ACT XI: The Princess' Invitation

Morning light filtered through the windows of our tea shop, casting golden patches on the polished wooden floor. The familiar hum of conversation, the clinking of porcelain cups, and the rich scent of brewed tea swirled together, forming the comforting rhythm of my daily life. Everything was just as it had always been—except for the letter.

I should have been preparing the next batch of tea leaves, focusing on the warmth of the moment. Instead, my gaze remained fixed on the sealed envelope resting on our counter, as though it might spring to life at any moment.

A wax seal, thick and ornate, pressed into fine parchment. The crest of the Imperial Family gleamed in the morning light.

An invitation.

A letter addressed to me.

I wasn't sure how long I had been staring, but the moment my aunt had broken the seal and read the contents aloud, the world as I knew it tilted.

"A letter from the Princess!" she gasped, holding the parchment as though it were a fragile relic.

The shop suddenly erupted into murmurs, then laughter, then cheers. Customers leaned in eagerly, their faces alight with curiosity and mirth.

"Roya, you must have truly perfected the art of tea if even the Imperial Family has taken notice."

"The Princess herself? My, my, I hope you remember us when you become famous!"

"I always knew there was something special about this place," another said, winking.

"Who would have thought? That quiet girl who makes tea, invited to meet the Princess herself?" One of the customers chuckled, his voice filled with amusement. Others chimed in with praise and teasing remarks, spinning tales of how my tea-making skills must have reached the palace itself.

I could barely hear them. My thoughts were spiraling.

The Princess. Why would the Princess invite me?

My mind grasped at explanations. The customers? No, they came and went, common folk like us. None had the influence to whisper my name into the ears of nobility. My family? That was even more absurd.

Then, a single name surfaced, unbidden, and sent a shiver down my spine.

Lord Arsalan.

A chill ran down my spine.

I hadn't seen him since that day in the shop, but the memory of his piercing gaze, his noble attire, and his quiet yet deliberate presence haunted me. Had I unknowingly served someone of great importance? Had he spoken of me to the Princess? If he was someone important, had I unknowingly stepped into something far beyond my place?

A pit of unease formed in my stomach.

While Aunt Safya and Uncle Ramin reveled in the news, spinning wild dreams of fame and fortune, my cousin Arman sat in silence, watching me. His arms were crossed, his sharp gaze filled with something I couldn't decipher. When I finally met his eyes, he leaned forward and murmured, "Be careful, Roya."

His words, though simple, carried a weight that the others' joy did not.

I nodded, but my hands clenched at my sides.

But the person who unsettled me the most was my grandmother. She said nothing. She neither celebrated nor objected. She sat still, quiet as always, as the family fussed around her. Her expression betrayed nothing. She merely observed, her dark olive eyes unreadable.

The unease in my stomach only deepened.

The Journey to Ravanor, The Capital.

The day of the visit arrived before I could fully prepare myself.

My aunt took great care in dressing me, pulling out a gown of deep forest green, the fabric far finer than anything I had ever worn. The embroidery at the hem shimmered in the light, delicate and intricate, a testament to the craftsmanship of the skilled tailors in Ravanor.

"This will do," she murmured, stepping back to examine me.

She nodded proud of her work and praised her hands for making me look pretty.

Young Yasmin had watched in awe at my sudden transformation. Her brown eyes were transfixed on my looks.

"You look so beautiful, Sister Ruuya"

"Really?" I smiled at her innocent praise.

"Hm" she nodded. "I want to look like you when I grow older"

Aunt Safya laughed. "You already look like me already. Why Ruuya?"

We laughed together.

Aunt Safya had styled my dark hair in soft curls, pinning part of it back with a silver clasp. It felt strange, wearing something so fine, as though I had borrowed the attire of someone else—someone who belonged in the world I was about to step into.

My Uncle and Arman walked me to the train station and I could imagine the curious stares we gathered along the way. I held unto Arman's arm in support and he held my hand protectively, trying to shield me from the bystanders.

At the train station, an escort awaited me, dressed in formal livery. He greeted me with a respectful nod before guiding me aboard.

I tried not to let my nerves show as I stepped onto the train. The steam engine bellowed as the train whistled as the journey to the capital began.

Ravanor.

I had never been beyond the borders of Aldmoor. Our town, small and tucked away, felt like a distant world as the train sped toward the heart of the Empire.

When I arrived, an escort was awaiting me as well as an Automobile Motorwagen.

I had never seen one up close before, much less ridden in one. Only the nobility and the most elite of society could afford such a luxury. The machine, sleek and powerful, rumbled to life, its polished exterior gleaming under the sunlight.

I bunched up the skirt of my gown as I settled into the plush leather seats, the vehicle roared to life, moving smoothly through the well-maintained streets of the capital. The seats were made of leather and soft cushions so it felt much more comfortable than the carriage seats pulled by horses.

As we moved through the streets of Ravanor, I could barely keep up with everything my eyes were absorbing.

The buildings stood taller, grander, and more sophisticated than I had ever seen. Streets paved with smooth stone and marble, gas lamps lined the roads, the towering cathedrals and people dressed in fine tailored coats and gowns that spoke of wealth I could scarcely fathom.

Everything about Ravanor was overwhelming. The sheer scale of it, the polished opulence, the grandness of its structures. I barely had time to process it before the palace gates came into view.

It was another world.

And I was an outsider.

I gripped my hands in my lap, trying to keep my expression neutral, but inside, a storm was brewing.

Who was I to be here?

What did the Princess want from me?

The Automobile came to halt and the escort got down from the driver seat to open the door for me. He held out a hand for me to step down and I took it gratefully.

I was adjusting my lime green bonnet hat on my head.

And that was when I saw him.

A tall figure exited the palace doors, his presence commanding attention even from a distance. He moved with the kind of grace that only those born into nobility possessed, his deep burgundy coat lined with gold embroidered trimmings. It was the finest attire I have ever seen on anyone—marking him as someone of great importance.

His hair, ashen blond, framed his striking features—sharp jawline, piercing grey eyes, an air of authority that could not be ignored.

I felt my breath hitch.

And yet, something about him was different.

This person wasn't Lord Arsalan.

I didn't even realize I had stopped in my tracks until my escort lightly cleared his throat. I tore my gaze away before he could notice me staring, but the unease remained.

The palace was breathtaking.

Soldiers stood at attention, their pristine red and white uniforms displaying the crest of the Empire. Maids moved about with practiced grace, their steps were silent against the polished marble floors. The ceilings stretching higher than any building I had ever set foot in.

Everywhere, art adorned the walls—portraits of past rulers, sweeping landscapes painted with a masterful hand, sculptures so life-like they almost seemed to breathe.

Arwin would have loved to see this.

As I took it all in, a middle-aged woman with a severe expression approached. She dismissed my escort with a curt nod and motioned for me to follow.

I obeyed without question.

She led me through ornate corridors until we reached an open chamber. The air here was different—charged with something intense, focused.

I stepped inside—and the sight before me left me speechless, leaving me with an otherworldly sight.

A woman was clad in a fencing uniform, her form moving with fluid precision as she sparred against her opponent. She danced around the room with her foil striking her target.

She moved like water, like fire, like a force of nature.

She ended with a final strike and there was a loud cheer by her attendants as they gave resounding applause. It was her Victory.

She removed her helmet.

Fiery red hair swirled in under the shimmering light.

She was beautiful.

And familiar.

As she turned to face me, her lips curved into an amused smile. "It's wonderful to see you again, Roya."

Recognition struck me like a physical blow. The nobleman I had met at the market—the young man I had invited to my home—The man who had sat in our humble shop and sipped from my porcelain cups—was standing before me once again.

The man who had sat in our humble shop and sipped from my porcelain cups.

Only except—he wasn't a man.

He was the Princess.

The realization dawned in an instant as silence rang in my ears. My mouth went dry. My hands clenched at my sides.

The sharp voice of the lady-in-waiting snapped me back into the present, reminding me to mind my manners.

"You are in the presence of the Princess of Great Britannor" She sharply said.

I immediately bowed, lowering my gaze as I remembered where I was and who stood before me.

She wasn't just a noble.

She was the Princess.

There was laughter. It was an amused and familiar laughter.

"No need to be so tense," she said, her voice carrying the same warmth as before. "I must say, I've been craving your presence. I did say we would meet again"

I lifted my head hesitantly, meeting her gaze.

She smiled and gave me a wink.

"Will you join me for tea, Roya?"

I swallowed, moistening the dryness of my mouth before nodding. "Of Course, Your Highness"