THE CROWN PRINCE OF LUXTONIA
❝
BOTH ladies exchanged a long, silent glance before their gaze shifted to the young woman standing before them. She looked almost out of place in the Deloney mansion, very petite in a maid's uniform, with the hood drawn so low that it hid most of her features. Her presence felt like a shadow in the room—an unexpected intruder who had somehow darted past the meticulously guarded gates of the mansion.
"Had she slipped past the guards unnoticed?"
Helena's mind ran wild, her brows furrowed in confusion, while an odd sense of calm washed over Charlotte as the figure advanced toward them. The girl's demeanor was freezing—the warmth of the atmosphere suddenly chilled by her entrance. Her presence charged the atmosphere between cordiality and violence.
"And my name is Lindice... Madam Dorothea has a message to relay to you, fair lady," the young woman stated in a hushed, cold, and detached tone, laced with so much formality that it seemed to have swept out warmth from the room. The coldness of the atmosphere enveloped them.
Helena stiffened slightly as recognition flickered across her face. This girl had been spying a lot around Madam Dorothea— lurking in the darkness, always entrusted with secrets. A shiver ran down her spine, but she quickly masked it as she stepped forward to receive a letter from Lindice's hand.
"I will be back before midnight…" Lindice's tone dropped again, almost confiding in them. In a moment, she caught Charlotte's eyes and declared, "And don't forget...the midnight ticks in," with an undercurrent of significance, as though her words were a silent promise.
Charlotte shivered; anticipation mixed with dread inside her chest. The girl turned sharply on her heel, moving unnaturally fast from the room and with aesthetically surreal grace that contributed to her already spine-chilling disposition. The door clicked shut behind her, and the heavy release of air seemed to escape from the room.
Helena stamped over and bolted the door, trembling slightly to the point of needing to lean against it for support. "That maid of Madam Grimoard...she looks like she could slip through the cracks of the world itself," she muttered, shaking off the lingering chill. "There is something about her; it gives me the shivers right in my veins."
Charlotte watched the path Lindice had taken until she disappeared altogether, leaving traces of her perturbing presence where she had stood. The burden of planning an escape started weighing upon her. But her thoughts were interrupted when Helena thrust the letter into her hands, pulling Charlotte back to the present task.
The envelope was small and plainly designed, yet the seal was unmistakable. Charlotte's fingers followed the wax in an unsealing ever so gentle and slow; every moment caused her heart to beat a little faster. The parchment unfolded before her, the smoothness recognizable beneath her fingertips, as she began to read. A breath caught in her throat; the words inside set anew the fire of hope.
"The escape route is secured. The carriage will stand under the north gate amongst the evening festivities. It would never be suspected. The route to the outskirts is clear, and we will meet you there at the stroke of midnight. Get ready for it. It's now or never."
Charlotte felt the letter's words sinking in. Her heart raced as she read the letter again; it was real. The moment she had been waiting for—her chance to break free from the shackles of her life, from her parents' control. The clock beside her bed ticked away incessantly; every second brought her a little closer to her destiny.
She breathed in slowly and murmured, "Midnight, then..." as she folded the letter and put it away.
Before she gathered herself any further, yet another knock on the door broke her consideration. The voice of her lady-in-waiting wafted through the wood. "My Lady, Mr. Knox wishes to have a talk with you in the guest room."
Charlotte frowned. The request seemed a bit odd—Zephyrl Landice y Knox was not someone she had much occasion to meet directly. He was a retainer of the Ruthania royal family, while his presence at court was common knowledge, and his duties kept him far from those like her—ones that did not have direct connections to the crown just yet.
Setting down the letter, she felt the growing knot in her stomach. "I shall be there shortly."
She rose and gestured to Helena. "Prepare yourself, I'll be gone for a moment."
Helena nodded respectfully. Charlotte could tell that concern had shadowed her eyes for an instant. Silent throughout, she stepped out of the room, her thoughts confused and awash in a torrent of inquiries.
The guest chamber was at the end of the corridor at a far end, luxuriously designed for visiting dignitaries, and the soft clink of porcelain could already be heard from within. Upon entering, her gaze immediately went to Mr. Zephyrl Landice Y Knox sitting beside the fire, a teacup in hand, his eyes warm but calculating.
"Lady Charlotte," he greeted smoothly, rising from his seat, and gave her a slight bow. "It is an honor to see you again."
The formalities were tedious but Charlotte saw no urge to indulge in niceties. "Mr. Knox, this is quite an unexpected visit. Would you kindly tell me the reason for it?"
He beckoned her to sit with an arm movement towards the chair opposite his. "Of course, my lady. Please make yourself comfortable. The Crown Prince has entrusted me to deliver particulars of your engagement," he said, taking up his teacup yet again. "But first, let us see how well you bear yourself." He said this while pausing and studying her expression very keenly even through putting his teacup again aside.
Breath was tightening within the walls of Charlotte's throat at the mention of the Crown Prince. Her betrothal was, indeed, a thunderstorm loomed within her life, something she could do very little about.
"Details?" she repeated, sitting down and carrying herself as if there was nothing wrong.
"My Lady, His Highness wishes to specify your future role, Lady Charlotte. Zephyrl's tune was respectful but bore the weight of necessity as if this was something that ought to be said. On marrying, your majesty will not only be Lady Normaine but also the Queen Consort of Albiana. There will be two crowns through this union."
Surprised, Charlotte blinked. The weight of his words bore down upon her more heavily than she would have thought. "Two crowns?" The one word blunted her voice, allowing the full implications to sink in. "So, I am to be Queen over both?"
Zephyrl nodded gravely. "Indeed, my lady. As Queen Consort of Albiana, you will accompany the Crown Prince in matters of state, representing the monarchy on foreign visits, in diplomacy, and even within the court. As Queen of Normaine, your role will be more ceremonial but still significant—acting as a liaison between the two kingdoms, fostering alliances and goodwill between the royal families." Stunned silence gripped Charlotte, and the clock was spinning round in her mind. She always knew that marriage would be politically important. But now, what came fuzzy but oppressing in heaviness were the responsibilities, meanings, influence, and expectations.
"My lady, you are expected to perform queenly functions in both lands," repeated Zephyrl, his voice steady. "This means keeping dignity for the royal family, motivating citizens of both kingdoms, and holding the highest standards of virtue and strength. Virtually no private desires will enter into actions that will shape the future of these two kingdoms."
The echo of their words hung thickly in the air. A coil of discomfort wound itself deeply within Charlotte's stomach. To her, her marriage always seemed like a course in duty, but she never realized what it would weigh on her. This was not just an ordinary marriage-that would be a 'political statement,' and that bond would be made to change history.
"And if I do not wish to follow this direction?" she asked, although with a quiet but firm timbre.
Zephyrl did not move. He had heard such questions before. "My lady, your father has already pledged support for this marriage. The Earl's counsel has valorously upheld the royal family in ensuring that this path is not likely to be opposed. Both Normaine and Albiana want this union to materialize-it will solidify a lasting peace between the two nations."
"But what of my own wishes?" Charlotte's question was sharper now, broken loose from the tight confines of her control.
"You will not be the only one in this, my lady," Zephyrl said softly, but there was a finality in his voice. "Your participation will be relevant, but in the powerful way that you will be heard by two rulers. Your voice will matter, for you will mold the future not only as a queen but as a symbol."
Charlotte looked away, her head spinning.
Zephyrl awoke her from her dreams, though now softer. "The Crown Prince, of course, hopes you will take this in your stride with some determination because if you choose to resist this union..." He took a pause, weighing his words carefully. "It will have consequences not just for you, but for your family and for the kingdom. There are powers at play that you may not fully understand."
Charlotte could not fail to see how this held the risk of losing more than just her own future. It opened herself up to endangering what little the kingdom had remained in balance and fragile alliances holding the realm together.
A moment of silence stretched out between the two, broken only by the sound of crackling fire. Charlotte's eyes flicked back to Zephyrl. "And if I accept?"
"You will be more than just a queen," Zephyrl replied, willfully sure and steady. "You will be the foundation of a new age. Your marriage will unite two nations. Your influence will ripple through history."
His words bore down upon her with all the weight of inevitability. You cannot escape this path; at least, not without consequences. But perhaps, just perhaps, she might find a way to carve out some semblance of power within the role they were forcing upon her.
"I shall heed your words with due consideration," Charlotte said quietly, all things considered, with her mind already made, even though her heart remained uncertain.
Zephyrl made a respectful nod, for he understood the weight of that decision. "Of course, my lady. I will wait for your word."
Charlotte stood with confidence taking shape. "Thank you Mr. Knox."
As she left the room, the finality of her life settled heavy on her shoulders; it could not be undone now, except in its aftermath. It had been made, and the one question now lay in the form of how she would use that power to be accorded her now.
Once the setting sun yielded to the rising moon, solemnity and serenity were felt all around. After a chat with Ruthania's retainer, Charlotte felt as if there were bounds holding her in her room. The fine dresses of the maidservants could not wash away that feeling of gloom.
When the last rays of the sun disappeared beyond the horizon, the moon took its place, casting a timid glow through Charlotte's tall windows. The atmosphere in the room changed from bustle to quiet. The stillness was mid-evening, almost heavy with constraint.
Charlotte sat by the vanity with an absent expression, while the maidservants continued to prepare her for the dawn event. Barely a whisper, they brushed her hair, adorned her with jewelry, etc. The heavy fabric of the gown draping her shoulder glimmered like the midnight sky, but time and again, whatever was being done to her noble appearance could not take away from the deluge in her heart.
Her previous discussion with Mr. Knox kept replaying in her mind like a monotonous echo, every word with a weight on her chest. Queen of two nations? Surely a jest. A facade she had no part of. She could not bring herself to believe it, not for a moment. No marriage. No two crowns. Not for her.
The moonlight flickered across her glance as it flooded the room with ethereal light. I will not let myself be bound by their schemes. The thought solidified in her mind. "I refuse to be a pawn in their political games."
"My lady, your ebony locks are as smooth as your mother," Delphine, one of the maids, commented with respect to young Charlotte's luscious tresses. Charlotte shot a thin smile at Delphine, who was perhaps aware that the young lady was in dire need of some emotional support and wanted to raise her spirits.
Charlotte's small smile was genuine in appreciating the effort of the kind maid. "My Lady, here is your necklace," Helena said, holding the box an Amethyst gemstone necklace was in. Delphine joined Helena in placing the necklace around her graceful lady's neck.
"The years have passed, and I used to spend my days outside with my brother while watching him do fencing and archery. He even taught me a little about them," Charlotte said while looking at the necklace that was placed on her neck. "I bet Lady Eleanor was happy to see you all grown up after she has been assigned to be a nanny by His Lordship," said Delphine.
Suddenly a gentle knock from the door appeared, "I'll go get it!" Delphine then opened the door to find Lady Eleanor with a soft smile on her face.
As soon as Charlotte laid eyes on her, she stood from her seat and walked towards her. "Auntie Eleanor, you look beautiful today," she said, embracing her. "Oh my dear, you are more beautiful than me, Lady Charlotte," she said, smiling as she put her face on Charlotte's chin.
"You flatter me, Auntie." She said while a warm smile blossomed with innocence.
As the ladies were conversing warmly, another maid entered and announced something to them.
"Lady Charlotte, the Earl's speech will most likely commence in five minutes," the other maid said, giving her last adjustments to Charlotte's dress.
"I see," she replied coldly, without any charm for the upcoming festivities. Then suddenly her brother appeared out of nowhere, bowing again as the maid greeted good-humoredly.
"Is something bothering you, Charlotte?" he inquired, giving her a firm stand and a warm smile. He wore a fitted burgundy tailcoat embroidered with silver ivy patterns, over a black brocade waistcoat and a white ruffled blouse fastened with a sapphire brooch. The ivory high-waisted trousers and immaculate white gloves rounded off the polished look of noble elegance.
"Callistopher…" Charlotte mumbled as she turned to greet her brother.
Callistopher Lumiere Frederick Deloney was a name well known throughout the world as it belonged to the heir of the Earl Marcus Dallas Deloney. He was the eldest male and the only son of House Deloney to inherit his father's rank along with all the immense properties of the noble family.
He also bears the overwhelming burden of managing the family estate and has the additional obligation to advise his father in order to maintain the legacy and traditions of the House, thus bequeathing them onto future generations. "You look absolutely radiant this evening, Charlotte," said Callistopher as he finger-combed a lock of the young lady's hair tucked over her ear, thereby highlighting her beauty and charm.
"Such statements are hardly necessary," Charlotte exclaimed, somewhat shyly and embarrassed now that the maids were present. But Callistopher only laughed lightly, as if to say that he was in no way disturbed by the outburst.
Lady Eleanor chuckled as she watched both siblings talk to each other. "Oh dear, I bet you two should go ahead, your father might be waiting for you two." She told them.
"She's right, complementing me might take our time before we reach the ballroom." she said, chuckling.
"Is it improper to bestow compliments on my youngest sister?" Callistopher inquired, apparently unconcerned by her embarrassment. "Well, if you wish me to keep quiet, I shall do so without any protest."
"I really am quite easy to get along with," he added, presenting his arm for Charlotte to take as her escort through the festivities. Grievously vexed by her brother's unconcern, Charlotte accepted his arm and gently gripped it as they descended into the ballroom party.
While the chandeliers glimmered in the scattered light from tall glass windows along the corridor, their golden pattern made a carpet on the marble floor. As they walked, the satin skirts of Charlotte whispered against the floor tiles, her gloved hand lightly clasping the edge of her dress to match pace.
As Callistopher composedly adjusted his gloves, they approached the grand doors to the ballroom, and with every step, the silver embroidery of his burgundy coat glimmered softly, gradually unveiling the burden that he carried even in a joyous atmosphere.
Charlotte teased, glancing up at him with a playful smile. "You look like one ready to walk into a duel, not a party."
Callistopher raised an eyebrow. "Some would say they are one and the same-someone who is the Earl's heir, when every noble in that room could be judging your posture or measuring your prospects."
Charlotte let out a soft laugh that floated gently through the corridor. "You speak as though you're in your forties and twice-a-widower. You're twenty-one, Callis."
He said dryly, "Twenty-one, and expected to converse on land surveys, estate audits, and inheritance law before the orchestra finishes tuning." But then he looked at her, and his expression softened. "Tonight, however, is yours, Lottie. For once, let me pretend the burden is lighter than it is."
She nudged him lightheartedly with her shoulder. "Thank you for dressing up like a storybook prince to fulfill my birthday expectations."
He smirked. "Only the best for the lady of the evening. Besides, I needed a break from the steward's endless reports on tenant disputes."
Charlotte had linked arms with her brother as they glided through the ballroom doors, which opened to candlelight, flowers, and the hum of strings and conversation.
"Then dance at least once, for me," she whispered. "Not as an heir. Just as my brother."
He sighed with mock horror, but his smile betrayed him. "Only if you promise not to step on my shoes again."
Together they stepped into the light-siblings, nobles, and just for a moment, two young people stuck between duty and delight.
Beneath it all, clinking glasses, light hums of polite conversation, and floral arrangement scents seeped into the space below. Charlotte's heart galloped against her chest in a betraying manifestation of her nervousness. Numerous clandestine gatherings of this stature had now become cumbersome, and tonight felt terribly much atop the many times uncomfortable.
"You know, Lottie, if you're hoping for a grand entrance, you might as well stop lingering in the shadows," called Callistopher, his tone light enough to hide something underneath. He stood next to her, scanning the crowd as if he could already feel the ponderous weight of their eyes upon him.
Charlotte turned her face toward him with a teasing smile, for the cool evening air brushed against her cheeks. "You know I prefer to observe first before diving into the sea of social expectations.
He chuckled almost imperceptibly. "You'll drown in it one day if you're not careful."
Her attention shifted back to the ballroom, where the golden glow spilled from the glittering chandeliers over the sea of high society. Then they heard their father's boisterous voice resounding through the hall, greeting guests with practiced ease while holding a glass of crimson wine. "A most opportune moment to greet you both," he said, all warmth and charm, but Charlotte by now had learned to see the slight tension in his eyes.
Beneath their father's charming words lurked an unspoken weight. Every moment here was a test: an exercise in forming alliances, a delicate waltz. She did not miss how his gaze flicked over her and Callistopher before returning to the rest of the guests.
Standing beside him was Carmelia: beautiful and poised while still managing to stare daggers at Charlotte, her fan moving ever so gracefully but with enough force to foreground the hostility she feigned. The very nature of each of her movements screamed that she was an opponent.
Charlotte, standing still and trying to slip away unnoticed, felt all the force of Carmelia's stars descend upon her. She met her sister's gaze with a soft, genuine smile, perhaps an olive branch or simply a last gesture of peace before she finally put all this behind her. No animosity behind her gaze—only an emptiness mixed with some hints of sadness and nearly complete forgiveness.
But Carmelia responded with an insipid smile that was devoid of any genuine feeling. A desperate travesty of a smile hiding all the daggers that glimmered through her silk gloves, a passing courtesy to save face. In a heartbeat, her gaze strayed away from Charlotte, as if even acknowledging her for more than a second was an insult.
Just at that moment, the trumpet rang through the hall announcing the arrival of the Crown Prince, sending the guests into a hush. Charlotte felt herself tense as the pulse quickened with the unmistakable entrance of Prince Dominique, a dignified presence who somehow seemed to belong to this realm and yet remain illusive.
"His Royal Highness, Prince Dominique of House Ruthania, Crown Prince of Luxtonia, Firstborn of His Majesty King Decabrius, Heir to the Southern Crown of Albiana!" The proclamation was made by Zephyrl, His Highness's retainer, as he bowed in front of the entrance and waved the way for the Royal Personage. A myriad of noble hearts broke into warm applause as they witnessed the prince stepping into the celebration.
"It's... The Royal Highness."