Behind the Royal Mask

Behind the Fan

The whole journey from Haverton manor to the Royal Palace passed in an uncomfortable. Beatrice sat inside the carriage across Lord Haverton who was engrossed in some papers, barely sparing her a glance. The air between them was thick with tension. Beatrice shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her fingers tracing the edge of her gown as she tried to steady her nerves.

Outside the window, the scenery changed slowly—fields, clusters of trees, and towns blurred together, yet the palace remained out of sight.  She breathed in with trouble due to the stress, anxiously waiting for the Palace to arrive, which seemed to be hours away.

Just behind the carriage, Derin rode his horse, keeping a watchful eye on the surroundings, his posture stiff, the weight of the moment pressing on him as well. He was flanked by a couple of other riders, but his attention remained on the carriage and the figure inside it, ready for whatever awaited them at the palace.

"We will be arriving in some minutes," the coachman called from outside. Beatrice exhaled softly, a wave of relief washing over her at the thought of the long journey finally coming to an end.

Across from her, Lord Haverton lowered his papers and fixed his cold, calculating gaze on her.

"Now listen carefully," he began, his voice sharp with authority. "I don't want you to be cheeky with anyone inside the palace. You will stay meek. No need to open your mouth until you are asked to. You will not express your opinion either. Am I clear?"

Beatrice felt a surge of anger rise within her, as she was overwhelmed by the urge to hurl the fan she held in her hands at him. But she held herself back and with restrained obedience, gave him a small, curt nod, her gaze already drifting back to the window. The palace walls loomed in the distance. She only hoped she could play her part long enough to find her way through this mess.

As the carriage slowed and approached the towering gates of the Royal Palace, Beatrice straightened, her pulse quickening. The grand stone walls loomed closer, and soon, they rolled through the heavily guarded entrance. Beyond the gates, manicured gardens stretched in every direction, and the palace itself, with its elegant and intricate designs, appeared even more intimidating up close.

The carriage came to a stop, and a footman opened the door. Lord Haverton stepped out first, straightening his coat, before gesturing for Beatrice to follow. As she stepped out, her shoes sinking slightly into the gravel path, her heart raced. She took a moment to glance at the grandeur surrounding her—marble statues, fountains, and trimmed bushes.

Derin, who had just dismounted, cam to her side. He gave her a reassuring nod, though his gaze flickered with a hint of unease as well. Together, they walked toward the grand entrance. The air around them buzzed with the movement of courtiers, guards, and servants.

As they reached the grand doors, they were met by a well-dressed man in an embroidered tunic. His eyes took them in and he slightly bowed.

"Lord Haverton, Lady Anya," he said smoothly, "The palace has been expecting you. Follow me, please."

The man turned and led them through the grand halls of the palace. Beatrice's eyes darted around, taking in the gleaming marble floors, the towering columns, and the grand tapestries that adorned the walls. Every corner of the palace seemed to exude wealth and power, and she couldn't help but feel a slight pang of nervousness.

They came to stand in front of a door where the man asked them to wait. He went in for a brief moment and then came out.

"Prince Caelon is waiting for you inside," he said, stepping aside to allow them entry.

Lord Haverton went inside first and Beatrice followed closely behind, her mind racing as she stepped into the grand chamber. Just as Derin moved to accompany them, the man at the door raised a hand, barring his entry.