"Crowns topple easily. Thrones crumble like dust. Hearts cease to beat. Thorns draw blood."
In a country torn into two, there should have been no room for mistakes. Especially not at the very core of the royal family. That was what she was. Yes, a...
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The ball for the feast of Sankt Nikolai was upon the Grand Palace.
With the nobles hurrying to find their last pieces of jewelry to show off, the servants bustling to light the candles in the large chandelier, the stablehands retrieving the horses from the different dignitaries, the cooks attempting to prepare the many dishes planned for the evening, and the sculptor putting in the last finishing touches of his piece, it was safe to say that the Grand Palace was in a riot.
After weeks of preparation, the day was finally upon them. The largest event of the year. Where people could get drunk without anyone judging them for overindulging. Where trysts could happen in the dark without anyone knowing.
It may have been to celebrate one of the Saints that people believed in but in reality, it was an event full of scandal and extravagance.
Roasted geese, seasoned to perfection. Fried dough covered in delicate white sugar and stuffed with currants. Candied fruits from far away, exotic delicacies. Coffee spiced with caraway seeds.
Delicious food, an unending flow of wine, entertainment, and scandal that would surely satisfy the whole of Ravka for at least a while.
However, the ball did not start until the sun came down which is why Irina found herself in the Royal Chapel in Os Alta.
She was never the religious type but the people of Ravka fancied the princess to be the type to be holy and to attend masses. Not that she had anything against praying to the Saints, faith had always been with her. Especially with the newfound knowledge about the connection between Saints and Grisha.
It was only the stupid Apparat that was the problem. He was droning on and on about righteousness and humility when Irina knew that he was one of the most arrogant men in the Grand Palace.
If she had a shorter temper, she would have made Vasilka eat him already. Or at least bite him, leave a mark, get him where it hurts.
The thought made Irina crack a smile as she looked down at the lion cub resting at her feet, looking up at her with wide eyes. The lion cub had taken to adjusting easily to life in the Grand Palace as if she were made for opulence.
Vasilka's loyalty to her was astounding, following Irina around everywhere, sleeping at the foot of her bed, and growling at whoever came too close. Except for Aleksander, that is. The cub seemed fond of the man who had gifted her to the princess.
Whenever Aleksander would come to visit them in the Grand Ballroom, Vasilka would greet him, rubbing her cheeks against his legs. Aleksander, on the other hand, would laugh, scratching the cub around the ears and sometimes even procuring meat from the kitchens to feed to Vasilka.
Spoiled little lion cub, she thought teasingly.
If she were being honest, Irina was at her happiest. It terrified her almost. How happy she was. As if it were a precursor to something terrible that would soon come to happen.
