SHADOW

The princess

The garden was filled with a dirty light, filtered through the dense canopy of trees covered in purple blooms.

Princess Iolanda was a sight to behold. Her pale tresses seemed more white than blonde, depending on the light. The purplish glow cast strange shadows across her alabaster face, giving her a cold, frosty beauty—the beauty of an ice princess. Her eyes were pale grey—or was it blue?—so light you could barely discern the color. She looked like a delicate porcelain doll, her long, elegant fingers clasping a fan with dainty grace.

"This hibiscusarium is incredible. Your staff makes great drinks," she said, sipping daintily at the red, sloshing mixture of hibiscus, honey, and other spices. It seemed to be a favorite in this part of the country. People adored the drink, which looked like fresh blood in daylight. It smelled slightly metallic, mingled with honey and flowers.

Sha despised it. But to each their own.

The princess's full attention was on the Count—as if her entire universe revolved around him. Her eyes didn't leave his frame for a single second. She didn't acknowledge Sha's presence for several minutes. Then, suddenly, with far too much intrigue and enthusiasm, she stood up and began inspecting her—prodding her, touching her hair, walking around her as one might circle a statue in a museum.

"Well, well, my dear Luka," she said, her voice teasing. "She looks so... veritable. If I didn't know better, I'd say she really is your sister—or daughter."

"I'm glad you appreciate my choice," he chuckled, glancing at Sha with a look of appreciation.

He even smiled a little, and Sha didn't know how to interpret it. Was he smiling because the princess liked his choice? Or was he smiling at her?

It was too complicated. Watching his lips, seeing him so close, the memory of their kiss in the carriage hit her again—like tormenting ants crawling into her brain. She tried to push it away.

How could he smile so genuinely, so lovingly at the princess, when just a short time ago he had kissed her so passionately it had made her feel like she was his universe—not this pale porcelain doll?

There was jealousy in Sha's heart. She knew it. But what could she do?

The princess was, after all, a princess. And she—Sha—was just a mere girl. A poor farm girl. No—not even a farm girl anymore. Farmless.

She wanted to cry, but that would be childish. She should thank the universe that nothing worse had happened to her—that it was only her heart that was broken, not her body or mind.

She could have ended up with some old pervert. Or worse.

Drinking stupid hibiscus and being perused by a princess was not the same as working in the mining labor camps.

She sat still, smiled politely, and tried to push her thoughts toward the vanilla muffins the kitchen might have prepared.

She stiffened when the princess stopped behind her and touched her black hair.

"How beautiful it is. A river of raven feathers," the princess said.

In that moment, Sha froze. A piercing ache crawled across her scalp as the princess tugged—harshly—on a lock of hair at her back.

She didn't dare cry out or utter a sound. She just bit her lower lip and endured those few seconds in silence. Seconds that felt like hours, as if that piece of her scalp might tear away from her cranium.

So the beautiful doll had a mean streak, did she?

Was this princess jealous of her?