The chime of the grandfather clock rang loud and clear, all the way to her room, yet she remained unperturbed by the early morning bell. It was just a half-past eight, not unusual for the Palace staff to be up and about their daily duties, but today had an unprecedented scent to the morning. Today was a big day.

The sun seemed extra bright as well as if celebrating the occasion of joy with the kingdom. Even the people buzzed about happily, mothers helping to dress their daughters and sons, wives preparing tuxedos for their husbands. Fathers fixing carriages, gathering flowers, husbands cooking for their wives to help, everyone knew today was a day the kingdom wouldn't forget.

Secluded from the chaotic bustle the kingdom was in, within the palace walls, she sat on her chaise, still in her nightgown. Her pen moved swiftly against the pages, expression slightly tensed, and tongue between her teeth in deep concentration.

That is until her composition was rudely interrupted by a soft knock on her door. She didn't bother calling out to the visitor, for she already expected it to be Cicely for her wake up call, like every other ordinary day.

"Good morning, Your Highness, may the day ahead be a blessed and fruitful one- oh my, early day, my Princess! An absolutely splendid morning this is. Happy birthday, dear!" Cicely's bright hazel eyes beamed with joy, as Isolde set her writing aside and smiled after she had finished.

"Oh, thank you so much for the wishes, Cicely. It truly is a magnificent morning!" She picked herself up from her chaise, and straightened the unending wrinkles of her pastel blue nightgown, as she let out a strangled breath. Masking it with a brilliant smile, she looked back at Cicely, who was just finishing making Isolde's bed.

"Your Highness, it's best you get ready for today, a big celebration awaits you!" Cicely clasped her hands together in glee and pointed to her closet as she added, "As per your command, Princess, your mother's old gown has been readied for today. Breakfast would promptly be served to your room, is there anything else you need, your Grace?"

Isolde beamed once again, and shook her head slightly, "Thank you for everything Cicely. Just send Zephyr up to my room with my breakfast. I shall get ready till then."

With a small bow, Cicely smiled at the young lady and excused herself from Isolde's room, mentally making a note to remind herself to call Zephyr on her way to her chores.

As Isolde was left alone once again in her huge room, she let out another breath she didn't realize she was holding. From her closet, she picked a pastel pink corset to go with her pink and purple dress, before rolling the mannequin with the dress outside to her room.

Light ruffles, like pink waves on oceans, meticulously formed the sleeves of the gown. It flowed all the way down, with beautiful embellishments and indescribably intricate layers. But Isolde hadn't chosen this dress for its immense beauty. For ever so often, sentimental value outshines beauty of all standards. And what even is beauty anyway?

The Late Queen's dress was very dear to her daughter. One of the fondest memories she could cherish in her heart. Isolde knew, wearing the dress would make her feel as though her mother wasn't really in the abode of eternal sleep, and was indeed, right by her side, shedding tears of joy as the jewelled tiara is placed upon her head.

Shaking herself out of her sudden reverie of the past, Isolde tightened the corset straps behind her back and proceeded to slip on her crinoline, before her gown. Just as she was about to zip up her bodice to finish donning her dress, a rapid knock sounded on the door to her room, to which she hurriedly responded, "Come in!"

The visitor burst in with a tornado of emotions, set the tray of breakfast for the princess on her table, and promptly ran towards the princess, almost tripping on thin air, as she almost shrieked with exhilaration, "Happy Birthday!"

That's how Zephyr had always been, very contrary to her name, she was anything but a gentle wind. Quite opposite to Isolde as well, in fact. And yet, the two got along like sisters, despite Zephyr not being royalty.

Zephyr appeared behind her friend in a flash, and helped Isolde zip up her bodice, before setting her palms on the princess's tense shoulders, a gesture that wordlessly reassured Isolde, even without her knowing she needed the lingering touch of someone familiar, so desperately.

"I bow down to thee, Your Royal Highness!" Zephyr partially joked as she took a step behind and bowed formally, which earned her a chortle from the princess.

Isolde reviewed herself in the mirror, smoothening down non-existent wrinkles on the skirt of her gown.

"You look stunning, don't worry about it." Zephyr breathed, noticing the not-so-apparent apprehension that had filled Isolde's mind. Isolde nodded slowly, it took her a moment to reply to her best friend. "Why don't you help me with my makeup, Zee?"

"Oh, I would, but you need to have your breakfast first, Izz."

The old nickname made Isolde smile. She was always thankful to fate that even when it had bereaved her of everyone whom she called hers, Zephyr was one who never left her side, and undoubtedly, the young monarch wanted them to remain this way. From their first steps to their first word, to their first not-so-secret crushes, to when the Kingdom lost their King and Queen, to this very day, Zephyr and Isolde had always been together, almost like twins. The two girls even had contrary personalities, how most twins supposedly have, yet Zephyr is just a month older.

The story of how Zephyr and Isolde grew up within the same palace walls, despite them not being sisters, and Zephyr not being royalty is a story for another time, and holds no importance for the story that I chose to narrate today.

Breakfast was wrapped up soon enough, perhaps a bit too soon for Isolde's tastes, for anyone who knew her could tell that the princess was tensed. But who am I to blame her?

Taking another breath, Isolde sat down on her dressing table, and started her makeup, with the help of Zephyr. This was going to be one long day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"And now, I pronounce you, Isolde Merriweather Carlquist, the Crown Princess of Hetalia!" No sooner did these words escape Alastair's lips, and he had placed the jewelled tiara upon Isolde's head, the crowd hollered with joy. Two years in misery, and today, the kingdom finally saw a new light of hope.

The new Crown Princess's first declamation was picking her Royal Council, and not so surprisingly, she picked two of her best friends, Zephyr, who we've met, and Edwin, a young boy studying herbs and medicine. Despite the slight rivalry between Edwin and Zephyr, Isolde was certain they'd get along, even if it was only for her sake.

Everything was by design that evening, until...it was not.

Slow music played, the dances had just begun, and Isolde sat peacefully on her new throne, a warm smile dancing on her lips along the music. Her people were finally happy. And there was not even a slight inkling of any kind of trouble or interruption arriving.

That is, until one of the younger palace guards urgently knocked on the door to the Great Hall.

The music came to a halt, and so did the dancing. All eyes fixated on the door as it was slowly opened by two other guards, and the young palace guard walked inside, a queer expression on his face as he made his way to Isolde.

Bowing down, he spoke gravely, "Your Highness, we have a strange visitor."

Isolde shot him a questioning glance and motioned for him to continue. Something was uncertain in Sorin's voice. And soon, the entire kingdom knew why.

"The visitor, he claims to be an elf! And asks for help."

Gasps rose from the crowd in the hall, as all eyes were now upon Isolde.

"Bring him inside," Isolde ordered calmly, earning even louder gasps from the crowd, as Alastair cleared his throat to interject.

"Your Highness, this doesn't seem to be a good idea. You, out of all people, should know how dangerous elves can be."

Isolde shot Alastair a serious glance as she continued, "If the elf is indeed real, and needs our help, there is nothing wrong in listening to his tale," Turning to Sorin, she ordered once more, "Bring the elf inside, and chain him up for safety."

Bowing down, Sorin excused himself, only to appear moments later, accompanied by the 'elf', with tight cuffs around his wrists. The eyes of the crowned fixed upon this mystery visitor as he walked down to her, guards on both his side. Their eyes met for a brief second, but his glance instantly shifted back down.

As he slowly walked over to her, Isolde had enough time to observe this elf. His messy clothes, and dishevelled brown hair, and a not-so-flashy amber and tangerine jumper.

Isolde stood up from her throne, and finally looked into this visitor's eyes, and she spoke quite monotonously, "Who are you? And what help might you seek for?"

The elf raised his eyes, a sense of worry reflected in them, "Your Highness, I am the last of my kind, I need shelter!"

Loud gasps rose from the crowd for a third time. An elf having the audacity to ask for shelter in a human kingdom? Unacceptable. But not to Isolde.

"Narrate your tale."

"Your Highness, years of constant war with the Gnomes had bereaved my kingdom, Drystan, completely. It had bereaved me of my father and mother too. On my voyage down to safety, an attack of the Gnomes left my ship battered. I lost the only other one left of my kind, my sister. Your Highness, aid me, I just need shelter here in your peaceful kingdom!"

Silence.

Pin drop silence.

Isolde scanned the elf, from top to down. His clothes were shabby, ripped at the seams, complete with tattered gloves, the outlook seeming real as a can be. And his eyes, glowing with a soft warmth behind that worry and plea.

Alastair cleared his throat slightly, and whispered to Isolde, "You can't actually be considering the devil's offer, Crown Princess, can you?"

"He's no devil, Alastair. He is a teenager. Like myself."

"But he's an elf!"

"We'll keep him in close observation in the palace. That is my final decision. No objections entertained."

Whatever argument that Alastair planned was conveniently left in the back of his throat after Isolde's last sentence, as she rose up to declare her first royal decree, which she never contemplated would come so soon.

"The elf shall stay in the palace, under close observation of guards, and myself. That is the final verdict. The ball is dismissed, it shall be replaced with a slightly early coronation dinner."

As Alastair and the senior royal guards guided the people to The Dining Hall, where the feast was prepared, Isolde shot a glance at the elf, who was being taken away to the back.

He didn't look dangerous.