The Crimson Veil

The orchestra fell into a hushed pause as three women in flowing black robes entered the grand ballroom. Their arms, marked with strange glowing symbols, pulsed faintly, casting an ethereal light. All eyes turned to them, captivated. Whispers rippled through the guests, murmuring about the omen-like dancers as the women moved to the center of the hall.

Went back to seat next her sister Celine and Burlington, her chestnut hair left loose in soft waves cascading over her shoulders. Her left eye, a vivid green, contrasted sharply with the deep, stormy blue of her right—a gaze that caught fleeting attention yet felt achingly out of place in the opulence surrounding ,her gaze darted to see them joined by a couple.

The three women began their strange, mesmerizing dance. Their movements told a story unlike any the court had seen before—a twisted lullaby of shadows and curses, pacts and forgotten debts. Each motion seemed alive, as though the tale itself seeped into the room, chilling the air.

Princess Varsa, seated at the dais in a gown of deep crimson that clung to her curves, radiated an unsettling beauty. Golden hair flowed over her bare shoulders, framing a veiled face that offered no glimpse of her features. Her presence was magnetic yet oppressive, like a storm hovering on the horizon. Even from across the room, Isabella felt her pulse quicken.

As the haunting melody of the orchestra continued, Celine and Isabella sat at a lavish table adorned with gilded goblets and flickering candles. Across from them, their old acquaintance Eleanor, a middle-class seamstress with sharp eyes and a sharper tongue, leaned in conspiratorially.

"They say Princess Varsa's face has never been seen," Eleanor whispered, glancing toward the veiled royal standing beside her fiancé. "Not even by her maids or suitors. They say light itself flees her touch—her carriage is sealed, her chambers locked. Some say her beauty is divine; others think it hides a curse that twists everything around her."

"A curse?" Isabella asked, her hands fidgeting against her lap. "Or something worse?"

Eleanor smirked knowingly but said nothing more, distracted as Burlington, seated beside them, turned toward a man on his right, exchanging a low, chuckling comment. The faint buzz of conversation from other tables lingered, but Celine could feel something shifting in the atmosphere, a heaviness that settled in her chest.

Isabella looked toward the edge of the ballroom, where three women in black twirled in an eerie, mesmerizing dance.

Their movements were smooth and hypnotic, but something about them set her teeth on edge. "Do you feel that, Celine? There's someone watching us."

"Not the princess? Not the king?" Celine asked, forcing calm into her tone.

"No," Isabella said quietly. "Something else."

At that moment, Eleanor gestured toward the princess with her goblet. "Her fiancé can't look comfortable with all the whispers, can he? And yet…" Eleanor trailed as the dance came to an end.

The women bowing low to the royal family before retreating in silence, leaving behind a sense of unease. Guests murmured their thoughts in hushed tones, some in awe, others uneasy. The chill of the performance lingered like a ghost.

Burlington rose , straightening his finely tailored coat "The time is perfect now," Burlington whispered, his tone decisive. "The other guests are distracted. We should congratulate the princess before the crowd swarms them again."A splendid idea,Let's move quickly."Celine replied.

Isabella hesitated, stealing a glance at the enigmatic princess. The veiled woman's composure didn't falter, yet her silent presence seemed to drink the warmth from the air. Isabella's fingers brushed over the folds of her gown, calming her nervous energy. Her green and blue eyes flicked back to Celine, who raised an eyebrow, urging her forward.

With a reluctant nod, Isabella rose, following her sister and Burlington toward the dais where danger hid beneath crimson silk and golden veils.

Isabella fiddled with the neckline of her pale blue gown, silently lamenting her decision to wear something so revealing. Celine had insisted it was appropriate for the occasion, made her feel far too exposed in a court full of prying eyes. She was determined, however, to project poise—no matter how out of place she felt.

They reached the dais where the princess Varsa sat like a macabre statue, golden hair flowing over her bare shoulders like liquid sunlight . Her crimson gown clung to her curves, every inch of her exuding an oppressive beauty that was impossible to ignore ,for someone with her aura of creeping dread.

The veil concealing her face only made her presence more unsettling-what could possibly require hiding with a face like that?Isabella wonder.

"Ah," Varsa began, her voice as soft and smooth as silk sliding against steel, "the honored sisters Eldrenn.

To her right ,Prince Eziek,whose pale complexion and lifeless gaze gave him an otherworldly appearance . his youthful features bore some regal elegance, he did not appear to be —too young to match the woman beside him. he looked particularly bored. Isabella squinted.

Was he asleep with his eyes open? No, he blinked lazily. Barely. He seemed entranced, his every movement slow, deliberate, almost as though he were caught in an invisible spell.

The rumors Isabella had overheard whispered through her mind: Princess Varsa is marrying a child.They three bowed deeply.

Up close, the princess even unsettling.

She clasped her gloved hands before her, her veil concealing all but the faint outline of her porcelain features. "It is an honor to finally meet the daughters of William Eldrenn."Celine forced a smile and curtsied.

"Your Highness, the honor is ours.My father spoke highly of the Dawnforge family's strength."

Varsa laughed lightly, though it carried no mirth. "Ah, your father," she said, almost absentmindedly.

"A remarkable man. His strength came from his... convictions."

The words had weight, as if they hid something much darker.

Celine swallowed hard.

"I must admit," Varsa continued, stepping slightly closer, "I have been watching you both this evening." She tilted her veiled face toward Celine."Your confidence stands out, Lady Celine. 

There are not many who can command such attention in my father's court without saying a word."

Celine flushed slightly, unsure if it was from praise or discomfort.

"You flatter me, Your Highness."

Are you enjoying yourselves? And," she tilted her head ever so slightly,"are you being treated... kindly?"

Her words, perfectly polite on the surface , somehow made Isabella feel like they were teetering on the edge of an accusation or threat.

"Oh, yes!" Celine answered quickly, her brilliant court smile barely hiding her discomfort. "The hospitality here is unparalleled."

"Yes, everything's been... lovely,"Isabella added, though her tone was less convincing, her fingers twitching with the memory of overly curious

"And you are…..?" Varsa turned to Isabella, asking lazily tone.

"Your eyes..." The veil shifted as though she were studying the younger sister intently.

"A rarity in this world. They see more than they should, do they not?"

Isabella blinked, unsure of how to respond. "I... don't know what you mean."

Varsa chuckled, the sound soft but

unnerving. "Of course you don't."

"Welcome," she drawled, her words stretched out like silk over steel. "Tell me, how do you find Silverstone, my capital?" 

Celine's breath caught for a moment, her mind flashing back to their journey into the city. she might have called the experience something like "charmingly rustic" if it wasn't for the young priestess chanting prayers ,and muttering warnings about the prince, voices hoarse with fervor. Repent before your god, they cried, their fingers pointing toward the palace in the distance.

The sun had dipped below the horizon as they passed cottages and houses, each marked with strange red crosses and symbols painted above doorframes-protections, against something unseen. The haunting memory threatened to consume her. 

Still, she forced her face into a mask of serene politeness. "It's... beautiful," she said, her tone convincing but smooth enough . Congratulation's once again " may it unite your kingdom in strength and beauty."

Varsa tilted her head slightly, considering Celine's words. "Hmm." That single hum carried a weight that sent a chill down Isabella's spine.

Varsa's head tilted slightly, her veil shimmering. "Strength and beauty?

Tell me, dear!, is it what you strive for yourself-or merely what you wish to be seen?"

Celine held her composure, the sharpness of Varsa's tone making her blood run cold. "Both, of course.Beauty is fleeting, but strength lies in purpose."

The princess's voice smooth and melodic, "your words are as carefully chosen as your gown-a last-minute choice, was it not?"

Celine hesitated. "Sometimes the unplanned choice is the best one."

Varsa stepped closer, voice dropping almost a whisper. "And yet, even unplanned choices can carry great consequence, dear!"

The princess's ruby-ringed fingers brushed lightly over Celine's hand.

"You intrigue me," Varsa said, stepping back with a faint laugh.

Celine shivered, unsure if it was from the chill in Varsa's tone or the veiled message in her words.

Her veil rippling slightly.The smile under it—there was definitely a smile, wasn't there?—did nothing to soothe the sisters' growing discomfort. Isabella thought she could feel her blood pressure rising.

But instead of staying silent, Isabella spoke before thinking. "Do you have a thirst for blood? Like, um… the rumors say?"

Celine winced, and Burlington stiffened beside her, his hands trembling slightly. Isabella immediately regretted the question, her heart pounding in her chest. But the room did not descend into scandalous whispers or reprimands.

Varsa leaned forward slightly, her veil shimmering in the light. "And what," she purred, "do the rumors say?"

Before Isabella could try to formulate an answer, Prince Eziek let out a soft laugh—a rich, lazy sound, like someone who'd just heard the funniest joke and didn't care if anyone else got it. "You're curious," he said, his voice somehow charming and unnerving all at once. His tired gaze landed on Isabella, and he smirked faintly. "You are curious, aren't you?"

Isabella shrugged, raising her chin, refusing to shrink under his gaze. "Maybe," she said slowly, "or maybe not."

Varsa turned to Burlington suddenly, her tone shifting to that of someone addressing an old friend—or perhaps an old accomplice.

"Merchant Burlington," she said sweetly. "It is so good to see you again. How is your well-being? Any… struggles lately?"

Burlington's face turned a blotchy shade of pink. "Uh, n-no struggles, Your Grace. Everything's fine. Great, even.

Thriving, as one might say!" His chuckle was so forced that Isabella was sure she saw someone across the room wince from secondhand embarrassment.

Celine, to her credit, managed not to groan audibly, but she clearly caught the strange tension in Burlington's response.

Her brows furrowed slightly, her eyes darting between him and Varsa. Was this their court companion, or was he secretly part of some… thing? The idea was ridiculous—and yet, something about their exchange made her stomach twist.