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 vibrant colors – crimson, emerald, and sapphire – and the sweet, melodic sounds of the Jagnubian orchestra, whose lively rhythms echoed through the streets as the eighteenth birthday of Shahzadi Katiry Jameele Al-Romanov, the Third Princess of Jagnubia, was celebrated. The sweet scent of blooming flowers wafted through the air, mingling with the sounds 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 the 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.
This grand celebration was, in fact, a centuries-old tradition known as Zarifa's Baraka, one that marked the transition of princesses from childhood to adulthood. It was a grand affair, with roots dating back to the ancient Jagnubian festival of Zarifah's Mukaddasa, where the nobility would gather to honor the princesses who died and sacrificed for the country. This time around, Shahzadi Katiry would obtain the blessings of the late princesses. It was also a time for noble families to forge alliances, secure marriages, and curry favor with the royal family.
In Soravand 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 man with a strong jawline, piercing green eyes, and an air of quiet confidence, known for his diligence and industrious nature, 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 of noble birth, renowned for her impeccable taste and refinement, who had previously served as a governess to several high-status aristocratic families. 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 scanned the array of gowns. Each one was more exquisite than the last. Odette, her young maidservant, held up a dark blue gown adorned with intricate 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. Her words were 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 face relaxed, her eyebrows easing downward as she carefully laid the gown on Witnya's bed, her movements slow and deliberate. "Of course, you cannot outshine the third Shahzadi in her party, milady," As Witnya's adorable behavior earned a giggle from Odette, the maidservant replied. "But that doesn't mean you cannot be graceful and gorgeous enough to leave a lasting impression on the guests."
Odette's eyes sparkled with encouragement. "In less than 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 Witnya, her expression warm and reassuring.
As Odette mentioned suitors, Witnya's expression faltered. However, she swiftly pushed aside the discomfort. She took a deep breath, reminding herself of her youth. Her father, she reassured herself, 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. As a Baron's daughter, Witnya held a position below the marquises and earls. However, she ranked above the commoners. Freedom to find a life partner by herself was farfetched, and that was something most commoners had but she didn't.
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, glittered in the low light, its lack of sophistication catching Witnya's eyes like a whispered promise of elegance. With minimal embellishments and delicate sequins, this gown exuded a quiet refinement, its simplicity making it even more captivating.
Her gaze swept across the gowns. 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. As the hour ticked by, Witnya used the time to reject the selected jewelries, opting for a simpler appearance instead.
Unlike her stepmother and Gisselle, who thrived on being the center of attraction, she preferred to blend in with the background. The clock on the mantle ticked away the minutes, each one marking the passage of time until, all too soon, the hour had slipped away. Soon, Witnya was dressed in the pastel blue gown. Her long blonde hair was tied into fat braids, the soft strands framing her face like a golden halo, as a delicate locket settled on her pale neck. Witnya's fingers brushed against the locket, a familiar sense of longing stirring within her. She had never known her mother, but the locket was a tangible connection to the woman who had given her life.
The sound of a gentle knock broke the silence, and Witnya's head turned toward the door as her elder sister, Sharlota, 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, her eyes, warm with sisterly affection, met Witnya's in the mirror, her gaze conveying a deep appreciation for the subtle beauty that often went unnoticed.
She 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 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.
A wave of anxiety settled in Witnya's chest as she watched her stepmother and Gisselle preen in front of the mirror, their confidence and poise a stark contrast to her own doubts.
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. Her eyes narrowed as she inspected Witnya's gown, her lips pursed in disapproval. 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're attending a royal celebration, not a countryside picnic. You'll wear this beautiful gown, whether you like it or not. You'll wear it with a smile." 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's 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.
Her eyes narrowed, her voice laced with a hint of desperation. "Witnya, you must understand the importance of making a good impression. Your father's reputation, our family's future – it all depends on you and your sister's abilities to secure suitable marriages."
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. As Witnya's gaze met Odette's, she heard the familiar words: "Everything will be fine, just know that."
Her 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 was crushing. She felt overwhelmed.
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 glazed 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 Witnya'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…' Her 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 soft voice and gentle smile created a warm, comforting atmosphere, like a soothing balm on a chilly evening. "Whenever I look at you, I see your mother, and it fills me with joy to serve you."
Witnya's face lit up and her 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 philosophical questions."
Witnya's mood lightened and she felt a deeper sense of connection to her mother. Her mother passed away when she was just a baby, leaving behind only whispers and shadows. Odette announced, "Oh, milady, you're almost 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.
As Odette finished spraying the fragrant perfume on Witnya, Lady Jessamine's voice echoed from downstairs, urging them to hurry. Witnya took a deep breath, smoothing her velvet gown as she followed Odette out of the door.
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, received 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, buildings and 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.