The Palace

A Cold Welcome Inside the Palace

As the great doors groaned shut behind them, the sound echoed through the cavernous hall like a final, foreboding seal. Inside, the palace seemed even darker than the night outside. Shadows danced wildly across the walls, thrown by towering iron candelabras whose flames flickered as if struggling to stay alive.

The nobles ahead whispered among themselves, their hushed voices unnerving in the vast, echoing space. A chilling draft curled through the air, tugging at the sisters' gowns. Despite the layers of finery, Isabella shivered.

"Impressive," Celine said, though her voice faltered, betraying the tremor in her confidence.

Isabella glanced around, her eyes drawn to the peculiar decor—murals depicting twisted figures that seemed to writhe and stretch toward them, their painted hands grasping out of scenes of darkness and despair. At the corners of the room, armored statues loomed with visors down, each holding a halberd angled as if ready to strike. The grand staircase ahead swept up like the maw of a beast, the bannisters curling like claws.

"This place feels…" Isabella hesitated, her hand brushing against Burlington's sleeve. "Different. Heavy, almost."

"You're letting your imagination run wild again," Celine snapped, though her words felt forced. Her sharp green eyes darted to Burlington for reassurance.

"It's a palace," Burlington said simply, though his gaze avoided hers. He focused on adjusting his coat instead. "What did you expect? This is the home of a king. Let's not embarrass ourselves with foolish fantasies."

A sharp sound interrupted him—a single note from a grand piano that rang out too sharply to be accidental. Heads turned toward a set of partially open double doors at the end of the hall, beyond which soft, ghostly music began to rise.

"It's just the musicians," Burlington assured them, but even he couldn't hide the doubt creeping into his tone.

The noise of distant conversations muffled and echoing like the whispers in dreams.

The palace stretched out before Isabella and Celine ,as they passed ornate silver and gold decorations, grandiose tapestries, and guards dressed in formal dark uniforms that contrasted the brightness of the hall., 

It thrummed with life,the air thick with the scent of wine and intrigue. Laughter and soft music reverberated off the silver and gold décor, the opulent surroundings nearly overwhelming. The polished floors gleamed under the dim glow of chandeliers, casting eerie, flickering shadows on the walls.

Isabella suddenly regret stepping foot into this lavish yet strange place. Faces, unfamiliar and distant, watched them as they made their way through the room, making Isabella's unease deepen.

The entire palace itself seemed as if it was holding secrets —ones that weren't supposed to heard ,

Everything about this engagement preparation seemed hollow, as though it was all a performance, a mask covering something far darker.

Then came the Eldrenn sisters, their presence cutting through the noise like a blade. Celine, clad in an emerald-green gown that matched her piercing eyes, moved with effortless elegance. Her blonde like the dawn, shone under the light. Beside her, Isabella walked in contrasting subtlety, her chestnut hair waved elegantly, and her silver-blue gown gleaming softly in the glow. Her mismatched blue-and-green eyes carried a quiet mystery that captured just as much attention as her elder sister's striking beauty.

Heads turned. Whispers rippled across the room like the wind stirring through tall grass. "William Eldrenn's daughters," someone muttered under their breath. Eyes lingered too long on the sisters—appraising, curious, and calculating.

Burlington, dressed finely but fidgeting, kept glancing around the room, as though the sheer grandeur unsettled him. "Well, you've certainly stolen the evening," he muttered to Celine, his nervousness poorly concealed.

"As always!," Celine replied in a low tone, her face calm though her fingers twitched ever so slightly. " And stop fidgeting, Burlington. People are watching."

From her seat across the room, Princess Varsa had taken notice!

As they continued deeper into the room, Isabella and Celine's gaze fell on the Princess and her fiancé, Prince Eziek .

Adorned by gold and white , His brown eyes gleamed like molten amber beneath the glowing light, as his black hair shone, darker than night. He is the only heir to the throne of Radiantfell and the son of King Edmond. the two looked like two figures carved from stone, their beauty undeniable.

As though the room itself holds its breath. Nobles whisper in corners about alliances and betrayals, casting furtive glances toward the crimson-clad figure of Princess Varsa seated far from the commotion.

Even veiled, Varsa exudes a magnetic presence. Her crimson gown flows like blood pooling around her chair, and her stillness feels deliberate, calculated.

A faint hush always follows when her name is spoken, as though saying it too loudly might awaken something better left dormant. Princess Varsa who demanded all attention.

Her golden hair flowed like liquid light over her shoulders, her curves wrapped in a gown so finely crafted it seemed to be spun from moonlight itself. Her radiant beauty, crowned by her gleaming diadem, left nobles and lords trailing behind her like lovesick hounds.

Yet one name lingered unspoken, like a shadow that darkened the golden glow of the hall-Prince Rasmus had yet to appear.

The ballroom buzzed with laughter and quiet intrigue as nobles began finding their seats. A pair of well-dressed attendants motioned for Celine, Isabella, and Burlington to follow them to their table. Their fine attire and sharp demeanor immediately drew Celine's suspicion.

"These aren't ordinary servants," she whispered to Burlington as they walked, her emerald gown brushing against the marble floors. "What's going on?"

"Relax," Burlington replied, adjusting his collar nervously. "This is just royal hospitality."

"That's the third terrible excuse you've given me tonight," Celine muttered as they reached their seats.

Isabella, less focused on protocol, dropped into her chair, picking up a gleaming silver fork and holding it up like a weapon. "These things look expensive. You think they'll notice if I pocket one?"

"Bella," Celine hissed, trying to maintain some sense of decorum.

"What?" Isabella replied innocently. She picked up a fork and tested its weight like she was considering throwing it.

As they sat, a butler poured rich wine into their glasses, but Isabella turned hers over discreetly. "I heard some of these lords only drink things after, you know…" She wiggled her fingers as if sprinkling powder. "Poisons and antidotes and all that weird royalty stuff."

Celine groaned quietly, trying not to laugh, Burlington let out a faint laugh, yet hand trembled as he picked up his goblet, setting it down immediately. "Can we not start the conspiracy theories? We're just here to offer polite congratulations and leave before we cause trouble."

Isabella leaned forward conspiratorially. "Speaking of trouble," she muttered, lowering her voice to a theatrical whisper, "did you hear about the bloodthirsty twins?"

Celine froze, but Burlington stiffened even more noticeably.

"Bella, stop," Celine hissed, giving her younger sister a firm nudge under the table.

"Why are you in such a rush?" 

"Oh, no reason!"…. " I just think it's respectful that's all ".Burlington whispered to Celine.

Before she could utter another word, the music started, and a nobleman with raven-black hair approached their table, his dark, tailored attire shimmering faintly under the chandeliers. He bowed deeply to Isabella, his piercing gaze focused solely on her.

"My Lady !," he said, his voice smooth and assured, "may I have this dance?"

Isabella's cheeks flared .

Momentarily startled, and shot Celine a panicked look. Celine raised an amused brow."Go on,"she urged under her breath.

With a sigh of exasperation, Isabella rose, giving the man a small, wry smile.

"If you insist," she said dramatically, offering her hand.

As the noble led her to the dance floor,

watching as Isabella gracefully fell into step with her partner. Though her movements were effortless, Celine could see the slight tension in her sister's posture as she exchanged stiff pleasantries with the man.

Isabella's clumsy attempts at dancing brought ripples of muffled laughter through the ballroom as she managed, once again, to step on her partner's toes. Her face twisted in an exaggerated grimace, making her awkwardness all the more endearing—or mortifying. The nobleman valiantly suppressed a wince but clearly hoped for a reprieve.

Just as Isabella was about to excuse herself, the room quieted.