*****

1770𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓

The melodic tunes of birds rouse me from my slumber, their cheerful chirping weaving through the tendrils of my dreams, gently coaxing me back to consciousness. With a languid stretch, I peel back the covers and slide out of bed, my bare feet meeting the cool embrace of the hardwood floor.

As I make my way through the quiet corridors of the palace, the soft rustle of my nightgown against my skin is the only sound that accompanies me. The air is crisp with the promise of a new day, carrying with it the faint scent of dew-kissed roses from the palace gardens.

A tantalizing aroma dances through the air, weaving its way into my senses and igniting a primal hunger within me. My pace quickens instinctively, driven by an irresistible urge to discover the source of such culinary delight.

Finally, I reach the kitchen, the heart of the palace where the day's sustenance is prepared with care and precision. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries fills the air, mingling with the sound of clinking utensils and murmured conversation. Maids flutter about with graceful efficiency, their movements synchronized under the keen supervision of my mother.

Amidst the flurry of activity, my eyes are drawn to a maid delicately arranging dishes upon the table. In her hands rests a plate of pasta, its aroma swirling like a tantalizing melody around me. The sight alone is enough to elicit a visceral response, my stomach knotting with a potent mix of desire and anticipation.

Unable to resist the allure of the tantalizing dish, I reach out and pluck a fork from the nearest table, its polished silver gleaming in the soft light filtering through the kitchen windows. With a delicate motion, I scoop up a mouthful of the pasta, the savory aroma enveloping me as I bring it to my lips.

The flavors explode on my tongue in a symphony of taste and texture, each bite a revelation of culinary mastery. The delicate balance of herbs and spices dances across my palate, momentarily satisfying the gnawing hunger that had plagued me since dawn.

However, my impromptu indulgence does not go unnoticed. In swift discipline, the firm slap of my mother's hand makes contact with the back of my head, eliciting a small whine of protest from me. "Sorry, sorry, just one bite," I mumble apologetically through a mouthful of pasta, my cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

Ignoring her disapproving gaze, I steal another bite, the tantalizing flavors dancing upon my tongue in defiance of her silent reprimand. Sensing her growing frustration, I hastily retreat from the kitchen.

Chewing slowly, I make my way to the living room, where the scent of aged paper and ink permeates the air, mingling with the soft crackle of the fireplace. My father is seated on the plush couch, his attention consumed by the morning edition of the newspaper, his furrowed brow a testament to the weight of the news.

With a silent step, I approach him, my footsteps muffled by the thick carpeting beneath my feet. The sun casts a warm glow through the lace curtains, illuminating the room in a soft, golden hue. As I draw near, the familiar creak of the floorboards beneath me goes unnoticed, drowned out by the rhythmic rustle of pages turning.

Gently, I slip behind him, the warmth of his presence enveloping me like a familiar embrace. My arms encircle his frame, wrapping him in a tender hug that speaks volumes in its silence. Leaning in, my cheek finds rest against his chubby one, the soft flesh yielding beneath the pressure.

In that moment, all worries fade away, replaced by a sense of peace and contentment. The world outside may be fraught with chaos and uncertainty, but here, in the sanctuary of our home, time stands still.

His cheeks lift into a wide smile, the creases around his eyes deepening with warmth as his hands tenderly grasp my arms, gently dismissing the newspaper onto his lap. With a groggy, raspy morning voice, I greet him, "Good morning, Father."

His smile widens, a twinkle of affection gleaming in his eyes as he inquires, "Good morning, my dear. Have you had breakfast yet?"

I shake my head, a sheepish grin tugging at my lips as I reply, "Not yet. I haven't even brushed my teeth. I narrowly escaped a lecture in the kitchen because I indulged in a spoonful-" I pause, correcting myself, "Actually, maybe two, before brushing, and Mom was livid!"

His laughter reverberates, a hearty sound enveloping the room in comfort, as he responds, "Well, it seems fortune favors me today. Let us share a meal before my departure. Now, swiftly brush your teeth; I'll be awaiting you at the dining table."

I respond with a beaming smile, nodding eagerly in agreement. With a quick peck on his cheek, I skip away, my heart light with joy and anticipation, the echo of my happy jumps filling the air with a melody of delight.

After a refreshing wash, I made my way to the grand dining room, the aroma of breakfast lingering in the air as I entered. Taking my place beside my father, I couldn't help but smile at the warmth in his gaze as our eyes met.

Setting down my spoon after a satisfying bite, I turned to him with a glimmer of excitement in my eyes. "Father, might you consider setting aside a day for us to spend together? It has been far too long since we enjoyed each other's company, and I promise to brew you an exquisite cup of tea, a gesture of gratitude for your time."

Father, taken aback by my unusual request, paused for a moment, his brow furrowed in thought. Then, as if a ray of sunlight broke through the clouds, a wide smile illuminated his features.

"Is that beaming smile an affirmative response, then?" I ventured, unable to contain my own grin at his sudden change in demeanor.

He nodded, his smile widening, and I felt a surge of elation wash over me. Yet, his inquisitive nature could not be quelled, and he posed the inevitable question, "Why the sudden urge? Are you contemplating another trip with your friends?"

With a mischievous grin spreading across my lips, I countered, "How would you know?"

He chuckled softly, a twinkle of amusement dancing in his eyes as he shook his head in mock disbelief. "Well, only then would you approach me-" His voice trailed off as he glanced over at my mother, his expression conspiratorial. Leaning in close, he whispered into my ear, "So you need my help?"

My cheeks flushed with excitement, a wide smile spreading across my face as I nodded eagerly. "Yes, please. Mama will never agree."

He nodded in understanding, his eyes reflecting a shared understanding of our predicament. But before we could exchange another word, our clandestine conversation was abruptly interrupted by the sound of my mother's clearing throat, her spoon clinking against her plate as she set it down with finality.

"I know what you two are up to," she declared, her tone firm and unwavering. "Don't take me for a fool."

Caught off guard by her astuteness, my father and I exchanged nervous glances before erupting into laughter, the tension of the moment dissipating in waves of mirth. Confusion flickered across my mother's face, her brow furrowing in puzzlement at our sudden outburst.

Sitting amidst the verdant beauty of our family garden, I relished the warmth of the tea cup cradled in my hands and the soft caress of the breeze against my skin. Around me, the fragrant blooms swayed in silent harmony with the whispering leaves, painting a scene of serene tranquility.

As I allowed myself to be enveloped by the gentle embrace of nature, my father sat across from me, his presence a reassuring anchor amidst the peaceful tableau. With a contemplative sip from his cup, he broke the tranquil silence.

"Iris," he called my name, his voice carrying a weight of solemnity that drew my attention like a magnet.

"Yes, father?" I responded, turning my gaze to meet his, a flicker of concern igniting within me at the gravity of his tone.

"The King of Obsidian Crown has once again sought your hand in marriage," he announced, his voice cutting through the tranquil air like a sudden thunderclap, shattering the fragile peace of the moment.

"But - but haven't we declined before? Why would they propose marriage again?" I interjected, my frustration boiling over, threatening to spill forth in a torrent of words.

My father's response came in the form of a heavy sigh, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air like a shroud of impending doom. "He's really serious this time. King Lucious has insisted on our surrender, threatening to march with his army and seize our kingdom if we don't wed you to him," he disclosed, his voice laced with resignation.

The revelation hit me like a thunderbolt, sending shockwaves through my very being and turning my world upside down. A single tear betrayed my growing sense of dread, tracing a silent path down my cheek as I struggled to come to terms with the magnitude of what my father had just revealed.

In a gesture of futile comfort, my father rose from his seat and hurriedly approached, pulling me into a tight embrace.

"Fear not, my love, for I would never trade you for our kingdom," he assured, his voice a soothing blend of determination and reassurance.

"But what if?" I interjected, a trace of uncertainty creeping into my tone as I gently pulled away from his embrace.

"If the worst were to happen, I am prepared to relinquish the throne for your sake," he explained, his eyes searching mine for understanding. "But do not let fear cloud your heart. I share this not to alarm you, but to ensure your safety as you venture into the perilous world beyond these palace walls. Lean on your friends when you depart, and know that no matter what may come, I would never sacrifice you," he added, tenderly patting my head.

*****

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