Arriving in her room, Pricilla was hardly in the mood to marvel at the exquisite wall paintings and tapestries or be awed by the silver-encrusted furniture and silk draperies hanging from the bedposts. Just as the door closed behind her, she set her rage free. One of her embroidered slippers flew across the room and bounced off the window, the other one - finding Bessie’s face as its target. The maid cried out, more due to surprise than pain, but this only enraged Pricilla even more. Her fists drummed on the side and back of the servant, accompanied by stifled shrieks and curses. Only when Bessie squatted on the floor hugging her knees did her mistress’ outburst subside.

Pricilla stormed towards the small oriel and ripped the window open, breathing in the fresh air and suppressing the urge to vomit. She shook and her eyes burned with tears, the indignation in her heart almost choking her to death.

That low-born, disfigured monster! How dare he treat her like filth!? That soulless gaze he had given her had frozen her very soul for a moment. As if the thing before his eyes hadn’t been a beautiful woman but something disgusting and rotten. Was he made of stone and ice? Or was he not only disfigured but also impotent? Or maybe he thought himself better than her? Her! A full-blooded Limerian noble from a lineage spanning back to the creation of the empire. A slave-born bastard dared look down on her?! She remembered him wiping his hands in his doublet after letting her fall on the ground. How dare he do that!? And if her precious child got injured because of that brute!? Mannerless savage!

‘Calm down, calm down! Too much stress could harm the baby. That beast isn’t worth it.’

Despite her attempts to rein her anger, she still couldn’t let go of the duke’s image - cold, unapproachable, wild. He wasn’t a man but a force of nature. And yet, the way he treated that mistborn thing compared to her, the one genuine lady, was disgustingly different!

Pricilla gnawed on the nail of her thumb, the image of the duke and her harlot-of-a-sister dancing before her eyes. That bitch… She must be opening her legs regularly for that monster to be able to act as haughty as she did. But what kind of trick did she use to catch him in her snares? Did she drug him? After all, she liked to play with that stinking old physician. Heh, maybe the old lecher had taught her this or that between the sheets besides medicine. Otherwise, with that scrawny build, narrow hips, and unremarkable breasts only a prisoner would find her attractive. Then again, the Beast of Norden could probably only get laid with money or violence, the latter being most likely.

“That fool just has no idea what I’m offering him,” she mumbled. “Feeding pearls to a pig… But he won’t be so ignorant for long.”

With a snort, Pricilla threw a passing glance at the large courtyard her room was facing. The huge wings of the castle encircled a broad piece of land, rimmed by carefully trimmed trees, flowerbeds, and blooming bushes. It was rugged but it could almost pass as beautiful.

As Pricilla’s eyes wandered around, they spotted two figures casually strolling hand in hand. No, not hand in hand but more like sewn together! A hiss escaped her lips:

“You damn tramp!”

With a bang, Pricilla closed the window, making the fine glass facets shake in their lead frames. Spinning around, she rushed to the still-quivering Bessie and gave her a kick.

“Get up. Bring water for my bath and start unpacking, you useless thing. And if you dare damage anything, I won’t give you the next dose.”

***

Clear starry sky spread over Thighs-pass Fjord, driving away the sunset. In the light of the last fading rays, Castle Ildemar looked like a pearl embedded into a horizon of lapis lazuli and diamonds. Every window of the Great Hall spilled warm orange light into the night, the fragrance of grilled meats, fresh bread, and luscious dishes seeping through its doors making anyone and anything with a nose in the vicinity drool. Soft music danced in the air, caressing the ear but not disturbing the conversations of the ones gathered around the long, festive tables.

Sitting at the head table next to her father, Pricilla looked at the gathered people and frowned. Mixed amongst the velvets, silks and gold of the Limerian nobility, there were those northern savages with glass and bone beads in their hair, strangely embroidered tunics, and, for some reason, blue dots forming something like a paw-print painted on their foreheads. Even on the high table of the lords sat a white-haired old thing with layers upon layers of colorful garments piled upon its gaunt body. On its wrinkled forehead, two intersecting crescent moons were painted in blue. The... woman, or whatever that scarecrow was, was nonchalantly smoking and throwing curious glances in her direction. Well, it was natural for a wildling to gawk at her. She had put a lot of effort into it.

Pricilla elegantly lifted her goblet and took a sip of the actually not-so-bad wine, her lips curving up. For tonight she had made sure to show the full extent of the elegance and stylish trends of the capital to these backwater peasants. Her dress was golden - the most popular color in Limris, thanks to Crown Princess Zoraidar - and golden was every single part of it, from the finely embroidered flowers to the ribbons pulling up the hem of the upper skirt to reveal the satin golden underdress. The deep cleavage flared like the wings of a bird, barely touching her shoulders, and even said shoulders had a sparkling layer of golden dust applied to them. Heavy gold and ruby bracelets and earrings were chosen to fit with the lavishly adorned necklace that followed and accentuated the folds of her bosom. As a finishing touch, golden rings were entangled in her hair, creating a halo around her head. Without a doubt, tonight she was an indisputable queen, a goddess made flesh, and the thirsting gazes following her were proof enough.

Next to her, her father downed his third cup and grumbled loudly:

“How long do they intend to make us wait!?”

“Even though you’ve been in the Capital for just a few months, as a count of the Empire you should be familiar with High-Court Protocol,” rumbled a one-eyed old man in flaming-red garments. “At noble gatherings, members of the Imperial Household are the last to enter. And you, Count, and your gilded offspring were already twenty minutes late.”

“Members of the Imperial Household?” Her father snorted but caught the menacing glare of the old man. “I mean… Why so formal? We are family after all.”

“It seems that no one at the Crown Prince’s palace has instructed you on the matter.” Now a tall black-skinned Marzbanati interfered in the conversation. “The Palace envoys are not only here to inspect the tax books and make preparations for the Crown Prince’s arrival. It is also a rehearsal for the welcoming of the imperial guests at the end of summer.”

“Well, it seems Norden lacks common sense and basic etiquette if they allow lowly slaves to sit at the same table with their guests.”

At the words of her father, Pricilla’s face quivered with disgust. Really!? She was sharing a table with a dirty slave!? And not any table but the High Table of the castle lord! Indeed, her father was not mistaken, she had seen tattoos like the one the woman had around her eyes on some of the slaves of Primate Ambrosinus and Lionel. Maybe that lowlife had snuck in, using the ignorance of the northern peasants.

Pursing her lips, Pricilla was about to raise her voice and drive the dirty slave away when a low, bone-chilling rumble made her gulp.

“There are no slaves in Norden, you bloated wineskin.” The one-eyed lord rolled his meat knife between his fingers with a rigid expression. “And even if they were, don’t you think there is a reason why she is allowed to sit up here? Or maybe your puny brain is so soggy from wine and fuck that it can’t produce a coherent thought?”

“Count De Moran! The audacity-”

“Entering!” A man with curly reddish-brown hair and the attire of a Castellan banged his staff. “Their Highnesses, The Rulers of Norden, Duke Noah Lux Norden and Duchess Lorelei Norden. Arise!”

With the clamor of scraping chairs and low whispers, the guests sprang to their feet. The big doors of the hall opened and a uniform gasp welcomed the hosts. Eyeing the approaching couple, Pricilla lost control of her jaw and just gaped at the woman walking next to the perpetually black-clad duke. This… How could this be her sister?!

What hugged the duchess’ body was a piece of a stormy winter sky. With every step she took, the folds of her indigo dress suddenly shimmered in silver, as if illuminated by lightning. From the middle of the skirt, thousands of small crystals created patterns reminiscent of falling snow, their count increasing until they reached the hem and turned into a field of glittering, impeccable whiteness. The inner sleeves of the gown were tight-fitting and created the effect of frost crawling up Lorelei’s arms. The outer sleeves were cut up to the shoulder and hanging like a pair of pearl wings, fluttering and ready to take flight at any moment. A silver ornament in the shape of a crescent moon was held captive by the intricate braids of her hair, clusters of tiny silver bells hanging from its horns, their rustling melody akin to prattling water and whispering wind. No other jewel but a single swallow-shaped bronze brooch decorated her bosom. With a flowing step and head held high, the duchess looked like an otherworldly creature. As she came closer, one could smell her perfume. Even its scent was reminiscent of snowy woods and spring fields.

“Long live Norden!” the one-eyed noble suddenly bellowed. “Long live our lords - The Guardian Star and the White Swallow!”