She grew up in the clutches of poverty; He was raised in the lap of luxury.
She hated nobles; He couldn't be bothered with commoners.
Her heart hidden deep in thorny vines; His one burning in his sleeves.
She was the recently orphaned flower seller;...
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Isolde's POV
I had never gotten apologies.
Not from the villagers, not from the count, not even from my father.
But today someone had uttered one to me.
All nobles at that.
I wasn't aware they knew how to.
Aren't they supposed to punish commoners even if the mistakes are their own? Aren't they supposed to be cruel and unjust?
My mind was a chaotic mess of confusion and questions.
I was taught to never cross the invisible line between nobles and commoners. The consequences of it always ends with the commoner suffering.
These nobles weren't matching in my picture of nobles. They weren't fitting my narrow world frame of how nobles and commoners should interact.
Instead of the expected cruel remarks, I was getting questions about my hobby from the beautiful blonde. Instead of the disgusted scorn, they were giving compliments to Dhara's henna designs. Instead of the awaited punishment for offending them, I was getting apologies.
This behavior was making me happy and distraught at the same time.
Sad because it means the world view I had shaped excused noble's injustice thinking it to be norm.
Happy because it means I was wrong in my gloomy mindset where I was at the very bottom of the food chain.
"I was saying, Isolde, would you like to come to my brother's wedding? It's during the winter vacations," the blonde beauty asks me in a hopeful tone.
Her older brother who was the commander of the seventh home brigade in the Holy Army was getting married this winter.
I was at a loss for words.
A noble wedding?
Commoners aren't supposed to get invited to a noble wedding.
Another contradiction.
"We are waiting, midget." I was brought out of my musings by Akira's comment.
Midget?
I look around to see everyone's eyes trained on me. I forgot to answer, didn't I?
I look to Esme for help. She mouths the word Yes towards me and goes back to the glaring contest against Naeem.
"I.... would love to," I say, feeling out of place.
"That's great," the blonde, Gunhild, claps her hands in excitement and goes back to showing me her model drawing of a new toy.
Everyone resumes their conversations with their respective partners or in Naeem and Esme's case, throwing insults at each other.
