Hazel chuckled, reaching over to tweak Anastasia’s nose playfully. "Oh, don’t be such a brat, Ana. We’re all princesses,
"I’m the bigger one,"
"You’ll have plenty of attention at the celebration. You always do."
Anastasia swatted Hazel’s hand away, pouting even more. "I don’t care. I should get attention now."
Madison, still seated quietly by the window, glanced over at her younger sister. "You’re so loud, Anastasia. Can’t you let Rose have her mont? She’s just a little girl."
The room grew montarily quiet as the maids continued their work. Phillipa returned to her seat, her composure unshaken, while Hazel began humming a cheerful tune.
At long last, the girls were dressed and ready. Anastasia’s gown sparkled with silver embroidery, Madison’s pearls glimred softly against her pink dress, and Phillipa and Hazel stood together, the picture of poise and grace.
Little Rose, now calm, clung to Phillipa’s hand as they prepared to leave the chambers.
Phillipa glanced at the maids and nodded. "Thank you for your hard work. The girls look lovely."
The maids bowed deeply. "Thank you, Lady Phillipa."
As the group began to file out, Hazel leaned over to whisper to Madison, "Do you think there will be cake at the celebration?"
Madison smiled faintly, her hunger montarily forgotten. "I hope so."
Phillipa glanced back at them with a small, knowing smile. "Co along, everyone. The king’s birthday awaits."
And with that, the young ladies departed, leaving behind the bustling chamber as the maids sighed with relief, already dreading the next round of royal demands.
~~{────────
A week Earlier.
~~~~~~~~~~~~}~~~
The castle was heavy with rumors, its stone corridors whispering the tales of a hidden witch among the royals.
Servants spoke in hushed voices, nobles exchanged knowing glances, and even the guards seed to tread more carefully.
Salviana Velthorne was at the heart of it all, her fiery red hair and enigmatic deanor fueling speculation.
The accusations had only intensified since the two princesses, Christina and Jollene, were imprisoned in the dungeons for their treasonous sches.
So whispered that Salviana had used sorcery to expose them; others believed she had bewitched the king’s favor.
Yet amidst the storm of intrigue, Salviana remained calm, her composed exterior betraying none of the turmoil beneath.
It was during this ti of uncertainty that Little Rose, a young ward in the royal family, fell ill.
The child, no older than three, had been running a high fever for days.
Her pale cheeks were flushed, and her small body seed so frail against the massive bed she lay upon.
The maids tended to her as best they could, but nothing seed to ease her suffering.
When Salviana heard of the child’s condition, she insisted on visiting her.
Despite the rumors, or perhaps because of them, she felt a deep need to care for the little girl.
She knew what it was like to feel alone in a castle full of people.
"Are you sure it’s wise, my lady?" her lady-in-waiting, Jean, asked cautiously. "The whispers... they grow louder every day. If you visit the child now—"
"Let them whisper," Salviana interrupted softly, her voice firm. "I’m not afraid of their words. Rose needs soone, and I won’t abandon her."
Jean hesitated but eventually nodded, helping Salviana prepare for her visit.
The nursery was dimly lit, the heavy curtains drawn to block out the sunlight.
A faint scent of chamomile lingered in the air, an attempt by the maids to soothe the child’s discomfort.
Little Rose lay curled up under a quilt, her golden curls damp with sweat.
By her side was Emma, the toddling daughter of a chambermaid, who babbled softly, attempting to cheer her friend.
"Mama?" Emma said, her tiny voice breaking the silence as she looked up at Salviana when she entered the room.
She clapped her hands, her excitent lighting up her round face. "Mama!"
The maids froze, exchanging uneasy glances. Salviana smiled warmly, kneeling beside the toddler. "Not quite, little one," she said gently, brushing a strand of hair from Emma’s face. "But I’ll take it as a complint."
Little Rose stirred at the sound of Salviana’s voice.
Her glassy eyes opened slowly, and she blinked up at the striking figure before her. "Your hair... it’s so red," she murmured, her voice weak but filled with fascination.
Salviana sat down beside the bed, her gown pooling around her like molten fire. "Do you like it?" she asked, her tone playful.
Rose nodded, her tiny fingers reaching out hesitantly. "It’s like fire," she whispered.
Salviana leaned closer, letting the child touch her hair. "Fire can be warm and comforting, little one," she said softly. "Just like you’ll feel once you’re better."
The maids watched in awe as Salviana spoke to Rose with a tenderness that seed almost magical.
The little girl, who had been inconsolable for days, now seed calr in Salviana’s presence.
"Drink this," Salviana instructed, taking the bowl of broth the maids had left untouched on the bedside table.
She held it to Rose’s lips, her voice soothing. "Just a little. It will help you feel strong again."
Rose obeyed, sipping slowly as Salviana humd a soft tune. Emma, anwhile, toddled over and tugged on Salviana’s sleeve.
"Sing?" Emma asked, her big eyes pleading.
"Only if you sing with ," Salviana replied, earning a giggle from the toddler.
She began a gentle lullaby, her lodic voice filling the room with a sense of peace.
Rose’s eyelids grew heavy as she listened, her small body relaxing against the pillows.
As Salviana continued to care for Rose, one of the maids whispered to another, "Look at her. She’s no witch. Only soone with a kind heart could bring such comfort to a child."
"But what if it’s a spell?" the other maid replied nervously.
"Hush," Jean said, stepping forward. "Whatever it is, it’s working. Look at Little Rose."
And indeed, the child’s fever seed to lessen as the minutes passed.
Her cheeks regained a hint of color, and her breathing grew steadier.
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