the supposed fight between Medea and Lyra were circulating. The gossip had spread like wildfire, with each person adding more fuel to the fire.
Some claimed Medea had beaten Lyra, while others insisted Lyra had struck Medea with a nearby vase. There were wild stories of bloodshed, while others suggested the confrontation had been no more than a heated glare.
Despite these rumors, everyone was eager for the night's celebration—for different reasons, of course.
As the bells rang and the palace gates opened, carriages began to stream in. Melodies drifted through the air, and the blinding lights of the ballroom illuminated the guests. The décor was opulent, dominated by a heavy golden theme with touches of red.
The unofficial theme of the party was to wear pale brown, a detail that had spread through the guests via rumors instigated by Medea herself. Only Medea and her family were allowed to wear anything else, though guests from other kingdoms were free to wear what they pleased.
Jewelry and trendy hairstyles were not overtly forbidden, but there was an unspoken rule that no one should dress in a way that might overshadow Medea and her family. It was a subtle, yet understood, agreement among the guests.
Unlike past events, where Lyra and Astrid had meekly followed the party's unspoken rules, this time, Lyra was determined to make an impression. She insisted that Astrid wear the most glamorous, elegant jewelry and a graceful hairstyle. However, convincing her to wear makeup was another story. After much persuasion, Lyra managed to convince her sister to apply a minimal amount of makeup.
Finally, after all the fuss, it was time to enter the ballroom.
Unlike previous events where they had quietly entered through a side corridor, this time, Lyra and Astrid decided to make their grand entrance from the top of the grand stairs. There were two main entrances to the ballroom: one through the massive golden gates, where guests had their names announced upon arrival, and another at the top of the grand stairs. The latter entrance was reserved for the royal family and Duke Nabal's family.
Astrid waited at the entrance, her flowing white dress and loose curls giving her an ethereal, angelic appearance. The small crown on her head and the minimal makeup enhanced her heavenly beauty. She was a vision of purity.
After a few moments, her eyes widened as she heard footsteps approaching. She turned and saw Lyra walking toward her.
"What are you wearing?" Astrid gasped.
Lyra wore a striking jet-black dress, the top with a V-neckline and drop shoulders, adorned with a golden belt that cinched at the waist. Her hair was sleek and straight, and her crown was accompanied by traditional Anemoi jewelry. Unlike Astrid, Lyra embraced the Anemoi jewelry, and her makeup—though bold—complemented her black dress, especially the red lipstick, which she had never worn before. She walked with confidence, responding with a mischievous smile.
"Why? Is there something wrong with my dress? I thought it looked ravishing."
"But it's black! Black is for funerals or mourning. You can't wear that to a party!"
"There's no rule that says I can't wear black. Now, let's go, sister, or we'll be late."
Lyra beamed, clearly enjoying the moment. She walked past Astrid, who stood frozen in place, surprised by her sister's boldness.
"Say, is everything alright? We've always hated these parties, so why the sudden change? It seems like you're actually excited for this one."
Lyra paused, placing a finger on her chin as she thought for a moment. "Truth be told, it would be a lie if I said I'm excited for tonight's event. I suspect it'll be as dull as ever. But recently, I realized why should I ruin my mood because of my surroundings? I've decided to enjoy the evening, regardless of what happens. You should do the same, Astrid. It'll make us much happier."
"I suppose you're right. Let's see what happens."
As they were about to move forward, Solon and Councilwoman Petunia approached. Petunia, who had been behind the idea of humiliating Medea at the party, bowed to Lyra and Astrid. Solon motioned that he had something important to discuss.
Lyra nodded, signaling Astrid to enter the party first. "Go ahead, Astrid. I may be detained for a few more minutes."
Astrid entered the ballroom, and the announcer's voice echoed through the hall.
"Entering Her Highness, Princess Astrid Amara de Anemoi."
All eyes turned toward Astrid as she descended the stairs, trying her best not to let the attention overwhelm her. She quickly merged into the background, but her beauty couldn't go unnoticed. It was a rare sight to see the princess entering through the main entrance, especially dressed so impeccably, and it made her the center of attention. Her ethereal beauty left everyone awestruck, with men gazing at her in admiration and women glaring with envy. Her presence was so radiant that anyone who caught her gaze was left starstruck, their cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
"Where, pray tell, did you acquire such a dress? You look positively splendid."
A voice, sharp and cutting, pierced through the air, causing Astrid to turn with a start. Standing before her were Karen, Medea, and Wily, their eyes narrowed with unmistakable intent.
"Oh, thank you," Astrid replied, her voice betraying no hint of discomfort. "Lyra was kind enough to gift me this."
Medea's lips curled into a smile, her gaze sweeping over Astrid with a keen, almost clinical appraisal, before she responded sweetly, "Yes, it does appear quite charming."
Her smile faltered only slightly, and with a tone that was both pleasant and laced with venom, she added, "But one must not forget that it is my birthday, and it is considered rather... impolite to be tardy to such an event. Where, may I ask, is Lyra?"
"She was delayed with some pressing matters," Astrid answered, a touch of discomfort beginning to creep into her voice. "She shall be here shortly."
Medea's expression remained poised, but her words took on an edge, "Unless, of course, she's chosen to wear the same dress as you. That, I dare say, would be quite the surprise."
Astrid blinked, confusion crossing her features. "Why would that be a surprise?"
Medea's smile stretched, just a touch too wide to be entirely sincere. "Oh, it wouldn't be that surprising, would it, Mother?" she remarked, casting a glance at Karen, who nodded in agreement.
Karen's voice, though smooth, carried an unmistakable undertone of disdain. "What else could one expect from two girls who, despite being on the cusp of adulthood, seem to lack the faintest understanding of proper decorum?" She sighed dramatically, as if burdened by an invisible weight. "I suppose it is my fault, for not teaching you better. Raising both of you has been no small feat."
Medea's eyes glistened, and she let out a small, theatrical sob, drawing Karen closer to comfort her. "Please, do not blame yourself, Mother. You did nothing wrong. It is simply that everyone desires to wear what they please from time to time, even if it means casting aside the expectations of the event."
Astrid, utterly bewildered by the exchange, replied in her usual earnest fashion, "You're right. Everyone has the right to dress however they wish. Is there something wrong with that?"
Medea's patience, already thin, snapped. "No, there is nothing wrong with that. But allow me to remind you, dear, that when one is invited to a formal affair, one must adhere to the dress code established by the host. It is a matter of common courtesy, something which I fear you do not fully grasp."
Astrid, still unperturbed, asked innocently, "But if there was no dress code, is there truly something wrong with my attire?"
The question, simple and direct, only served to deepen the frustration that simmered beneath the surface. Medea's lips thinned, and she exchanged an exasperated glance with Karen. Just as she opened her mouth to speak again, a familiar voice interrupted the tense atmosphere.
Baroness Paula, who maintained cordial relations with the princesses and was always aware of the latest gossip, stepped forward with a gentle smile. She greeted Medea with a polite nod before leaning in to whisper in Astrid's ear.
"Your Highness," she murmured softly, though her voice carried, "they are saying that you look quite stunning, in contrast to the rest of us who were forced to wear such... plain attire."
Astrid, ever the innocent, raised an eyebrow at this and, not quite understanding the nuance, responded in a tone that was perhaps a touch louder than intended. "But there was no dress code, as far as I recall. Am I mistaken?"
At this, a chill seemed to settle over the group, and Medea's eyes narrowed, her gaze turning to daggers. Baroness Paula, sensing the growing tension, hurried to guide Astrid away, offering a polite but hurried explanation.
"Ah, well, Your Highness, there are... unspoken rules, you see."
Astrid's brow furrowed in confusion. "But I did not speak out of turn, did I?"
Her genuine bewilderment only served to deepen the awkwardness of the situation. Medea, unable to restrain herself any longer, hissed under her breath, loud enough for Astrid to hear.
"Poor Baroness Paula. She is wasting her breath on a girl who has no understanding of the consequences of her actions. She does not even comprehend how her choice of attire, or her very presence, is a blight on her sister's reputation. If her sister were to appear dressed as she does, she would be digging her own grave with each step."
Astrid's normally calm demeanor cracked as she shot back, "I don't understand. What has my sister to do with any of this? You cannot possibly link the two."
Medea's lips curled into a cruel smile. "Oh, but it is precisely because of you that your sister has had difficulty securing a marriage proposal. You and your actions have cast a long shadow over her prospects."
Astrid's eyes widened with disbelief. "That is absurd! My sister's troubles have nothing to do with me."
Medea's sneer deepened. "Oh, I wonder, dear, do you truly think your sister's misfortune in the marriage market is not tied to your every move?"
Astrid's face flushed, and she squared her shoulders, unwavering. "I know my sister better than anyone. Her troubles are not my fault. I know that she is not affected by such things."
Before Medea could respond with another venomous remark, an announcement rang through the room, capturing the attention of every guest.
"Her Highness, The Crown Princess Lyra Belle de Anemoi."
Lyra's entrance was nothing short of breathtaking. She descended the stairs with regal grace, her black gown billowing behind her like a cloud of midnight, her hair cascading around her shoulders like spun silk. She wore a crown—large and ostentatious, yet undeniably fitting—reminding all present of her position. Though she preferred the lighter headpieces of her homeland, today, she wore a crown not out of necessity, but as a statement.
The room fell silent as Lyra's gaze swept across the gathered guests. She nodded imperceptibly to her allies, and though Medea's faction stood, half flushed with irritation and half forced into courtesy, they all bowed their heads. It was not respect, but rather a matter of self-preservation.
Slowly, deliberately, Lyra continued her descent, making no gesture to signal for anyone to rise. The tension in the room grew, as some guests fidgeted, clearly eager for the bowing to end. One by one, Medea, Karen, and their followers bowed their heads, their frustration palpable.
Lyra reached the base of the stairs, and for a brief, almost imperceptible moment, the corners of her lips lifted in a knowing smile. She raised a hand, and instantly, the room straightened as if on command.
As Lyra mingled with foreign dignitaries, a group of ladies gathered nearby, gossiping eagerly.
"How arrogant of her, to force us all to bow before allowing us to rise," one lady from Medea's faction hissed, her voice dripping with disdain.
Another, more pragmatic, replied, "But, Lady Marie, she is the Crown Princess. We must bow in respect; it is our duty."
"You are right," said a third, her tone tinged with a mix of admiration and envy. "Though her methods may be... unorthodox, her actions remind us all of the importance of etiquette."
"Indeed," another lady added, her eyes shining with excitement. "It is truly wonderful to see her taking part in these events. I can hardly wait to see her become Queen."
"I cannot wait," a voice chimed in. "Ah, but where has Lady Marie gone?"