Shadowless

Prologue

Princess Mirabella gazed at the reflection in the window. A beautiful young lady stared coolly back at her, blue eyes standing out in her face with the help of her silver eye shadow so gently coloured on by the most expertly trained make-up artists in the kingdom. Her beautiful pale skin shone in moonlight, without spot or blemish, almost white, with pink powder sprinkled lightly on her cheekbones. Perfectly curled hair lay expertly placed on her shoulders, short as was the new fashion, the most beautiful golden colour that made young girls across the country sigh and finger their own hair wistfully. Her lips were painted a beautiful deep red, the colour of blood. She stood tall and regal, her back ramrod straight, her curved body covered with a beautiful dress the same colour of her lips. High-heeled shoes were slipped onto her feet, and a little red bow was clipped onto her hair. Any other girl looking in the window would wish that her reflection was as beautiful as the lady’s. But for Princess Mirabella, the girl was her own reflection.

Tossing her hair, she turned from the window and studied her room. Her four-poster bed was made up with satin bedding, red, of course. Her walls were a pale cream colour, with red trimmings along the top and bottom. The carpet was soft red wool, and a white rug was strategically placed in front of her vanity. The ruffles and mini-skirt of the vanity were red, and the carved wood was white. A silver chandelier hung from the ceiling, and beautiful paintings were hung on the wall. Mirabella frowned slightly when she saw one of the paintings on a slight angle. She’d call her maid to fix it later.

A gentle knock was heard at the door. Her maid, Jena, peeked her head in.

“May I come in, your Highness?”

“What do you want, Jena?” Mirabella asked, bored.

“You have a visitor, your Highness. You have been asked to come out and meet her.”

Mirabella glanced down at her skirt, fingering a crease. “I cannot turn meet with my visitor in this excuse of a dress. Bring out another!”

Any other girl would have cut off her right hand for a dress like Mirabella’s. Being a princess, Mirabella tired of dresses after wearing them for a day, and would demand for another. Jena bowed her head and scurried into the wardrobe to find her mistress another dress.

“Will this do?’ Jena asked, holding up a blue dress with little bows around the hem.

“Blue? Who do you think I am? Get me another dress. In red!”

Jena nodded, and hurried back into the wardrobe for another. She emerged holding a red dress with a ruffled skirt.

“That’s better. Dress me!”

Jena helped her mistress out of the unwanted dress and pulled the new one over her fair head. After quickly checking her hair, Jena opened the door, and bowed as her mistress strolled out.

She sauntered down the marble steps, scarlet fan in hand, into the ballroom where the visitor would be waiting. She found a young girl, not as old as herself, waiting in the company of two guards and the King’s advisor.

“Your highness.” The guards and advisor bowed low. The girl stayed as she was.

Mirabella frowned. “Who are you that will not bow to me?” she asked.

“I am Isabel, and I bow to no one but the King,” the young girl responded.

Mirabella studied the girl. She was slim, about twenty-one, average height for her age, and wore a long flowing cloak of black satin with a hood that shadowed her face. Her coal black hair fell in waves against her back, and her cinnamon-brown skin glowed in the light. From what little light revealed her facial features, Mirabella could make out the girls eyes, the colour of chocolate; dark, revealing nothing. They held a light that suggested that the girl knew more than she was letting on. She was beautiful, in a fragile, mysterious kind of way, yet a steady flow of power and strength seeped from the folds of her cloak. Mirabella was instantly jealous of her, of what, she didn’t know.