The pleasure of hearing Fermina sing again was akin to a long-lost comfort restored. She had serenaded me nearly every day by my bedside, one of the few blessings I genuinely missed from my time as Dubart Cafligen. In the end, Princess did not carry out her threat. The three sisters harmonized, their voices blending seamlessly, and a small audience quietly gathered near the gardens, maintaining a respectful distance, content to listen without intruding. Fermina instructed her sisters to ignore the onlookers, as acknowledging them might be seen as vanity. Nevertheless, a wave of appreciative applause filled the air when the performance concluded.

  As we made our way back to the room, indulging in little conversations from which I remained an amused observer, our progress was halted in the hallway. Rascal, in her usual fashion, had mismatched her shoes, and we were en route to rectify the embarrassing oversight when a sharp, feminine voice pierced the air.

  “Is that not Lady Aufelia de Irchard?” The voice, laced with an unsettling combination of sweetness and sharpness, drew our attention. We turned to find a young woman gazing at us, half-hidden behind an open fan. Her lashes were unnaturally thick, a testament to the artificial enhancements favored in her homeland. She approached with her entourage in tow. “I have heard much about you since this morning.”

  “Damn,” Princess cursed under her breath. “It’s stupid Eliziam.”

  “What does she want now?” Rascal wondered, full of disdain herself. It was to be expected.

  The young woman continued her approach, flanked by three maids and an armed guard. This was no ordinary Lady—this was Princess Eliziam Azchatar. She was neither a guest nor part of our court, nor did she share any familial ties. Despite her royal lineage, Eliziam was, in truth, a hostage.

  The nation of Repubin, situated to the northeast, had been embroiled in a long and bloody war with our kingdom of Irghumin. Though recent reports suggested their imminent defeat, similar predictions had been made for years with no resolution. Our realm had also borne the brunt of this conflict. The three sisters, Fermina, Rascal, and Princess, had lost their entire fortune and immediate family in a savage enemy attack.

  Eliziam, a stranger to me despite our shared captivity within Highsummit Manor, had been taken nearly eight years ago during a siege that marked a decisive victory for our army. She had been but a child at the time. Although neither my father nor his forces were directly involved in the battle, my maternal grandfather, Finatol Juahtiv, the Duke of Jordan, had played a pivotal role and had requested custody of the young Princess, intending to use her as a bargaining chip in future negotiations.

  There was no urgency to release Eliziam. As the noble houses of Repubin continued to fall in battle, her value as a hostage only increased, especially as the line of succession grew shorter. It was not inconceivable that she might one day ascend to the throne, and having a Queen under my grandfather’s thumb was an outstandingly valuable asset whose importance could not be stressed enough. Thus, Eliziam was treated with the utmost courtesy and respect, though she was never without the watchful presence of her guard, nor could she leave the confines of Highsummit Manor. Beyond those restrictions, she lived in relative comfort, her captivity softened by luxuries.

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  Her potential future as a ruler was hardly a secret, and our estate was no stranger to visitors seeking an audience with the possible future Queen. Although we were currently at war with Repubin, the conflict would not last forever, and it paid to cultivate influential connections.

  It was unsurprising, then, that the sisters regarded her as an enemy. While I was guiltily thankful for the circumstances that made them my caretakers, I doubted their sentiments coincided.

  “Good morning, Your Highness,” Princess greeted. I would imagine she was still required to not be outwardly hostile towards an actual Princess.

  The three sisters performed their curtsies, lifting the sides of their dresses in a gesture of respect, though only Fermina’s bow held any sincerity. Eliziam, revealing her entire face for the first time, merely nodded, her eyes closed in feigned humility. “Please, please, it is quite alright. I am the one who should be bowing,” she remarked, though she made no move to do so. “Lady de Irchard,” she continued, addressing Princess, “I must confess, I have become quite an admirer of yours. Your debut was most unexpected.”

  “Did you come from hearing us sing?” Rascal directly asked. It was rather crass of her to do so since she had not been talked to by her ‘better’ first, but Rascal’s etiquette had always been subpar. Fermina fulminated her with a stare, and Rascal understood she would get a substantial scolding, shrinking.

  “Oh, not quite, no, my dear child!” Eliziam replied, her tone dripping with condescension. Being only two years Rascal’s senior, the use of ‘child’ was clearly intended as an insult. I could afford such familiarity, being her Master and confidant, but for Eliziam, it was a calculated slight. “Though I am certain you all possess lovely voices,” she added, though her words rang hollow, clearly not meant. Once more, she concealed the lower half of her face behind her fan, an act that could easily be interpreted as a deliberate affront. “I came to congratulate you on your work, Lady Aufelia,” she continued, her voice growing colder. “That painting was… quaint, despite its evident lack of technique.”

  “Ohh! My painting? Did Master Kyolhan already display it? That was fast!” Rascal commented, not learning from her mistakes.

  “Yes, now that you mention it, I do see… some resemblance. You were the model, I take it?” Eliziam asked, this time deigning to address Rascal directly, tacitly permitting her to speak. Rascal, having nothing further to add, merely nodded in response. Eliziam continued, “So, you have not yet had the pleasure of seeing it for yourself? What a pity! It is currently on display near the dining room. I believe there is quite the crowd admiring it as we speak.” With that, Eliziam turned her back on us mid-sentence, yet another calculated display of disrespect. “Enjoy your moment of glory while you can, Aufelia,” she added, pointedly omitting the honorific ‘Lady’, a glaring act of hostility. “You will be hearing from me again.”

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