JAGNUBIA
In the middle of the sweltering summer of the thirty-fifth reign of Soudan Nutlu Mustafa Valdemar Al-Romanov, the vast country of Jagnubia was abuzz with excitement. Located in the southeast of Nightingale Continent, Jagnubia was a monarchical nation ruled by a Soudan, with a strict aristocratic hierarchy.
The country was ablaze with color and music as it celebrated the eighteenth birthday of Shahzadi Katiry Jameele Al-Romanov, the third princess of Jagnubia. The sweet scent of blooming flowers wafted through the air, mingling with the sound of laughter and chatter.
The occasion marked her official debut in the social order, a pivotal moment in her life as she transitioned from a sheltered princess to a prominent figure in Jagnubian society. As she entered adulthood, she would be expected to take on more responsibilities, forge strategic alliances, and potentially secure an advantageous marriage. Notables and grandees from within and beyond the nation would attend the grand celebration at the royal palace, eager to catch a glimpse of the young princess and assess her potential as a future leader.
The auspicious event highlighted the princess's prospects as an eligible bride; the ultimate goal was to find a suitable suitor with a worthy background, benefiting Jagnubia. The birthday celebration was a significant event, and it filled the people of Jagnubia with joy and anticipation.
In Mali Barony, a small but notable region on the map of Jagnubia, the baron and his family prepared for the grand celebration. Baron Kazeem Hansel Von Babur, a diligent and industrious man, had two daughters: seventeen-year-old Sharlota and sixteen-year-old Witnya.
The baron's first wife, Lady Garcia, had passed away five months after giving birth to Witnya. Four months later, he remarried. He married Lady Jessamine, a governess renowned for her impeccable taste and refinement. Her eyes gleamed with a mixture of prissiness and arrogance, a trait that commanded respect from those around her.
As a distinguished governess, Lady Jessamine had taught the children of high-status aristocrats, and her expectations for her own stepdaughters were equally high. She also had a niece named Gisselle, a quick-witted girl who was a year younger than Witnya.
Witnya sat before the ornate gold mirror, her innocent blue eyes scanning the array of gowns laid out before her. Odette, her young maidservant, held up a dark blue gown with silvery sequins, its modest length, and delicate embellishments accentuated by her mellow tone and precise gestures.
"Milady, what do you think about this dark blue gown?" Odette suggested, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "It complements your eyes and pale complexion."
Witnya's voice trembled slightly as she spoke, her words laced with a hint of bitterness and a whisper of sorrow. "Odette, not this gown, I shouldn't outshine the Shahzadi in her party, should I?" She muffled the rest of her sentence but Odette's keen ears picked up the faint whisper: "I don't feel like going to the third Shahzadi's birthday party…I don't have a choice."
Odette's expression softened, and she gently placed the gown on Witnya's bed. As Witnya's adorable behavior earned a giggle from Odette, the maidservant replied. "Of course, you cannot outshine the third Shahzadi in her party, milady, but that doesn't mean you cannot be graceful and gorgeous enough to leave a lasting impression on the invitees."
Odette's eyes sparkled with encouragement. "In three months, you'll turn sixteen and have your coming-of-age ceremony. This is your time to shine fiercely, milady. You'll have lists and lists of suitors, and you'll be married to a handsome nobleman and have a family of your own." Odette winked at the Witnya, her expression warm and reassuring.
Witnya's expression faltered at the mention of suitors, but she swiftly pushed aside the discomfort. She reminded herself that she was still young, and her father would never marry her off before she turned eighteen or twenty. Besides, her elder sister, Sharlota, would have to be married off first. "There's still time," Witnya whispered to herself, releasing the breath she had been holding. A faint shudder ran down her spine.
Odette, ever attentive, noticed Witnya's agitation and offered an empathetic smile. "Everything will be fine, milady." She said softly. "Just remember, you are strong and capable. You can face whatever comes your way."
Witnya forced a smile, murmuring a thank you to Odette. Her loyal maidservant offered her guidance, comfort, and advice whenever needed ever since she turned twelve.
As Witnya composed herself, Odette presented three elegant gowns she had never worn before. The first was a stunning mint green silk gown with billowy sleeves and intricate embroidery adorning the neckline. A pristine white chiffon underskirt and olive green hem added a touch of sophistication.
The second gown, a long-sleeved, tight-fitting light brown velvet dress, boasted a plunging neckline, slim waistline, and a daring slit up the side. When paired with a hat of diaphanous veil, the overall effect was nothing short of enchanting.
The third gown, a soft pastel blue, was a vision of understated elegance. With minimal embellishments and delicate sequins, this gown exuded a quiet refinement, its simplicity making it even more captivating.
Witnya's gaze swept across the gowns, and she swiftly chose the third, a soft pastel blue that exuded understated elegance. 'After all, I won't be staying long,' she thought to herself. Odette informed her that they still had an hour before departing, and Witnya used this time to reject the selected jewelries, opting for a simpler appearance.
Unlike her stepmother and Gisselle, who thrived on being the center of attraction, Witnya preferred to blend in with the background. An hour passed quickly, and soon Witnya was dressed in the pastel blue gown, her long blonde hair tied into fat braids, and a delicate locket settled on her pale neck. The locket held sentimental value, containing a wisp of hair that belonged to her late mother, whom she had never known.
Just then, her elder sister, Sharlota, knocked and entered the room. Odette bowed respectfully as Sharlota's eyes widened in surprise, and she smiled, saying, "Witnya, you look stunning." Though Witnya's appearance was plain, Sharlota genuinely admired her sister's unique beauty.
Sharlota was aware that Witnya had little interest in social events and fashion, preferring to spend her time reading or tending to plants and animals. Their stepmother often disapproved of Witnya's choices, pushing her to adopt a more sociable lifestyle. Sharlota, too, struggled to keep up with her stepmother's vivacious personality.
Sharlota's eyes sparkled as Witnya complimented her. "You look resplendent, milady." Witnya curtsied with a smile, and Sharlota's cheeks flushed with delight. Her younger sister had a knack for flattering her, especially when she was dressed up for events.
Sharlota's own gown was a vibrant peach, and she looked stunning in the elaborate, voguish dress. The silky cotton fabric shimmered in the light, and the brocaded silk underskirt added a touch of luxury. Deep peach tulle, laced with tiny gemstones, created a dramatic overskirt that rustled softly as she moved. Her tassel-like sleeves, adorned with sparkly beads, exposed her fair arms, while her short, maroon cape added a pop of color.
Sharlota's long blonde hair was styled in a messy yet chic bun, topped with a delicate wreath. Her cheeks glowed with a subtle rouge, and her lips shone with a bright red lip balm. A stunning choker made of garnets and diamonds encircled her slender neck, and pastel peach gloves covered her delicate hands.
As Sharlota gazed at Witnya's simple yet elegant dress, she asked, "Are you really going to the royal palace dressed like that?" Witnya nodded, satisfied with her understated appearance.
Sharlota's voice was softer than usual as she asked, "We are going to the royal palace, not to the flea market. Do you think stepmother will be happy with what you're wearing?" Witnya knew that Lady Jessamine, her stepmother and a distinguished governess, would never permit her to attend the royal celebration looking anything less than exquisite. Lady Jessamine was meticulous about upholding their family's image and reputation, and appearances were paramount.
Just then, Lady Jessamine swept into the room, her long purple gown rustling with every step. Heavy jewelries cascaded from her head to her toes, a testament to her impeccable taste. Her niece, Gisselle, followed closely behind, wearing a tightfitting sundown pink corset gown that accentuated her curves. Braids and buns adorned her shoulder-length pale brown hair, and white glittery jewelries sparkled on her neck and wrists.
Odette bowed respectfully as Lady Jessamine commanded, "So you ladies are here, that's good. We are late for the royal celebration, and we must leave immediately. The carriages are ready; let's go." Witnya remained hidden from Lady Jessamine's view, obstructed by Sharlota's heavy gown. For now, her simple attire remained unnoticed.
Sharlota and Witnya replied in unison, "Okay, stepmother," but neither of them moved. Gisselle nudged Lady Jessamine, who scowled.
"Young lady, speak up," Lady Jessamine snapped at her niece.
Gisselle smirked, "It seems Sister Witnya isn't ready for the third Shahzadi's birthday, despite being thirty minutes late."
Sharlota and Witnya exchanged a disapproving glance at Gisselle. They silently criticized her, their gazes conveying their disdain.
Lady Jessamine's frown deepened as she stared at Witnya. She sighed, pinching the skin between her delicately painted brows. Her eyes scanned the dresses assembled on the clothes rack.
"Everyone, except Odette and Witnya, leave this room immediately!" Lady Jessamine commanded.
As the others departed, Lady Jessamine's gaze lingered on Witnya, torn between scolding, punishing, or withholding privileges. Witnya, meanwhile, seethed with discontent. Her stomach twisted into knots as she contemplated the party, her reluctance to attend intensifying. The prospect of being paraded before potential suitors made her skin crawl.
Lady Jessamine's eerie calmness belied her underlying frustration. "Witnya Von Babur, what are you thinking? We are attending a royal celebration, not a countryside picnic. You'll wear this beautiful gown, whether you like it or not." She thrust a light brown gown at Witnya.
"We can't afford to squander this opportunity for your father to connect with other noblepersons. It is not every day we receive an invitation to the royal palace. Make the most of it, Witnya, and find a suitable suitor to benefit the Babur family." Lady Jessamine's words dripped with expectation.
She turned to Odette, her voice firm. "You have fifteen minutes to properly prepare Lady Witnya for the royal celebration. Make it quick!" Lady Jessamine exited the room, slamming the door. The sudden noise startled Odette and Witnya.
Ten minutes later, Witnya stood transformed. The figure-hugging light brown gown accentuated her slender frame, its plunging neckline a stark contrast to her usual modest attire. Her long blonde hair was styled in an elaborate half up-do, adorned with buns and braids. A subtle black kohl defined her eyelids, while a light powder and bright pink lip tint added a touch of elegance.
A small hat of black diaphanous veil perched on her hair, and a furry white shawl wrapped around her delicate shoulders. Witnya's gaze met Odette's, and she heard the familiar words: "Everything will be fine, just know that."
Witnya's sigh mingled with sadness and desperation. "You've said those words so many times, Odette. Aren't you tired of repeating them?" The weight of her circumstances threatened to overwhelm her.
Odette's dark brown eyes flickered, and a faraway look crossed her face. "Milady, I can never be tired of saying those words. Your mother, Lady Garcia, said them to me during my darkest hour." Odette's voice was laced with nostalgia. "I was just eight or nine when my uncle passed away, leaving me alone. But your mother took me in, raising me as her own. You were just a baby then, adorable and full of life."
Witnya's eyes widened in surprise. "I'm sorry for harsh words earlier, and for your loss," she apologized sincerely.
Odette shrugged, unaffected by Odette's earlier outburst. She understood the young girl's frustrations all too well. 'A young girl who can't even have a wish of her own, always pushed into things against her will and resolve…' Odette's heart swelled with anger and sadness.
Witnya's curiosity got the better of her. "How was my mother like?" She asked, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.
Odette's heart skipped a beat as she beheld Witnya's heartfelt smile. It was a rare sight, one that Odette cherished. "Your mother, Lady Garcia, was a kind and compassionate woman who loved helping others. Everyone adored her, including your father and his family. You inherited her eye color, and you resemble her closely, while your sister took after your father's eyes."
Odette's voice was filled with warmth. "Whenever I look at you, I see your mother, and it fills me with joy to serve you."
Witnya's eyes sparkled with delight as Odette shared more stories about her mother. Unconsciously, her eyes began to water. "When your mother was pregnant with you, she loved dancing, gardening, and nurturing sick animals and plants. She was an avid reader, just like you, and shared your curiosity, always seeking answers to life's questions."
Witnya's mood lightened and she felt a sense of connection to her mother. Odette announced, "Oh, milady, you're ready for the third Shahzadi's birthday party." Witnya trusted Odette's expertise and declined the offer to check her reflection in the mirror.
"Thank you, Odette," Witnya said, embracing her personal maid. Odette was not only a loyal servant but also a close friend who had been dear to Witnya's mother.
Odette sprayed a fragrant perfume, scented with peonies, all over Witnya. "Have fun at the royal palace and always be cheerful," she said with a warm smile, opening the wooden door to usher Witnya out.
Witnya's eyes drooped as she descended the grand staircase, her feet heavy with reluctance. She had no desire to attend the third Shahzadi's birthday celebration, but her stepmother's expectations left her no choice. The waiting family, adorned in their finest attire, greeted her.
The carriages, emblazoned with the Babur family crest, stood ready, the polished wooden wheels glinting in the soft moonlight. The soft murmurs of the horses and the creaking of the leather harnesses filled the air.
The carriage ride was long and tedious. Out of habit, Witnya stared out of the window, watching as tall trees and other luxurious carriages passed by. She felt a pang of boredom, and after what seemed like eternity, the carriage lurched to a stop, jolting her out of her reverie.