1711, Aethiel Palace, Kestramore City

ONE WHOLE WEEK had passed since the girls were first brought over to the palace, and instead of lounging around in silks and going to balls, they were given tasks to do in the kitchen, toiling away until their backs became sore and their legs felt stiff.

Only at night did they have the opportunity to rest, and most of the girls fell asleep as soon as their heads hit the pillow, as did Catarina. The sleeping quarters were cold and dingy, so she curled up under the blanket like a little kitten, eyes tightly closed.
Then, in the wee hours, the doors to the quarters opened and shut, followed by soft footsteps, gently treading on the dusty floor.

The noise was subtle, but it was more than enough to arouse Catarina from her sweet slumber. Groggily, she sat up. On the other end of the room near the door, she saw Eleanora slowly walking towards her bed, her back bent and her hands pressed against her lower stomach.

Catarina's sleepiness quickly vanished, and once her vision cleared, she could see the large patch of blood on the back of Eleanora's skirt, spreading all over the hip area.

           "Eleanora!" she whispered urgently as she rushed over to the young girl. "Are you alright ? Has your monthly cycle come ?"

Eleanora glanced at her, her eyes dazed, as if locked in a trance. Then she smiled mildly and nodded her head. "I suppose so."

Her appearance was odd too, her hair completely disheveled, and her neck was bruised, her lips swollen. Catarina did not comment on the hair, as her own hair now resembled a bird's nest, but she could not explain the bruises.

             "How did you get a bruise on your neck ?" she chuckled. "You must be very clumsy." Catarina had lifted Eleanora's hair to inspect the bruise, but she did not expect for her to briskly step away, leaving Catarina's hand stretched out mid-air.

               "I am alright," Eleanora quickly said. "Let us get some sleep."

Catarina frowned as she watched Eleanora hobble all the way back to her bed and crawl into the blanket, not at all making a sound. Of course, the sheltered and innocent Lady Catarina would not understand what had happened to Eleanora, and the event of that night was eventually forgotten, never to be speaken of ever again.

♤

The very next morning, the second that was awaited by all the girls finally arrived, and instead of being sent off to the kitchen, one of the Queen's ladies-in-waiting came to summon them to the Queen's private sitting room.

The linen dresses were switched to more presentable muslin ones, which were still a far cry from the robes a'la francais that Catarina was used to, but it was an upgrade nonetheless.

The white fabric contrasting with her long, curly dark locks appeared charming indeed, and her mother's opal locket laid neatly against her collarbones, completing the ensemble.

While Catarina had been to the palace many times prior, she had never went to the Eastern Wing, where the royals resided. She took pride in the opulence of de Fontaine estate, but when she did venture there, she had to admit that her home was rather lacking.

The floors were ridiculously shiny, as if someone had spent an entire day polishing it, and huge, eyecatching crystal chandeliers lit up the grand halls. Paintings of angels and goddesses decorated the walls and high ceilings, making one feel as if they had just entered heaven.

A soft, melancholic song played on the pianoforte could be heard from afar, beckoning them to come over, as if it were a siren's singing. And indeed, Catarina was not the only one who was entranced.

             "Let us go and see, Lady de Fontaine, Lady le Comte," Cosmina cheerily said. "Whomever is playing this, they truly are talented. The song is quite hard to master, and to play it so effortlessly... I am truly impressed."

Nearby them, Marguerite listened closely and intently. Her light blue eyes flickered towards her long, thin fingers --the fingers of a pianist.
She had been classically trained since infancy, and one of her greatest achievements is that she managed to master this particular song. Vie sandr il Amalia, or The Song for Amalia originated from the neighbouring kingdom of Amaris, and for hundreds of years, the people adored its sweet yet heartrending notes.

The sound led them to a room at the end of the hallway, and the door was slightly open. Without hesitating a bit, Cosmina pushed the door open, revealing a mostly empty room, except for the pianoforte that was placed near the tall glass windows. And not to be forgotten, the man sitting there playing the pianoforte.

              "Your Highness!" Lavinia giggled dizzily as she quickly skipped over to Julian, her beady eyes wide and filled with adoration. "You played that song beautifully, Your Highness. Will you play it again, for me ?"

             "It is truly nothing remarkable," Julian chuckled, taking a quick glance at the ladies inside the room. Lady Lavinia was visibly lovestruck, while Lady Ingrid looked as if she did not even want to be here. Lady Jessamine was at the verge of falling asleep, while Lady Cosmina was expecting him to explain the meaning behind every note and verse as a teacher would.
And finally, his gaze landed on the familiar dark-eyed girl, slightly obscured from view by the tall, boyish Jessamine le Comte.

         A smile slowly bloomed on his lips, and while still staring at her, he spoke, "Instead of just hearing me play, why don't you all play a piece for us to hear ?"

He had hoped that Catarina would notice, but not once did her gaze land on him. It was only Lady Lavinia that enthusiastically said yes, and he reluctantly stood up to make room for her.

              "I will play the song Like a Jolly Lovebird by Eruna Ghislaine for you, Your Highness. Oh, and I shall sing too!" she proudly stated.
Julian smiled widely and briskly nodded. "Very brilliant indeed! Let us all hear it, Lady Lavinia."
The very first note was already off-key, and it progressively became worse and worse. Lavinia was making a fool of herself in front of everybody, but she would not have the courage to do so without some 'advice' from a certain someone.

            'Your voice is as sweet as honey, Lady Lavinia. I am certain that once the Prince hears you sing, he'll instantly fall for you!' she had convinced.

            'Look at your fingers, Lady Lavinia. So long and delicate, are they not ? The hands of a true, proficient pianist. It would be a shame if you never showed your true talents to the Prince.'

And so, Lavinia selflessly volunteered to flaunt her skills. Marguerite's honeyed words filled her head, and she saw ardent admiration on the faces of her spectators instead of the absolute disgust that filled their hearts.

Lavinia's chest was full of joy and jubilance. While she had been coddled and spoiled by her father, she was intelligent enough to understand that her skills and looks were rather lacking when compared to other ladies, especially the likes of Lady Cosmina Breckenridge, who is known to be both beautiful and accomplished.

But now, here they are, watching her. Cheering for her. Her dear friend Marguerite smiled encouragingly, while the Prince was frozen in his spot, his eyes full of love and adoration.

And she sang. A sweet, sorrowful tune of longing for a lost soulmate. A song of two destined lovers. Her lovely voice would enter the Prince's heart, strengthening the seeds of adoration that had been planted earlier.

In the corner of her eyes, she could see him approaching close. Perhaps he would bend down on one knee and ask her to become his bride ?
Lavinia's heart soared, and she continued to sing, her voice becoming even more heartrending, and she was certain that those who listened would soon be reduced to tears. And the Prince, who had been deeply impressed by her great talent, would now sweep her up in his arms, just like in those fairytales.

            "That is enough, Lady Lavinia," she heard Julian say, awaking her from her trance.
There was no cheering, no clapping. Except for Marguerite, all the ladies were looking at her in horror.

Even the Prince wore a similar expression. What happened to the love-filled eyes from earlier ? Where did they go ? Or was it just a dream ?
Lavinia awkwardly stepped off the bench, and her every footstep echoed inside the large room. All eyes were on her, but they were not kind eyes.

               "Now, who would like to go next ?" Julian said, lightening up the atmosphere again. Catarina, who was idly chatting with Miss Eleanora Finley, seemed to not have noticed. "What about you, my Lady Catarina ?"

               "My ? What is that supposed to mean ?" Cosmina hissed at the starstruck Catarina. "Since when did you go marry him ?"

Catarina ignored the ever curious Cosmina, and she looked at the pianoforte with terror in her eyes.

While her playing was much better than Lavinia, she still had some dignity and she would definitely never showcase her awful playing to anyone other than Rosie and Marie.

               "I can't-"

               "I can."

Before she could even finish her sentence, Marguerite le Prince had cut her off. Julian glanced at Catarina with disappointment before turning towards Marguerite.

                "Which piece would you like to play, Lady Marguerite ?" he inquired, and the gilt haired girl flashed a lovely smile at him, saying, "Vie sandr il Amalia."

                "You have mastered that piece ? You must be well-trained indeed," Julian complimented, and Marguerite laughed modestly while looking down at the floor.

                 "My parents spent quite a fortune procuring accomplished music teachers for me, Your Highness. Mastering a simple song is the least I could do."

Catarina rolled her eyes when she heard Marguerite's words. Vie sandr il Amalia is not an easy song to play, and back at the Academy, Marguerite would hog the public pianoforte to herself, playing from dawn to dusk in order to master it.

When Marguerite was seated on the bench, Julian had not left and instead onlooked with interest. But then, Marguerite lifted her hands and frowned. The forefinger and middle finger of her left hand was all bandaged up, although no one had noticed her sporting it before.

             "I've forgotten that I burnt my left hand in the kitchens yesterday," she laughed. "I am such a klutz."

             "You don't have to play if you're injured. Let us have Lady Cosmina play instead," Julian proposed, but Marguerite quickly shook her head.

              "How about we play together, Your Highness ? I will play the right side, while you play the left."

There was quite a lot of space on the bench, and even if Julian sat there with her, they would not bump into each other. Reluctantly he walked over and sat down, and as he did, he glanced at Catarina, one last time. Once again, she was preoccupied with chatter instead.

              "Shall we begin, Your Highness ?" Marguerite's light voice interjected, her delicately powdered face mere inches from his.

A smile formed on his lips as he nodded. "Let us begin."

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