1705. Luck had never been on Eleanora Finley's side. After her father died in a tragic fire, she was left at the mercy of her domineering and abusive mother, being deprived of all love and affection.
Truly, who would have thought that the simple red...
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1711, Aethiel Palace, Kestramore City
Eleanora awoke with a start, her head spinning from too little sleep and too much wine. She stared up blearily in bewilderment at her surroundings, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. She found herself in her bedroom, still wearing the dark green dress, her hair still braided, though somewhat dishevelled.
She did not know how she had gotten there, but she knew that her presence was needed elsewhere. Today, the Prince would finally choose his bride, and Nicholas had wanted to see her before she went to the Choosing Ceremony.
As quickly as she could, she washed her face, brushed out the tangles in her hair and tied it back in a loose chignon at the nape of her neck, put on a simple gown of leaf green muslin with pearl buttons along its cuffs, and slipped out of her bedroom.
The day felt dreary and grey. The sky had a heavy blanket of clouds draped across its pale blue surface, casting the ground into a gloomy shade of grey. A murder of crows was perched on the leafless branches, their sharp, black eyes staring unblinkingly at her. Once in a while, they would caw out a haunting cry, causing her to shudder violently. Even the air smelled of death today, the stench thick and suffocating like smoke.
A cold gust of wind blew through her hair, and Eleanora hurried over to the edge of the garden, where Nicholas waited for her. To get there, she would have to walk past the courtyard, where many people were gathered, discussing about who amongst the six ladies would marry the prince choose.
It was a matter of great importance, after all. Today, the kingdom's future queen would be chosen, and everyone was itching to know who it will be. It will not be a single person who rises to power, no. When a consort is chosen, her entire house would be elevated, and for the remainder of her reign, her family will be virtually untouchable.
None of that mattered to Eleanora, though. She knew that she would not be chosen. Even if she was, she had nothing to offer up to the royal family, so she doubted that these aristocrats would bother to care about her. After all, who cared about some peasant girl from an obscure village?
So she walked past them, her head lowered and her fingers curled around her reticule. As she approached the edge of the courtyard, however, her footsteps came to a halt.
From a distance, she could hear the sound of people quarrelling, shouting and screaming at the top of their lungs. There was nobody in this section of the courtyard, so whoever it was, it had to be someone within the palace walls.
Eleanora shook her head dismissively. She had enough problems of her own; she did not have time to worry about the problems of others.
But then, she heard the unmistakable crack of glass, spreading ever so slightly, reminiscent of a frozen lake in the dead of winter.
And then, it shattered.
The glass window exploded, sending shards of glass in every direction, and they glinted in the pale sunlight like an early shower of snow, bouncing off the cobblestones like tiny diamonds. Eleanora stood still, bewildered by the sight, and most certainly, nothing could have prepared her for what was about to happen next.
