As soon as the king's wives had finished their well-rehearsed praises, silence once again claimed the throne…
Not the kind of silence that befits royalty, but the kind that awaits the opinion of the true elite: the aristocratic women.
Only a few minutes passed before the next tone began to emerge…
Everyone remained at their tables, silverware glittering under the chandeliers, voices barely rising above soft whispers. But amidst this quiet, certain words floated delicately—seemingly aimless, yet every syllable struck like a hidden arrow.
One of them, a woman in her early forties wearing a deep wine-colored dress, raised her brow elegantly and said:
> "How quaint… a pearl necklace? We haven't seen such simplicity since our grandmothers' soirées."
Another chuckled softly as she lifted her glass with poise:
> "Simplicity is a luxury… for those who haven't yet known true luxury."
A third spoke, her voice low but measured:
> "She seems shy… more than is fitting for a princess. As if she's lost between protocols."
A fourth leaned toward her neighbor and said thoughtfully:
> "To be honest… I sense a kind of purity in her. But she looks like someone uprooted from one place and replanted in another."
Subtle laughter followed—words coated in sugar, but sharp like glass shards quietly encircling Irene.
Then, after exchanged glances, a certain aristocratic lady named Lady Seranne broke the silence loud enough for all to hear:
> "Lady Irene… may I ask a small question?"
All eyes turned to her—even the servants' movements quieted for a moment.
Irene slowly raised her gaze and turned toward her without smiling. She gave a short nod:
> "Go ahead."
The woman spoke with a tone of feigned warmth:
> "Forgive me, just curious… How do you spend your day in this quiet wing? Do you have any particular hobbies? Or do you spend your time in contemplation?"
Soft, stifled giggles came from a nearby table.
As if the real question was: "What are you even doing here?"
But Irene didn't blink.
She answered in a soft tone, her face betraying neither joy nor offense:
> "I enjoy reading… I spend most of my time learning what I've missed."
Silence.
Then she added, with calculated calm:
> "Silence helps me understand… more than speech ever could."
A quiet murmur spread among the ladies.
A clever response… one that left no room for retort.
Another lady, Duchess Emilia, gently placed her fork at the edge of her plate and said:
> "And what about music? Surely your education included a bit of that, didn't it?"
Irene paused before responding.
Then said:
> "Music… is not mastered by those who learn it. But by those who feel it."
"Sometimes, silence… is sweeter than any string."
A long inhale was heard from a lady in the back, as if irritated by the girl's confidence.
Then…
Selena, the king's eldest daughter by Queen Elvira, intervened.
She had been quietly watching from the corner of the table until now. But she now leaned forward and said in a gentle voice:
> "My, that's very profound… It feels like we're sitting with a philosopher, not a princess."
A faint chuckle followed.
Then she looked directly at Irene and added:
> "By the way, that dress… did you design it too? Because… it's not exactly what princesses usually wear."
Scattered laughter burst from a few tables.
A clear jab—disguised as surprised curiosity.
Irene kept looking at her.
She didn't flinch, didn't blush, didn't rush to defend herself.
She simply said:
> "Yes… it's my choice."
"And I believe princesses aren't meant to imitate anyone… they're meant to be made in their own way."
The laughter dimmed.
Some guests even paused their eating for a moment.
Selena's gaze flickered.
She felt—if only for a second—that she had hit a wall.
But she didn't show it. Instead, she tilted her head slightly and offered a short smile:
> "Your answer… is unexpected. Just like you."
The voices slowly rose again… but something in everyone's tone had changed.
They were still skeptical, still whispering, still mocking…
But now—they were cautious.
Irene… was not just a lost royal daughter.
She was something else entirely.
Something not easily controlled.
---
That night, when Irene returned to her wing, she felt as if her body were floating…
Not in comfort, but in a heavy void.
The faces she'd seen, the sugar-coated words, the fake pleasantries, the glances from siblings, enemies, and strangers alike… all followed her like a long shadow that refused to leave.
Once the doors to her chamber closed behind her, her breath poured out—long and trembling.
The maids approached quietly, their faces tense.
Some had never touched a princess before, others were terrified of making a mistake that might anger the king through her.
But Irene… said nothing.
She allowed them to remove her gloves first, then the dress clinging to her body like it was part of her.
She slowly slipped into the warm water of the white marble tub.
She closed her eyes… water cascading gently over her shoulders.
Warmth, softness—but no peace.
The exhaustion ran deeper than anything water could wash away.
After her bath, she sat silently before the mirror.
One maid combed her hair, another gently massaged her shoulders.
She didn't say a word.
Then, when she laid her head on the pillow—she didn't need sleeping pills this time…
She drifted off before the lights were even turned off.
---
A few days later
Morning light crept shyly through the windows of her chamber.
Irene was seated by the small table reserved for painting.
She held a dark charcoal stick between her fingers, focused on the details of an unknown woman's face she was sketching on paper… a woman she didn't know, but whose pain she knew well.
It was a rare moment of peace.
Then… a soft knock on the door.
A maid entered, her face carrying both hesitation and astonishment, and said:
> "My lady… several bundles of letters have arrived for you today."
Irene lifted her head, silently looking at her.
The maid quickly added:
> "Not ordinary ones… there are many. Some sealed with noble crests… invitations, congratulations, small symbolic gifts, and… even a few marriage proposals."
Irene said nothing.
She rose and walked to the table where the letters had been placed.
She looked at the seals… most were from families she'd never heard of, some from aristocratic women, others from men seeking to strengthen ties with the king.
She ran her hand over the papers without opening them all.
Then sat down.
And picked up a pen.
One by one…
She replied to each letter—in her own handwriting.
With a refined, polite, and crystal-clear tone.
She declined every invitation with grace.
Expressed gratitude for every congratulation.
And apologized for being unable to attend any event, meeting, or even exchange personal letters.
Her words were sharp in their courtesy, closing doors without causing offense.
She was executing her father's order precisely.
He had told her:
> "Don't mingle with anyone until we determine your next steps."
And she understood exactly what that meant.
When she placed the final letter aside and pushed the pen a little away, her hand trembled slightly.
Not from fatigue…
But from the feeling of responding to a world that never wanted her—
Yet now wants her, only for reasons that have nothing to do with her.
Suddenly…
Another knock.
But this time—it wasn't a servant.
A royal guard opened the door, then bowed and said:
> "Princess Irene… the king requests your presence in his study at once."
She looked up at him for a moment.
Then stood calmly.
**
> "Understood. I'll go now."