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As the morning sun bathed the room, Charlotte, enveloped in the warmth of dawn, began her day with Ana's gentle greeting. "Good morning, Milady."
Responding with a sleepy smile, Charlotte acknowledged Ana's presence. "Good morning, Ana." Rubbing her eyes to dispel the lingering traces of sleep, she embraced the new day.
Observing the change in Ana's attire, Charlotte inquired about the uniform. "You got a uniform?"
"Yes, Milady."
"And who provided it?"
"Your mother, the Queen," Ana replied, tending to Charlotte's surroundings with a touch of grace. "Please tell if you would like a breakfast, I will gladly cook for you Milady.
With a nod, Charlotte, now fully awake, recognized the absence of her morning meal on the table, realizing it awaited her at the family's dining table. Ana, delicately fixing Charlotte's bedsheet, relayed her mother's request for her to join them.
In the opulent embrace of the bath, Charlotte's contemplations swirled like the petals around her. The Al Hère family's relentless pursuit of power echoed in her mind—their tagline, "Whoever it takes, just for power," a mantra driving their ruthless ambitions. Charlotte knew that you can trap a mice with treats, but she also know that the Al Hère family are no rats in the manipulation game. They are beast that should be caged.
Understanding their vulnerabilities, Charlotte resolved to dismantle them not through physical torment but through a subtler weapon—humiliation. Her thoughts fixed on Isabelle, the easiest target, and the meticulous curator of the family's image, as the ideal target for her strategic assault.
As she emerged, Ana presented a blue gown, anticipating the day's events. Yet, Charlotte, fueled by memories of past humiliations, redirected the choice to a white gown mirroring Isabelle's infamous copy of the Floral Garden Gown—an exclusive creation by Lady Jeannette St. Anton, Eve's wife, reserved for Charlotte's 19th birthday.
"Thanks for preparing it, Ana, but I need something to match my Avmarine Necklace," Charlotte directed, prompting Ana to retrieve a selection of white gowns, Charlotte selected one identical to Isabelle's infamous Floral Garden Gown, an exclusive creation by Lady Jean's mother. Charlotte's choice—a replica of Isabelle's gown—served as a vessel for her intricate plan.
Amidst preparations, Ana inquired about Charlotte's unique features, prompting her to reveal the origins of her rose-gold hair and blue eyes—a connection to her great-grandmothers.
"Sister?" Luna knocked on the door wich Charlotte answered, "They are waiting for you in the throne room, the Al Hère's are already here." Luna said wich made Charlotte stood up.
"I will be there in a minute," Charlotte replied as she let Ana finish her hair, "I didn't expect them to arrive a bit earlier....."
"You might be spending gime greeting them before your breakfast with them Milady." Ana said fixing Charlotte's clothes getting her ready for the greeting of the guests.
"It looks like it." Charlotte shortly replied, as she walks out the room with Ana accompanying her. The sound of footsteps echoed as they walk through ominous hallway on their way to the throne room.
The moment Charlotte stepped into the grand throne room, a hushed acknowledgment of, "It's my pleasure, your majesty," resonated in the air. Unlike the previous timeline, she chose the conspicuous entrance, drawing all attention to herself. No longer confined to the shadows of side halls, she craved the spotlight.
As Charlotte navigated the aisle, every gaze and head pivoted toward her, neglecting the Al Hère family at the forefront. Murmurs and mumbles swirled among the guests, a cacophony that rivaled the expected pleasantries for the Al Hère family.
The focal point shifted as Charlotte strode confidently toward them. King Charles frowned and squinted, questioning the unusual spectacle his daughter presented. The Al Hère family turned to face her, only to find a smiling Charlotte amid the crowd, concealing her past sufferings and humiliations.
"Charlotte?" King Charles voiced his confusion, prompting the Al Hére family to redirect their attention to the unexpected star of the moment.
"I couldn't bear to contain my excitement on seeing my one and only female cousin," Charlotte declared, feigning enthusiasm as she seized Isabelle's hand and locked eyes with her.
"T-Thank you..." Isabelle stammered, surprised by Charlotte's unexpected warmth. Rumors about Charlotte had circulated, but this encounter marked their first meeting.
Isabelle's gaze, however, was soon captivated by Charlotte's attire—a Floral Garden Gown identical to the one Helen had gifted her on her 19th birthday.
"I can see that you were so excited, Charlotte," Helen interjected, seizing the opportunity to cast a shadow over Charlotte. "You even wore the same gown as Isabelle."
Unfazed, Charlotte released Isabelle's hand and responded with a calculated smile. "This was the original Floral Garden Gown, made by Jeannette St. Anton herself. It was a gift for my 19th birthday, exclusive and unique. Despite numerous nobles vying for it, it was gifted to me. Aren't I lucky?"
She turned her attention to Isabelle, her gaze steady. "And what about Isabelle? Where did she get her gown? It looks exactly like mine, but, as I mentioned, mine is the only one with this design. So, where did she get hers?"
The subtle accusation lingered, leaving Helen clenching her fists, aware she couldn't provide a satisfactory response. Isabelle's dress, unbeknownst to the attendees, was a replica—an attempt to mimic the original Floral Garden Gown, orchestrated by Helen for Isabelle's 19th birthday.
Charlotte reveled in the moment, skillfully navigating the intricacies of the social chessboard, leaving Helen in a precarious position of having to justify her actions before the watchful eyes of the court.
As tension lingered in the air, King Charles, sensing the need to shift focus, rose from his seat with authority. "That is enough," he declared, directing attention away from the awkward confrontation. "Let us focus on the upcoming debutante celebrant," he continued, gesturing towards Isabelle. The room buzzed with chatter as the courtiers redirected their focus to the reason they had gathered.
Seizing the opportunity for a momentary escape, Charlotte gracefully excused herself from the room, yearning for a breath of fresh air in the palace gardens. Meanwhile, King Charles, with a diplomatic finesse befitting his royal stature, orchestrated a morning breakfast with both the royal family and the Al Hère family. A gesture meant to foster harmony and, perhaps, bury the subtle discord that had surfaced.
The procession from the throne room to the royal dining area unfolded seamlessly. As they strolled through the opulent halls, leaving the guests behind, the conversations shifted to lighter topics, veering away from the tension that had briefly taken center stage.
However, Charlotte, with her perceptive nature, excused herself from joining the gathering. "Father, pardom me, but I will excuse myself from the breakfast." she asserted politely.
"Are you not gonna join us?" Queen Charlene asked facing Charlotte with a bit of disappointment.
"Mother, I have more pressing matters to attend to than partake in a breakfast with my relatives and engage in discussions about someone's debutante." Her words held a tone of subtle defiance as she smiles to her mother.
As she departed, her cousin Callisto, Isabelle's brother, observed the exchange with keen interest. The dynamics within the royal family and their connections with the Al Hère family seemed to be evolving in ways that went beyond the surface-level pleasantries of a grand gathering.
As Charlotte and Ana enjoyed the tranquility under the gazebo, the delicate atmosphere was shattered by the approach of Callisto.
His intense gaze sent a ripple of tension through the peaceful scene."Charlotte," Callisto's voice cut through the calm, his presence casting a shadow over the serene moment.Charlotte's gaze hardened, memories of past grievances resurfacing.
The wind, once a gentle breeze, now seemed to carry the weight of unresolved conflicts. She remained seated, a symbol of defiance against the approaching storm that Callisto represented.
Ana, sensing the imminent clash, discreetly withdrew, leaving Charlotte to face Callisto alone."You don't know when to stop, do you?" Callisto's words dripped with disdain as he confronted Charlotte, the history of betrayal and rivalry echoing in the charged atmosphere, "What was that earlier?!"
Charlotte rose to face him, fully aware of the storm brewing within Callisto. "What do you want?" she feigned innocence, though her gaze held a glint of mischief, amplifying Callisto's frustration.
"Tsk." Callisto scoffed, "You don't know? After embarrassing Isabelle in front of everyone earlier?!"
Before Charlotte could respond, Callisto pointed accusingly at her gown. The mention of Isabelle and the dress struck a chord, pushing Charlotte's teasing buttons.
"Well, is it my fault that your sister can't afford the original piece by Jeannette?" Charlotte's smirk deepened, "Isn't it a shame that a noble lady would wear a copy of an exclusive piece that a princess has?"
Callisto's restraint snapped like a taut string. His fists clenched, and the air crackled with the impending storm of his rage. He advanced menacingly, ready to unleash his fury on Charlotte.
Charlotte met Callisto's seething gaze with a steely resolve, unflinching in the face of his escalating anger. The air between them crackled with tension as Callisto's words reverberated.
"I've had enough of your games! I knew it was all a lie when you said that you were happy to see us!" Callisto's accusations cut through the tranquil surroundings, his face dangerously close to Charlotte's.
In response, Charlotte maintained her composure, a defiant glint in her eyes. "You're always quick to jump to conclusions, Callisto," she countered, her voice unwavering. "I don't play games; I navigate the intricacies of this court better than anyone."
The threat of violence lingered in the air, an unspoken challenge that neither was willing to back down from. The serene garden, once untouched by conflict, bore witness to the collision of pride and power.
Callisto, fueled by a mix of protectiveness for his sister, Isabelle, and a deep-seated rivalry, struggled to contain his anger. The gusts of wind seemed to echo the internal tempest, mirroring the brewing storm within the 2 eldest royal siblings and the Al Hère siblings.
Charlotte, however, held her ground. "Is this how you plan to handle every situation, Callisto? With brute force?" she taunted, a calculated smirk playing on her lips. The delicate dance between them intensified, the gazebo becoming a battleground where words were the weapons of choice.
As they stood locked in a battle of wills, the onlookers – the swans gliding on the lake, the flowers swaying in the breeze – seemed to anticipate the impending clash. The garden, once a sanctuary, transformed into an arena where the intricacies of power and pride would unfold in the unfolding chapters of their entangled saga.
As the confrontation teetered on the edge, an unexpected interruption shattered the brewing tempest. "Callisto!"
The authoritative voice cut through the tension like a knife, commanding attention. In that moment, both Callisto and Charlotte, locked in their animosity, froze, their gazes sharply redirected towards the source of the interruption.
From the shadows emerged Cesare, Callisto's mortal rival, with a stern expression etched across his face. The sudden appearance of the man who had once brought Callisto to the ground added a chilling layer of complexity to the unfolding drama.
Cesare stood with an aura of authority, his history with Callisto weaving a narrative of rivalry and past confrontations. The very air seemed to crackle with the heightened stakes of the impending clash, and the gazebo, now a stage for power dynamics, held its collective breath.
The once serene garden transformed into an arena of suspense, the swans on the lake mirroring the anticipation with their elegant movements. Each flap of their wings seemed to echo the impending clash, a dance of uncertainty against the backdrop of the looming storm.
As Cesare's stern expression sliced through the tension, both Callisto and Charlotte turned their attention towards the unexpected interrupter. The authoritative voice had redirected their animosity, replacing it with a shared focus on the enigmatic arrival.
The air, thick with uncertainty, hung like a veil over the gazebo, and the intricate relationships between the royal siblings and Cesare unfolded with a sense of foreboding. Charlotte, unwittingly caught in their feud, observed as the stage was set for a confrontation that could reshape the destiny of the royal court.
The promise of an impending clash between Cesare and Callisto, the forces that had shaped the court's destiny, echoed in the hushed atmosphere. The gazebo, once a haven of peace, now harbored the echoes of a storm that could rewrite the course of their intertwined fates.
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To be continued...