Year: AP 925

Planet: Kennel

In the vast expanse of the sky, a single snowflake began its descent. Born from the embrace of a cloud, it twirled and danced, a unique crystalline jewel among millions. Each intricate branch of its form, a testament to its singular journey through the cold air. No two snowflakes are ever the same, and this one was no exception. It carried with it a silent promise, a secret whisper of its own distinctiveness.

As it drifted downward, the snowflake navigated through the crisp winter breeze, weaving its way past its countless brethren. It seemed to be in no hurry, content to ride the currents of the wind, basking in the morning sunlight that caught its edges and made them sparkle like tiny stars. The world below was a blanket of white, a canvas awaiting the touch of this solitary flake to complete its wintry masterpiece. However, this little one would not be joining the others. Its uniqueness had a different purpose, an alternate destiny.

With a singular grace and inevitability, the snowflake landed gently on the outstretched palm of a young girl standing on the balcony of the Royal Palace of Kennel. She watched in wonder as the flake settled among the few others that had already begun to melt from the warmth of her pale, nimble hand.

“Princess?” The unexpected voice jolted the young royal from her reverie, causing her to shift her gaze from the delicate snowflakes that had captured her attention. With a soft sigh, she brushed the snowflakes from her elegant nightgown and gently pushed a stray lock of hair from her eyes. She cherished the beauty her long blonde hair bestowed upon her yet found its upkeep exasperating. It was akin to taming a rebellious beast that seldom obeyed and rarely fulfilled its sole purpose of enhancing her appearance with grace and simplicity.

“There you are,” the voice announced once more as the wide glass doors leading to the balcony parted, revealing a tall young woman clad in the striking crimson of the Royal Guards. On her left hip, she wore a magnificent sword, its hilt encrusted with rubies that mirrored that of her uniform. Her presence contrasted sharply with the serene backdrop of the falling snow. Her attire, a vivid red, stood out against the pristine whiteness, while her lithe yet firm posture sliced through the gentle snowfall, unfazed by the biting cold that nipped at her exposed skin. Though hardened by the rigors of discipline and training, her face bore a rugged beauty that could only be described as striking. Her finely groomed amber hair was pinned in a modest bun at the back of her head, concealing its true length.

“Forgive me, Princess Jemma, but it is neither safe nor advisable for you to be out here, especially dressed as you are,” the knight said with concern. “I believe it would be prudent for us to return indoors.”

The Princess offered no response, merely casting a sidelong glare at the unwelcome intruder. She hadn’t intended to hide, but she had hoped for a few more moments of solitude, undisturbed by her guardian’s watchful eye. Rising an hour earlier each morning had become her cherished ritual, a brief respite to savor her own thoughts in peace. But now, that tranquility was shattered.

“Your Highness, please,” the knight implored, “I urge you to return inside. It is bitterly cold out here; someone in your position should not be exposed to such harsh conditions—”

Heat!

The air around the balcony shifted abruptly, cutting off the knight’s words. Wisps of steam curled through the air, enveloping the Princess and instantly vaporizing any snowflakes that dared to venture too close. Only then, with a mischievous smile, did the royal heiress turn to face her guardian, lifting her arms in a silent challenge, as if to say, “What cold?”

The Royal Guard, ever composed, betrayed no sign of surprise, though her words were tinged with caution. “Be careful, Princess,” she warned. “It’s bad enough that you’re out here on the highest point of the palace for all to see, clad only in your nightgown. If you’re not careful with that Common, you might just burn away what little you have on. Imagine the spectacle that would create for the young knights below.”

With a gasp, the young girl dropped her hands, extinguishing the heat as swiftly as it had appeared. The cold wind, previously held at bay, now struck her with its full force. A shiver coursed through her body, and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment at the mere thought of such a scandalous display.

The stoic guardian observed the Princess’s rare moment of vulnerability and allowed a faint smile to appear. “Forgive me, Princess Jemma,” she said with a respectful nod. “I understand the importance of your solitude, but I am sworn to safeguard not only your health but also your honor.”

A silent apology formed in Jemma’s thoughts, “I’m sorry, Sammy. You’re merely fulfilling your responsibilities, as we all must.” With a deep, heartfelt sigh, the Princess communicated her concession through an intricate ballet of hand signs. “You win, Samantha,” they read, “Let us head indoors.”

Dame Samantha responded with equal dexterity in sign language, “As you command, Your Highness,” and graciously held the glass door open, allowing the Princess to enter first.

The moment they crossed the threshold into the warmth of the royal bed-chamber, a flurry of maidservants descended upon them, each intent on their assigned tasks. Jemma remained passive, a silent observer amid the orchestrated chaos. Servants delicately peeled away her nightwear, bathed her, combed her hair, clothed her, and meticulously applied her makeup. And Jemma detested every moment of it. She felt reduced to a mere object on a conveyor belt, undergoing transformation against its will. With each successive stage, she felt further estranged from her true self, emerging on the other side as a polished impersonation barely recognizable from her original form.

As the last of the maidservants fled the room, Jemma caught her reflection in the grand mirror that graced the far wall of her chambers. The transformation wrought by her servants never ceased to amaze her. There she stood, the very image of a princess, with her pale skin now glowing with a healthy luster, her once rebellious blonde locks artfully braided, pinned, and curled into submission, and her simple white nightgown exchanged for a regal blue dress adorned with silver buttons, delicate lace, and tastefully puffed shoulders that lent an illusion of strength to her delicate frame. Gazing at her reflection, she almost believed in the facade.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Who would guess,” Jemma mused, “that the girl in the mirror is actually dying?”

“—and following the afternoon lesson on court procedures, we will attend the selection ceremony...” Dame Samantha’s voice broke through Jemma’s contemplation. Each day, as she was being readied, the Royal Guard would recite the schedule, and each day, Jemma would let it wash over her unheard. It wasn’t defiance or rebellion; it was simply the monotony of routine. Her life seldom varied, so neither did the agenda. That’s why the mention of the “selection ceremony” caught Jemma’s ear, a deviation from her days’ otherwise predictable rhythm.

Catching her guardian’s reflection in the mirror, Princess Jemma began signing frantically. Even in the reversed image of the glass, the knight had no trouble interpreting the signs. “What do you mean, selection ceremony?” Jemma’s expression conveyed her disturbance. “I was under the impression that the ceremony was scheduled for next month?”

“Indeed, Your Highness,” Dame Samantha responded with unwavering composure. “However, His Majesty has advanced the ceremony to this afternoon.”

“What?” Jemma signed, spinning around to confront her steward directly. “Why would he do that? And what about the other nobles? Will they have sufficient time to adjust their plans?” The Princess’s hands moved gracefully and urgently, bombarding the knight with a rapid succession of questions. Nonetheless, the knight maintained her military bearing.

“Your Highness, the intricacies of His Majesty’s decisions are beyond my purview. My role is to execute commands, not to question them. And those orders currently include ensuring your timely and presentable attendance at the ceremony.”

The seizure struck with no warning!

Princess Jemma’s eyes rolled back as her body suddenly gave way, dropping like a puppet whose strings had been cut. The young girl teetered face-first, her fragile form destined for the unforgiving embrace of the marble floor.

CRACK!

The sound erupted as Vigor-infused Shade armor propelled the crimson-clad knight across the bedchamber. With expert precision, she caught the falling princess mere inches from the cold, hard marble.

“I’ve got you, Princess,” Dame Samantha assured the convulsing child. To the ever-present ears in the hallway, she bellowed, “Seizure! Get in here now!”

The doors flew open as a flurry of maidservants and aides rushed into the chamber. The Royal Guard didn’t wait for them. With the precision of a well-oiled machine, she gently positioned the trembling heiress onto her back and secured Jemma’s head between her knees. Simultaneously, she retrieved two objects from a breast pocket. With one hand, the knight skillfully cleared the Princess’s mouth and inserted a rubber bite stick between her clenching teeth to prevent her from biting her tongue. With the other hand, Dame Samantha drew invisible strands of green and blue Vigor from the surrounding air, channeling them into a flat metallic device she held. The contraption came alive with flashing lights and emitted a low hum. Once it was activated, the knight placed the device on Jemma’s quivering forehead.

The effect was instantaneous! Princess Jemma’s violent tremors began to subside, her breathing steadied, and the rapid fluttering of her eyes slowed until they gently closed in calm repose. Even as the visible signs of the seizure abated, Dame Samantha maintained the application of the humming device, ensuring its healing influence fully took effect. Meanwhile, the attentive maidservants draped Jemma in warm blankets and prepared a pitcher of water alongside washcloths, ready to tend to her as soon as she showed signs of awakening. They did not have to wait long.

As Jemma regained consciousness, the first sight that met her eyes was the worried expression of her loyal guardian. “Sammy,” she thought, “why do you look so sad? Oh, right... I’m lying on my back... and I have that awful stick in my mouth… I must have had another episode.” The exhausted girl awkwardly sighed through the rubber obstruction still clutched between her teeth. “I’m sorry, Sammy, for always making you worry... But someday, I promise, you won’t have to worry about me anymore. Then maybe you can smile again... just like you used to when I was little.”

The knight had fulfilled her duty by protecting the Princess; now it was Jemma’s turn to reassure her subjects of her well-being. However, this task proved more challenging than expected due to the heavy blankets that ensnared her, effectively trapping her arms. Jemma clicked her tongue in annoyance as she attempted to extricate her limbs from their plush prison.

“By the Shade, how many blankets did they pile on me?” Jemma wondered, struggling against the cozy but confining layers. Noticing her charge’s predicament, Dame Samantha effortlessly deactivated the healing device and carefully removed the bite stick from the now fidgety Princess. She then aided in the liberation of Jemma’s hands, allowing her a moment of relief and a chance to address her concerned onlookers.

“I’m fine,” Jemma conveyed through a series of gestures, offering a weak smile to affirm her claim. “However, I could use a drink.” Almost instantly, a selection of chilled water glasses was presented to her. Dame Samantha tenderly assisted the Princess into a seated position, allowing her to regain her composure. Jemma gratefully accepted a glass, sipping carefully to wash away the lingering taste of rubber and moistening her parched throat. “Feels like I’ve swallowed the entire Dirby Desert!” she mused silently.

It was only after setting the glass aside that Jemma observed its scarlet-tinted contents. “Your Highness,” exclaimed a maidservant, her voice marked with concern, “You’re bleeding from the nose!”

“Seems about right,” Jemma reflected with resignation, too exhausted to express frustration. Instead of succumbing to irritation, she merely tilted her head back, anticipating the arrival of a cool, damp cloth she knew was already on its way.

“Here, Princess,” said her guardian, pressing the cloth gently against Jemma’s nose with a slight pinch.

“Thank you,” Jemma signed back. “So, do you think Father will let me skip the ceremony now?”

The question elicited a chuckle from the stoic knight. “I doubt it, My Lady. It’s not every day that a King chooses an heir. The sudden change of date is scandalous enough. Can you imagine the rumors if members of the Royal Family didn’t show up?”

“I know, I know,” Jemma resigned herself. “Well, at least this morning can’t get much worse.”

But she was mistaken.

“My Lady,” said the mousy maidservant, “there’s blood on the collar of your gown. We’ll need to change you and wash it before the stain sets.”

Resigned to her fate, Jemma internally groaned, turning her head to the side as her guardian continued to apply pressure to her nose. Once more, she caught her reflection in the mirror, but now it painted a different picture than just moments ago. Instead of the polished and elegant figure she had admired earlier, she now saw a disheveled and fatigued young girl, her gown stained with blood, her blonde hair once again a wild mess, all while her attendant held a blood-soaked cloth to her face. And yet, this scene offered her a sense of comfort, for, in her eyes, it represented the unvarnished truth, devoid of any facade. This was the real her.

“Very well,” she signed, acknowledging the inevitable need for a change of attire. “Let’s get this over with.”

Dame Samantha gave a nod of understanding, her expression a blend of sympathy and resolve. Verifying that the bleeding had stopped, she signaled to the maidservants to prepare a fresh gown. As they began to work, Jemma’s gaze drifted back to the snow-covered balcony outside. Lost in thought, she again watched the snowflakes fall in graceful silence.

Then, for a reason unbeknownst to even herself, she clapped her hands twice, capturing the attention of the room. Once all eyes were on her, the Princess rose to her feet with the assistance of her guardian. Then, to the astonishment of all present, she made an unexpected request.

"Today," she signed, "I wish to wear my white dress."