Chapter 21: Storm Awaiting.

Chapter 21

{Maria’s POV, third person}

Hours passed, and the evening of the Royal Ball finally arrived beneath a twilight sky stained with violet and gold. Across the entire Kingdom of Arkovia, noble households stirred with an intense excitement unlike any other night of the year, grand estates blazing with candlelight while carriage wheels rattled over cobblestones. Noble ladies all over the realm had dressed up alongside their parents in their finest, most opulent attire, each stitch of silk and strand of pearl carrying the heavy weight of familial ambition.

The societal expectation hung over them like an unspoken decree; every noble lady was expected to have secured an auspicious engagement by her twentieth year and be wed before reaching twenty-five. Though it was not a legally binding rule, it remained a strict cultural law, and to fail meant facing a lifetime of pitying glances and whispered scorn. Yet among the sea of ambitious debutantes preparing to enter the imperial court, one young lady in particular had been waiting for this exact day her entire life—perhaps, in truth, even longer than a single lifetime.

The scene within the eastern wing of the Beaufort Estate was one of pristine, quiet triumph as Maria stood before her tall vanity mirror, gazing intently at her reflection with a blooming smile. She had waited for this day through sleepless nights and careful scheming, knowing this was the precise moment she would finally rewrite the trajectory of history. Shimmering golden hair fell in perfect curls past her shoulders, and the brilliant gown her father had commissioned caught the candlelight, casting a halo of absolute perfection around her frame. Slowly, her fingers tightened against the polished wood of the vanity as she muttered a quiet vow to her reflection, her voice carrying a chillingly firm resolve.

She would win the Crown Prince’s hand in marriage, and absolutely no one would possess the power to stand in her way. She already commanded an impeccable reputation across the capital, celebrated for her grace and piety, and looking at her own breathtaking beauty tonight, she knew there was nothing in existence that could halt her ascent.

A soft click echoed through the room as Duchess Genevieve entered, her sharp eyes instantly softening into pure adoration upon beholding her daughter. She walked over with a gentle rustle of silk, her face alight with pride as she rested her hands upon Maria’s shoulders. "My beautiful daughter," Genevieve murmured, her voice warm and thick with emotion. "Tell me, how are you feeling on this momentous eve?" Maria turned from the glass, an eager, dutiful smile playing perfectly upon her lips as she looked into her mother’s eyes. "I cannot be any happier, Mother," she replied sweetly. The venomous words Sigrid had spoken to her the previous afternoon had initially made sleep impossible, but through the long hours of the night, Maria had successfully convinced herself that her sister was merely acting unwell, defaulting to her usual bitter disposition. It would not happen like last time; the errors of the past would be fixed.

She had painstakingly rewritten how this night would play out, and her triumph was inevitable. "I only hope that I am fortunate enough to secure the prince’s undivided attention tonight," Maria added, lowering her eyes in a display of practiced modesty.

Genevieve laughed softly, a proud and dismissive sound that echoed through the lavish dressing room. "Of course you shall, my darling. There is no other lady in the entire realm more worthy of his imperial gaze than you."

Maria’s smile widened at the reassurance, yet after a deliberate pause, she allowed her features to shift into a delicate mask of concern, her voice dropping into a pitiful, fragile register. "But Mother... what if Sigrid somehow catches his attention first?" The effect of the name was instantaneous and severe.

The warmth vanished from the Duchess’s face, her features turning deadly and rigid at the mere mention of her stepdaughter. "Do not waste a single worry on that wretched girl, my unique jewel," Genevieve hissed, her posture tightening with venom. "Your father has already handled the matter completely."

Maria feigned a look of sudden, wide-eyed surprise, tilting her head as she took her mother’s hands. "Handled it? Mother, what do you mean?"

A triumphant, sharp smile spread across Genevieve’s lips as she leaned in closer to deliver the news. "Your father has arranged a marriage for your sister; she will be wed to a man of his choosing today, at the very ball itself." Deep within Maria’s chest, her heart leapt with a wild, ecstatic joy, a wave of profound relief washing away the last remnants of her anxiety. Outwardly, however, she maintained her flawless performance of sisterly concern, her voice trembling slightly as she looked up. "But why? Surely that is not entirely fair to Sister." Genevieve merely smiled, falling utterly for Maria’s manufactured charm and pulling her into a brief, comforting embrace. "Do not feel bad for her, my sweet child. She does not deserve an ounce of your kindness or your pure sympathy. This arrangement will finally teach her a lesson she desperately needs, and more importantly, it will serve to help her family secure a powerful alliance."

Satisfied that Sigrid was effectively ruined, Maria smoothed down her skirts, though a lingering doubt caused her to hesitate before speaking again. "Mother... did Sigrid say anything bad to prompt Father to act so severely?"

Duchess Genevieve’s expression soured once more, anger flashing in her eyes as she recalled the insult. "She has become utterly intolerable and disrespectful, Maria. She went so far as to call you a wanton to my face."

At that sudden revelation, Maria’s heart violently seized, the air rushing from her lungs as the horrific accusation echoed in her ears. The room suddenly felt suffocatingly small, her mind reeling because that specific charge was a terrifying truth Sigrid was absolutely not supposed to know.

Genevieve noticed the sudden stillness and reached out in alarm. "Maria? What is it, my love?" Terrified of breaking her character, Maria forced a brittle smile back onto her face and shook her head quickly. "Do not worry, Mother, I assure you it is nothing but the standard nerves of the evening." The Duchess scanned her face for a moment before sighing in relief. "Very well, if you are certain."

Left to her own thoughts for a brief moment, Maria’s mind became frantic, a chaotic storm of panic swirling beneath her calm exterior. She frantically wondered how and where Sigrid could have possibly conceived such a specific, damning accusation, desperately searching for any loose thread or no one in the Empire is aware of such so how in the world did it reach Sigrid’s ears; she desperately wished it was not what she was thinking of.

She paced a small step forward, her knuckles whitening until a sudden, comforting realization dawned upon her fractured thoughts. Sigrid must have simply been entirely consumed by jealousy, lashing out blindly with vile insults because she possessed no other weapon to wound her with. Maria’s smile returned, genuine this time, as she thought to herself that the pathetic rumor would never work against her sterling reputation. Turning back to her mother with a bright countenance, she adjusted her silk gloves. "I think it is time for us to go now, Mother, lest the celebrations begin without us." Genevieve nodded eagerly, gesturing toward the door. "Yes, let us depart at once. Your father has been waiting for us downstairs for some time."

Maria smiled dutifully and began to lead the way out of the chambers, her heavy skirts whispering against the stone floor, but as they reached the threshold, she stopped and turned back with a sweet, questioning voice. "Mother... where is Sister? Surely she is to ride with us."

Duchess Genevieve’s face soured with immediate annoyance, her hand waving dismissively through the air. "I do not care where she loiters; she is no concern of ours."

Maria, determined to keep her innocent facade pristine, pretended to be deeply worried as she pressed the matter. "But Mother, we cannot possibly arrive at the imperial palace without her; it would look terribly remiss to the high court."

The Duchess sighed dramatically, yielding to what she believed was her daughter’s boundless kindness, and beckoned to a passing housemaid. "You there, hold your steps. Do you have any knowledge of where Sigrid is hiding herself?"

The maid immediately stopped, lowering her head in a deep, nervous bow as she shifted beneath the Duchess’s harsh glare. "Last I saw her, Your Grace, she was weeping in her chambers, crying about not possessing a suitable dress or anything worthy of the festivities," the maid stammered, terrified of angering her masters further. "I am deeply sorry, Your Grace, but shortly after her outburst, she left the estate entirely."

Maria’s eyes widened in genuine suspicion at the report, her mind working rapidly to decipher this unexpected factor . Beside her, Duchess Genevieve shouted in a fit of sudden fury, her face flushing red. "That wretched, ungrateful girl! Just when she is finally made useful to this house, she chooses to disappear into thin air!" While her mother raged, Maria silently wondered if her sister had actually fled the territory out of sheer despair. Though Sigrid had been acting abnormally and possessing a strange confidence recently, she did not seem like the type to simply run away, and such an event had certainly not occurred in the original timeline of her memories.

Yet, as the silence stretched, a satisfying conclusion formed in Maria’s mind; perhaps the pressure had finally broken her, and Sigrid had simply given up her pathetic act, choosing to hide rather than face the humiliation of the ballroom.

A small, victorious smile touched Maria’s lips as she gently took her mother’s arm to soothe her anger. "Mother, please do not distress yourself over her absence; I am certain Sigrid will return when she realizes her folly, but we must depart for the palace immediately or else we shall be dreadfully late to the imperial procession." Genevieve looked upon her daughter’s enthusiasm and brightened, her anger melting away as she patted Maria’s hand. "You are entirely right, my dear. Let us not allow her darkness to ruin your grand night." Together, they descended the grand staircase to the main foyer where Duke Vesper stood waiting, his brow furrowed in a dark, imposing line.

The moment his gaze landed upon them, his voice boomed through the hall, demanding to know where his eldest daughter was hiding herself. Genevieve quickly stepped forward to relay the maid’s report of Sigrid’s tears and subsequent flight from the estate, causing the Duke’s expression to darken with a heavy, dangerous irritation. For a moment, it seemed as though he might call for the guards to search the grounds, but after glancing at the grand clock, he exhaled a sharp breath and mastered his temper. "We shall deal with her insolence later; tonight belongs solely to Maria, and nothing shall ruin her debut," he declared firmly. With those final words, the heavy doors were thrown open by the servants, and the Beaufort family entered the waiting carriage, pulling away from the estate toward the glowing lights of the capital, completely unaware of the storm waiting for them.