Chapter 43 - Attic

The air in Carthage crackled with tension. The impending war with the Dark Wolves loomed like a storm cloud, casting a long shadow over the once vibrant city. The recent declaration of curfew had only deepened the unease, turning the bustling streets into hushed corridors after dusk. Yet, amidst this atmosphere of anxiety, preparations were underway for a celebration – Princess Vivienne's birthday ball.

The heavy oak door of the King's study creaked shut, muffling the hushed whispers and hurried footsteps of the castle corridors. Inside, the air hung thick with the scent of old parchment, polished wood, and the faint, sweet aroma of jasmine tea. King Alexander sat hunched over a cluttered desk, his fingers tracing lines on a map spread before him. The flickering candlelight cast long, dancing shadows across the room, illuminating the intricate details of the kingdom's borders. 

Across from him, in a plush armchair, Princess Vivienne, his younger sister, sat with an air of serene composure. Her delicate fingers held a porcelain teacup, from which she sipped slowly, the faint clinking of the cup against the saucer the only sound in the room besides the King's occasional sigh. Beside her, Roland Claudio, her husband, sat quietly, his usually jovial face unusually subdued. 

He watched the King with a careful, almost apprehensive gaze, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. "A ball?" The question ripped from King Alexander's throat, echoing with disbelief in the room. "With the Wolves on our doorstep, and our treasury bleeding dry to arm our soldiers? Are you suggesting a celebration while we teeter on the brink of war? It's madness!"

Vivienne, however, had remained composed. "Brother," she had said, her voice soft yet firm, "the people are afraid. The nobles are restless. This ball isn't about frivolous celebration. It's about unity. It's about reminding Carthage of its strength, its resilience. It's a beacon of hope in these dark times."

Princess Vivienne's words, laced with genuine concern for her people, finally pierced through the King's anxiety. He knew she was right. A grand ball, a dazzling display of normalcy and strength, could be just the balm a war-weary Carthage needed. It would signal resilience, a refusal to cower in fear of the encroaching Wolves. Yet, the gnawing worry in his heart refused to be silenced. With a heavy sigh, Alexander turned to Roland, his sister's husband and the trusted head of his military.

"What do you think, Roland?" he asked. Roland glanced at Vivienne, noting the subtle lift of her eyebrow, a silent prompt. A warm smile spread across his face as he met her gaze. "I think the ball is an excellent idea, Your Majesty," he replied, his voice firm and confident. "And I understand your concerns, but you mustn't fret about our forces or our funds. We are prepared. Our legions are well-equipped, our supply lines secure, and our treasury, while strained, can certainly bear the expense. A little celebration, a show of our unwavering spirit, is exactly what Carthage needs right now," Roland's calm, measured remarks, finally swayed the King. He conceded, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. 

And so, the preparations began, a flurry of activity in the heart of the palace, a stark contrast to the somber mood outside its walls. Princess Vivienne took charge, ensuring every detail was meticulously planned. Her face displayed a smirk as she imagined the outcomes of the ball and herself as the center of attraction.

Among those caught up in the whirlwind of preparations was Theresa. Princess Vivienne herself had entrusted Theresa with the crucial task of floral arrangements for the ball and she took the responsibility with grace. 

Theresa's days were now a whirlwind of fragrant blossoms, delicate petals, and vibrant colors. The palace gardens, usually a place of quiet contemplation, had been transformed into a temporary workshop, overflowing with roses, lilies, jasmine, and other exotic flowers. Theresa, with her nimble fingers and keen eye, orchestrated the floral symphony, creating stunning bouquets, elegant centerpieces, and cascading floral arrangements that would adorn the ballroom.

Helping Theresa was her young daughter, Madeline. While Theresa worked on the more intricate arrangements, Madeline diligently carried baskets of flowers, swept fallen petals, and ran errands, her small presence a source of constant joy amidst the serious atmosphere.

The palace, despite the tense backdrop, had become a hive of activity. Tailors hurried through the corridors with bolts of silk and velvet, seamstresses stitched intricate embroidery onto gowns, and chefs prepared elaborate menus filled with delicacies from across the empire. The ballroom, usually reserved for grand occasions, was being transformed into a scene of breathtaking beauty.

Crystal chandeliers sparkled under the watchful eyes of palace staff, while the polished marble floor gleamed, ready for the dancing that would soon take place.

Barry, the palace butler, stood in the center of the attic, giving out orders in his usual strict manner. The attic of the palace was a dim, dusty space, filled with old furniture, forgotten decorations, and boxes stacked haphazardly against the walls. The air was thick with dust, and cobwebs clung to the wooden beams above. Servants of different ranks—both lower and mid-level—had been summoned to assist in cleaning the attic. Among them was Emily.

"Princess Vivienne has ordered this attic to be cleaned," Barry announced, his voice firm. "She also wants us to find decorations and paintings that can be used. The palace halls are empty and dull without them."

It struck Emily that the palace was strangely devoid of artwork. Only a handful of paintings of the king adorned the walls. She glanced around the attic, taking in her surroundings. The space was cramped, and dust swirled in the air with every movement. Scattered across the wooden floor were old, tattered rugs, broken furniture, and forgotten trunks filled with unknown treasures. Small rats scurried between the boxes, causing some of the maids to shriek in fright. Their sudden screams earned them a sharp glare from Barry, who clearly had no patience for such nonsense.

As Emily moved through the attic, she noticed a large object covered in a thick, dust-covered cloth. Curious, she reached out and pulled the cloth away with one swift motion. A cloud of dust billowed into the air, making her cough. The maid standing next to her, caught off guard, coughed as well and waved a hand in front of her face.

"Hey! Be careful!" the maid protested, fanning away the dust. Emily quickly lowered her head in apology. "Sorry," she murmured. Just as the maid was about to speak again, she suddenly froze, her eyes fixed on something behind Emily. A look of surprise and admiration crossed her face.

"Wow," she whispered in awe.

Confused, Emily turned around to see what had caught the maid's attention. That's when she saw it—a painting. It was a beautiful portrait of a woman, her expression soft and kind. Her golden hair was styled elegantly, and she wore a magnificent gown that shimmered even through the layers of dust. The way she smiled in the painting made her look almost alive.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?" the maid beside Emily said, still staring at the portrait. Emily's gaze fell upon the woman's necklace, a delicate gold chain from which hung a transparent pendant. Within the pendant, a tiny ruby glowed.

Before Emily could reply, Barry's voice broke the moment. "That is the late Queen Isabela Lamberg," he said in a matter-of-fact tone. "She was the King's wife." Emily turned back to the painting, studying it closely. So, this was the late queen… she had never seen an image of her before.

"Should I take it downstairs?" Emily asked, thinking it would surely be one of the decorations the princess wanted. But Barry quickly shook his head. "No," he replied firmly. "Just clean it carefully. It will remain here in the attic."

His words earned puzzled looks from some of the other maids who had been listening. If the palace needed paintings, why not display this one? Barry, however, had no interest in answering questions. Clapping his hands together, he raised his voice.

"Stop wasting time! We have plenty of work to do before the ball!" he reminded them sharply. Emily stole one last glance at the portrait before turning back to her task. As she dusted off another box, she couldn't help but wonder—why was such a lovely painting hidden away in the attic instead of being proudly displayed in the palace halls?

As the maids continued their work, dusting and wiping away years of neglect, they began to notice something unusual. Many of the paintings hidden in the attic were not just random artworks—they were all portraits of the late Queen Isabela.

One by one, the paintings were cleaned, revealing the same graceful woman in each frame. Her golden hair, warm smile, and elegant gowns made her look regal, yet there was something almost melancholic in her eyes. Despite the princess wanting paintings for the palace, Barry had made it clear that these portraits would not be moved downstairs. They were only to be cleaned and left in the attic. The servants exchanged curious glances but said nothing. It wasn't their place to question the butler's orders.

Suddenly, a maid let out a small gasp. "Look at this!" she exclaimed, holding up a small golden jewelry box. The intricate designs on the box suggested it was something valuable, possibly belonging to royalty. The maid carefully opened the box, revealing a delicate golden necklace inside. A transparent gemstone, polished to perfection, hung from the chain, catching the dim attic light. It shimmered faintly, almost as if it held a secret of its own.

"What should we do with this?" the maid asked, turning to Barry, who was busy supervising the cleaning. Barry walked over and peered into the box. "What's that?" he asked, narrowing his eyes. "A necklace?" another maid guessed, leaning in for a closer look. Emily, who had been watching quietly, finally spoke. "I think it belonged to the late queen."

One of the other maids raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "And how would you know that?" she asked, folding her arms. Emily glanced at the questioning maid with a hint of sarcasm and gestured towards the paintings. "Look at her portraits," she said simply.

Barry, curious, stepped closer to the paintings. His sharp eyes moved from one frame to the next, studying each carefully. And then he noticed it—every single portrait of Queen Isabela featured the same necklace. The golden chain, the shimmering transparent stone—it was identical to the one inside the jewelry box.

A heavy silence filled the attic as the realization sank in. Barry straightened up, his expression unreadable. "Give it to King Alex," he said firmly. "He will decide what to do with it." The maids exchanged glances once more. There was an unspoken question lingering in the air—why had the late queen's portraits and belongings been hidden away in the attic? But no one dared to ask.