KALINDI PALACE, JAGNUBIA
The grand ballroom shimmered like a canvas of diamonds, the crystal chandeliers refracting light into a kaleidoscope of colors. The scent of fresh flowers and polished wood wafted through the air as people of all ages and backgrounds mingled. The air pulsated with the hum of conversations, the soft strain of music, and the delicate clinking of glasses.
Festive spirits filled the air as Jagnubia celebrated the Zarifa's Baraka. The occasion marked Shahzadi Katiry's official debut into the social order, a momentous occasion that would change the course of her life forever. It brought immense joy to the royal family and the people of Jagnubia, especially the high-status noblepersons who saw the celebration as an opportunity to introduce their sons and daughters to the Shahzadis and Shahzadehs, and to socialize with the royal family.
The ballroom was meticulously decorated in shades of pastel green, gray, and pure white with exotic flowers and shiny flecks all over the place. Sparkling light from the chandeliers cast a golden glow across the grand ballroom. The soft, inviting tunes from the stringed instruments drew couples to the spacious dance floor, and the air vibrated with infectious laughter and the thrill of possibility.
The Babur family stood at the far edge of the ballroom, their smiles strained. Lady Jessamine, renowned for her impeccable taste and strategic matchmaking capability, drew admiring glances from the high-status families gathered in the ballroom, her reputation preceding her. The Baron of Soravand mingled with familiar faces, his courteous laughter carrying across the room. Gisselle's eyes sparkled as she chatted with a group of teenage girls and boys who had once been her aunt's students. Sharlota and Witnya stood at the edge of the ballroom, their glasses of wine untouched as they observed the festivities with a mixture of curiosity and disinterest. The music and laughter seemed to grow louder, amplifying the awkwardness between them.
Sharlota broke the silence, asking, "Witnya, are you alright?" The awkwardness between them had been growing, and she couldn't bear it anymore. She felt a twinge of guilt for not being more supportive. Witnya's eyes scanned the room, her gaze lingering on familiar faces before darting away. She stood with her back to the wall, her shoulders slightly hunched, as if shielding herself from the chaos.
Witnya shook her head, frowning. Her gaze drifted back to her sister. "I'm not comfortable here. I want to go home."
Sharlota sighed, familiar with her sister's behavior. She understood that Witnya struggled with social events. "It's too early to leave. We just arrived, and it would be disrespectful to Shahzadi Katiry. We haven't even wished her a happy birthday yet. Besides, she hasn't made an appearance, and leaving now would be a blatant disrespect to the royal family – a punishable offence."
Witnya understood her sister's perspective, but the thought of staying made her stomach churn. Moreover, Lady Jessamine, had made it clear that she expected Witnya and Sharlota to make connections with potential suitors tonight. The thought sent a shiver down Witnya's spine, and she felt a surge of rebellion against the fate that had been laid out for her. What's more, her skin prickled with unease as she caught the sultry gazes of some men. She felt like a prized mare on display, her value determined by her family's name and her own physical appearance.
Sharlota's eyes sparkled with amusement as she gently pried the wine glass from her sister's hands for a glass of fruit juice. "You know you can't handle your liquor at all, little sister. I wouldn't want you spewing all my secrets." She teased, wanting to exchange the wine for a glass of fruit juice while Witnya chuckled.
A waiter was passing through the crowds of people with careful movements and Sharlota tried to exchange Witnya's glass of wine with a glass of fruit juice. In a moment of imperfect timing, the serving tray tilted, and the contents of the glass splashed onto Sharlota's dress and the floor, leaving bright red stains that seemed to glow in the light of the chandeliers. Witnya couldn't help but scowl at the sight.
"I…I am sorry, m…milady." The waiter's high-pitched voice trembled as he apologized; his body shaking like a reed in the wind. The nearby guests turned to stare, and Sharlota sensed the scornful glances from her stepmother and Gisselle. However, she ignored them.
Her upset expression deepened as she glared at the waiter. "You're not going to stand there like a statue, are you? Clean up the mess you made!" Her composed tone belied her true feelings; she knew the accident was partly her fault. She had simply leaned in too much, which must have startled the waiter.
The waiter let out a sigh of relief, grateful that Sharlota didn't make a scene. He knew that if the headwaiter found out, his family would face unbearable shame for the rest of their lives. "Yes, milady." He bowed and began cleaning the floor with his handkerchief.
Just then, Witnya approached him. "Excuse me, sorry for the accident my sister and I caused. Do you know where the powder room is, please?" Her intelligent blue eyes sparkled with displeasure, but without anger or disdain.
The waiter pointed in a less crowded direction. "Over there, milady." His ears reddened as he met Witnya's gaze, his round eyes locking onto hers.
"Thank you." Witnya said, her appreciative words making the waiter's blanched cheeks blush profusely. That was the first time in a very long while a lady had said appreciative words to him.
Sharlota and Witnya snuck into the powder room, attempting to fix the stain on Sharlota's gown. Witnya detected the faint scent of wine. "You should return to the ballroom." Sharlota said with a sigh.
Witnya shook her head. "Nope, I'd rather not." This was her chance to escape the unpleasant atmosphere.
"Stepmother will be upset if she doesn't see us," Sharlota countered.
Witnya nodded, knowing she couldn't disobey directives related to her stepmother.
"Who will you dance with tonight?" Witnya asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.
Sharlota focused on her gown. "I don't intend to dance. This heavy gown is killing my ankles, and dancing will exhaust me. What about you?"
"I thought of asking Father to dance, but he's busy with noblemen. I don't want to disturb him." Witnya mumbled, her eyes flickering when she remembered her stepmother's opinion on being married off.
Sharlota smiled. "You should take your dancing lessons seriously. In three months, you'll need to dance with those noble sons. Return to the ballroom before stepmother and Gisselle freak out. Come on, kid sister, our eardrums' survival depends on you."
"Yeah." Witnya agreed with an unladylike chuckle. After a minute-long hug with her sister, she left the powder room with a sad smile. 'Back to that revolting place…' She thought, her tummy churning in agreement.
She hadn't had a proper dinner, only tea and biscuits, as Lady Jessamine had instructed the kitchen servants not to prepare anything. Lost in thoughts, Witnya clutched her tummy, unaware she'd taken a wrong turn. Anxiety replaced her discomfort as she realized she was lost.
'Shiitake, where am I?' She thought, her eyes scanning the unfamiliar hallway. The sooty ceiling, grubby floorboards, and bizarre sculptures caught her attention. Dusty portraits hung loosely on the walls, emitting a heavy odor. Neglect was evident in this forgotten section of the Kalindi Palace.
Cobwebs clung to the edges of the walls, and crawling creatures oddly beautified the dark hallway. The air was thick with dust and that made breathing difficult. Yet, Witnya's curiosity was piqued. 'This is spectacular…' Witnya thought, staring at the sculpture of a teenage girl with a crooked smile.
As she explored the hallway, her nervousness dissipated, replaced by wonder at the exquisite works of art.
Witnya strolled along the hallway, admiring the artwork with genuine smiles. Her face radiated joy, like a child discovering candy for the first time. Time flew by, and three-quarters of an hour passed unnoticed. The hallway was straight and endless, with sculptures that appeared lifelike and portraits that drew her in.
As she turned a corner, the dim lighting made her bump into a hard surface. "Ouch!" she squeaked, rubbing her sore nose and forehead. Looking up, she saw a statue of a tall, clean-cut man. The realism was unnerving, as if the statue might come to life.
Intrigued, Witnya reached out to trace the handsome features of the statue. It wasn't every day that she could unashamedly ogle at a handsome man behind closed doors. "Such a beautiful statue…no, a very handsome one. Thick bushy eyebrows…glossy eyelashes…lustrous long straight hair…handsome face with sharp jawline…straight nose…lovely eyes…thin lips…thick muscles…hmm…" Her fingers trailed over each feature, mesmerized.
As she reached the lips, Witnya leaned in, fascinated by the statue's allure. Was it the deadpan expression or the unusual setting? Her fingers brushed against the lips in a suggestive manner, she snapped back to reality. "What am I doing?"
"You're more handsome than Ignacio, Declan, Farooq, Herbert, Theodore, and also Everett, that white-haired witch prince who fell for Lalla, a human servant. You're really handsome, I mean, I've never seen anyone like you before." She shook her head, comparing the statue to the male leads in romance tales she had read in the past.
Witnya leaned in, her dreamy grin still plastered on her face as she sniffed the statue. "Hmm…you smell of patchouli. Are you really a statue? It's a pity you're so handsome, yet you can't hear or see me. Deep down, I wish you weren't a statue but it is just a wish." Her voice was tinged with sadness.
As if the statue had heard her wish, its hard skin began to molt off, thick black fog swirled around it. Witnya's confusion turned to panic. "What is happening?" She asked herself, taking a step back. The cold air bit into her pale skin, despite the furry shawl on her shoulders.
Warning bells rang in her head, her instincts screaming at her to flee, but it was too late. A muscular arm wrapped around her slim waist, pulling her closer to the source of the earthy scent – patchouli. The aroma was almost intoxicating.
A deep, melodious voice sent shivers down her spine. "Charming lady, aren't you happy your wish has come true?" The fog dissipated, revealing the breathtaking beauty she had yearned to see. But it was the bloodshot eyes that captured her attention – eyes that shone like trickling fresh blood in the darkness.
"I…I…I…" Witnya gulped, frightened by the burning gaze. Apprehension glittering in her hunted eyes, and her heart rammed against her ribcage as if desperate to escape. 'Red eyes…he's a vampire!' Her mind screamed, survival instincts on high alert.
Blood rushed to Witnya's ashen face as the man leaned in, his breath whispering against the soft nape of her neck. He gently pulled out the tiny hairpins, and her long blonde hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall. Some strands fell over her face, framing it.
"You look beautiful and younger with your lustrous hair let down." His husky voice whispered, sending shivers down her spine, she was unsure if it was fear or excitement.
Her cheeks flushed. In her upbringing, unmarried women never let their hair down in public; it was considered uncultured and disrespectful. She had never seen an unmarried woman do so.
The man's hands remained buried in her hair, making Witnya feel unusual. She slapped his hands away, fearing her virtue would be compromised if they were discovered.
"Feisty…" He murmured, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. 'That's rich coming from a girl who gracelessly cleaved onto me when I was at my nadirs.' He reasoned.
Witnya's senses reeled as she stared at the man, but she refused to let her guard down. Her curious eyes roamed from his eyes to his elegant attire. 'He must be a nobleman…but what is he doing here?' She thought.
"I'm sorry, but I don't think we've met. Who are you?" Witnya asked, her voice prim and unruffled, despite her inner turmoil. She would have curtsied if she weren't held captive.
The man smiled, his eyes glinting. Witnya noticed a fleeting glimmer of sadness in his eyes, making her wonder if it was her imagination playing tricks on her. "Does it interest this pretty damsel to know about this handsome self?"
Witnya's eyes rolled heavenward. 'Narcissistic!' She thought, a smug smile playing on her lips.
"Yes, milord." She replied, her voice steady.
The man's smile broadened as he tenderly held her hand, kissing it lightly. His hot breath tingled her pale skin, and the dense atmosphere grew abnormally warm.
"Please, dance with me, pretty lady." He whispered, his eyes burning with intensity.
'Upfront in his intentions, that was out of the blue.' Witnya thought, nodding awkwardly. As the stranger asked Witnya to dance, she noticed that his eyes seemed to hold a genuine interest, rather than just a passing flirtation.
Before she knew it, she found herself in the familiar hallway leading to the ballroom. The handsome man now wore a gray mask, giving him a mysterious, delinquent air – the kind most mothers would warn their daughters about.
'So handsome!' The thought blared in her mind as she gazed at his side profile.
"May I have the honor to dance with you, milady?" He asked again, pulling Witnya out of her daze.
She hadn't even noticed they were in the center of the ballroom. The familiar tune of a waltz filled the air, lifting her spirits.
However, Witnya's excitement was short-lived. She was clumsy and unproficient in waltz, unlike her mother, who was a skilled dancer.
The handsome man took her silence as consent and pulled her closer. Witnya's body tensed, but then she heard his soothing voice.
"Breathe, charming lady. Just focus on me, your mind should not wander away when I am here with you."
To her surprise, her panicky body obeyed his words, calming her racing heart.
"I've been watching you all night. You seem like the only one who doesn't belong here." His words pealed in her ears like a melody.