8 The Invitation

The room was as vacant as ever, yet an unusual heaviness lingered in the air. The familiar white walls and ceiling never changed, but now seemed emptier.

Ingrid slowly raised her hands, her skin as pale as fresh snow, and her veins resembling delicate vines etched upon her flesh. She couldn't help but notice that her fingers appeared more slender than she remembered.

Three days had passed since the grand cortège of Princess Katarina, and Tara had also departed. Now, Ingrid is only accompanied by a handful of devoted servants.

She lacked the strength to venture outside her room, and the servants' attempts to cheer her up fell on deaf ears. Their smiles, well-meaning words, and offerings of food and company went unnoticed, as Ingrid's gaze remained fixed on the blank walls of her room.

In a hushed tone, Ingrid muttered to herself, "What am I to do now, Your Highness?"

As if in response to her question, there came a knock at the door. Lorraine, a maid in her early 30s with warm brown eyes and her dark hair elegantly gathered in a bun, entered and conveyed the message, "Princess, there is a visitor from the Rose Palace waiting for you."

"Hmm... The Rose Palace," Ingrid murmured, her voice fragile like delicate glass. She glanced outside the window, where her gaze met the imposing stone wall that caged her world. "Did they inform you of the reason?"

Lorraine shook her head gently. "No, Princess. However, I recognized the man as the Emperor's aide, Mr. Nikolaus of the House of Wilson."

"The Emperor's aide?" Ingrid pondered. Slowly, she rose from her bed, the silk of her nightgown whispering against the sheets. Her long white hair cascaded over one shoulder, a stark contrast against the darkness of the room.

Seeing a response from the princess, Lorraine quickly added, "I will inform him to wait and Jacquelyn will help you get ready."

Acknowledging Lorraine's words with a subtle nod, Ingrid watched as the maid hurriedly left the room. Jacquelyn entered, her hands deftly assisting Ingrid in changing into a fresh white dress, mirroring the predominant color of her wardrobe. She wore a veil over her head and face, a habit she does when meeting an outsider. Once dressed, Ingrid made her way to the drawing room, her steps almost ethereal, her presence regal yet laden with an air of melancholy.

The drawing room greeted her with its opulence — the rich tones of brown and red adorned the wooden furniture, while a deep red carpet graced the floor beneath. Dark wood frames held the artwork on the walls, displaying a collection of both expensive weaponry and gold decorations. It was a room that never resonated with Ingrid's tastes, but today, she found an odd harmony between the room's aura and the unexpected visitor it hosted.

Before her stood Mr. Nikolaus, dressed in regal dark blue and red attire adorned with intricate golden insignia, an ensemble that harmonized seamlessly with the grandeur of the room. However, the weariness etched into his features, evident in the dark circles beneath his eyes, the strands of grey in his hair, and his slightly hunched posture, spoke of the burdens his role must bear.

"Greetings, Your Highness Princess Ingrid of Ásjáheimr," Nikolaus greeted with a practiced curtsy, his movements graceful despite the evident fatigue. One hand rested on his chest, the other arm elegantly poised behind his back as he bowed, stepping back with one foot. "I am Nikolaus Wilson, the Emperor's aide."

"I can not understand the ways of the Sylvanians," Ingrid thought as she noted Nikolaus's formal politeness.

She nodded graciously and extended a warm smile as she gestured to a nearby chair. "Mr. Wilson, please, have a seat," she replied, taking her own place in a chair nearby. "To what do I owe the honor of your visit?"

Ingrid couldn't help but fixate on the letter held in Nikolaus's hand, its golden seal bearing the insignia of the Emperor. Her brows furrowed slightly as she wondered about its contents. "What is it now?" she mused silently.

Nikolaus settled into the chair and placed the sealed letter on the coffee table between them. "Your Highness, I am here to personally deliver an invitation from the Emperor."

Ingrid's eyes remained steady on him, her anticipation growing as she awaited further explanation. When none was offered, she maintained her polite composure and smiled. "Perhaps you are lost, Mr. Wilson. This is the Lily Palace," she stated.

Nikolaus, undeterred, responded calmly, "This is a letter for Her Highness Princess Ingrid of Ásjáheimr, who resides in the Lily Palace."

Ingrid glanced at the letter and then back at Nikolaus. "I believe it is not yet time for the parties that captive royals can attend," she said. With gentle fingers, she opened the letter and began to read its contents.

"Captive... such an inappropriate word," Nikolaus thought, a pang of discomfort settling within him. "Yet perhaps the most suited for her."

As Ingrid read about the contents of the letter, her calm gaze met Nikolaus's. "Moonlight Festival?" she inquired, seeking clarification.

"It is the biggest event for young men and women from aristocratic families across the empire," Nikolaus explained. "They are invited to the Imperial Palace for a masquerade party. It offers a great opportunity to meet different people your age, from various noble families."

"..."

"..."

"..."

He waited for a response, but Ingrid simply sighed, the warmth fading from her face.

"Lorraine, serve the tea," she commanded, her attention shifting away from the conversation.

The young maid swiftly prepared the cups and poured tea, the soft clinking of porcelain against porcelain the only sound in the room, adding a peculiar weight to the silence that followed.

Nikolaus came from a noble family of scholars. His experiences at the Imperial Court had taught him to discern between those who bore noble titles merely in name and those who embodied true nobility. In that moment, facing the Princess of Ásjáheimr within her own domain, he felt an unexpected pressure, a subtle weight of authority from a hostage princess that left him momentarily speechless.

Ingrid's voice broke the heavy silence, her words carrying a quiet sadness. "This is rovna tea from the Soklova Kingdom," she began, her fingers tracing the delicate pattern on her cup. "Mr. Nikolaus, this was Princess Katarina's favorite tea."

Nikolaus lifted his cup and took a sip, savoring the rich flavor.

"It has not even been a week since she left," Ingrid continued, her tone gentle yet tinged with melancholy. She set down her cup and met Nikolaus's gaze. "For the Emperor to send his aide to this humble palace, inviting me to a party... it's a gesture I struggle to comprehend."

Nikolaus considered her words carefully. "Your Highness," he began, his voice calm, "The Emperor is aware of the challenges you face here. He believes attending the Moonlight Festival might provide you with a brief respite from these burdens, a chance to experience some semblance of normalcy amidst the extraordinary circumstances."

"Normalcy," Ingrid repeated. "Hmm..."

"An Ásján talking to a Sylvanian is not what I would define as normalcy," she thought.

Nikolaus smiled, his gaze steady and unwavering. "Princess, the Emperor's intentions are sincere. He hopes that in this invitation, you might find a moment of solace, a brief escape from the confines of this palace. And this is his last gift for his dear friend."

Ingrid furrowed her brows. "Dear friend?" she asked aloud.

"Although they had grown apart, Princess Soklova was a dear friend of the Emperor while he was still a prince. The Emperor treasures the Princess dearly," Nikolaus explained, his tone persuasive.

Ingrid remained silent. She had never known about this connection between her deceased guardian and the Emperor.

"Is this how Her Highness secured the royal pass for me? Why didn't she tell me? But if they were dear friends, how could the Emperor abandon her?" she wondered.

Sensing her inner turmoil, Nikolaus added, "The priestess at the White Temple was also a friend of the late Princess. Ah, but of course, you can only go there if you can enter the inner gates."

Ingrid regarded him. "Why must he insist?" she thought.

"I understand," she replied, her lips curving into a composed smile. "The invitation does sound incredibly alluring."

Nikolaus smiled with satisfaction. "I will make all the necessary arrangements for your presence," he assured her, glancing at the elegant clock that adorned the wall. "Well, it seems that my visit has stretched its limit. I shall bid you farewell, Princess," he said, rising from his seat and giving her a respectful nod.

As Ingrid watched him depart, her smile slowly disappeared.

"You were right, Your Highness," she whispered, her voice barely audible in the now-hushed room.