The air in the private chambers was thick with the scent of jasmine and exotic oils, a stark contrast to the dust and iron of the Western Front. Steam still clung to the polished obsidian tiles of the spacious bathing room as she emerged, a vision of ethereal grace. Her silver hair, a cascade of moonlight, fell past her waist, shimmering with residual moisture. Her face, confident and striking, bore features that could only belong to an Astralborn, sharp and aristocratic, yet softened by a subtle, almost predatory, allure. And her body, flawless and sculpted, moved with an innate elegance, each curve and line a testament to rigorous discipline and inherent beauty.
This was Louise Astralborn, the Eleventh Princess of the Astrean Empire, a name whispered in both admiration and caution throughout the court. She reached for a plush, embroidered towel, dabbing at the droplets clinging to her skin before moving towards the open archway leading to her dressing room.
"Daisy," she called, her voice a melodious contralto that carried effortlessly through the luxurious space.
A young woman, slender and efficient, materialized from the shadows, her hands already moving towards a rack of meticulously arranged gowns. Daisy, her aide, possessed the quiet competence that came from years of serving a princess of Louise's exacting standards.
"Your Royal Highness?" Daisy's voice was soft, deferential.
"Any news from the Western Front?" Louise asked, her fingers tracing the intricate embroidery on a midnight-blue silk gown. She wasn't truly asking for news; she was asking for confirmation of an expectation.
Daisy paused, selecting a gown of deep emerald velvet. "Yes, Your Royal Highness. Prince Asher has won the battle. He is returning to the capital as we speak."
A small, almost imperceptible smirk played on Louise's lips. "That monster is still alive? Well, I wouldn't expect anything less." The words were laced with a peculiar blend of disdain and grudging respect. It was the way she always spoke of Asher, a brother she rarely saw but whose shadow loomed large even from across the Empire.
"Indeed, Your Royal Highness," Daisy affirmed, her expression unreadable. "Further reports indicate that Prince Asher was on the front lines for the entirety of the engagement. His personal involvement is credited with significantly reducing our casualties."
Louise simply scoffed, a dismissive flick of her wrist. "That's daily news, Daisy. If possible, tell me something new." She didn't need to hear about Asher's effectiveness in battle; it was a given, an almost tedious constant in the chronicles of the Empire.
Daisy, accustomed to her mistress's demanding nature, immediately shifted gears. "There is something else, Your Royal Highness. Immediately after the battle concluded, His Majesty summoned Prince Asher back to the Imperial Capital."
Louise paused, her hand hovering over the emerald velvet.
"When Prince Asher was returning, and off-guard, a group of forty assassins launched a surprise attack on him." Daisy delivered the information with a practiced calm, as if reporting the weather.
Louise's eyes, a glacial blue, sharpened with interest. "Then what happened?" she prompted, her voice tight with anticipation.
"Prince Asher killed twenty-one of them," Daisy stated, her gaze unwavering, "and then escaped."
A beat of silence hung in the air. Then, a sound erupted from Louise's throat. It began as a low chuckle, a rich, throaty sound that quickly escalated into full, uninhibited laughter.
"Twenty-one," Louise repeated, the word laced with a dark delight as her laughter slowly subsided. "As expected of my Asher." She finally picked up the emerald gown, holding it against herself.
She ran a hand through her silver hair, still damp from her bath. She chose the emerald velvet gown, its rich color a striking complement to her fair skin. Daisy, ever efficient, began to help her into it.
"Do you believe someone from the Imperial Palace was behind this, Your Royal Highness?" Daisy asked, her voice hushed, her gaze fixed on the intricate lacing of the gown.
Louise scoffed, a soft, dismissive sound. "No, Daisy. Absolutely not." Her fingers delicately adjusted a fold of the velvet. "While it would certainly be a strategically sound plan to eliminate Asher when he is utterly spent, exhausted from months of campaigning… no one within these walls would dare."
She paused, allowing the weight of her words to settle. "Consider the Emperor. If Asher were to die, His Majesty would undoubtedly have his most trusted aides launch a full-scale investigation. Such an inquiry would be relentless, ruthless. It would surely unearth the truth, and the perpetrator would then face the full, unadulterated wrath of Emperor Theron. Even the most ambitious of my siblings are not that foolish."
Louise's gaze drifted to the ornate window, staring out at the gilded spires of the capital. "No, this reeks of an outside hand. Another empire, perhaps, testing our resolve, or simply trying to destabilize us further."
She continued, her voice gaining a cold, calculating edge. "Furthermore, there are no signs of this war ending soon. And Asher, despite his… peculiarities, is undeniably our best commander. He possesses a rare combination of strategic acumen and raw battlefield prowess. Getting him killed at this juncture would not be logical at all for anyone truly within the Imperial structure. It weakens the entire Empire, not just a rival prince."
Daisy nodded, accepting her mistress's reasoning without question. Louise then turned her attention back to the mundane, the endless cycle of imperial duties that awaited her.
"Now, Daisy," she said, a crispness returning to her tone, "what does my schedule hold for today?"
Daisy consulted a small, leather-bound planner. "Your Royal Highness, your day includes talks on foreign matters concerning the recent trade disputes with the Veridian Commonwealth, attending the mid-morning ceremony for the fallen soldiers of the Northern Legion, followed by the review of the new garrison deployments along the Eastern Border, and then the evening reception for the visiting dignitaries from the Sunstone Kingdom."
Louise sighed, a barely perceptible exhalation. "Very well. Let us begin."
The emerald velvet, cool and luxurious, settled around Louise's form as Daisy meticulously fastened the myriad tiny buttons that ran down her spine. The process was slow, deliberate, a ritual of transformation from the private individual to the public persona. As the last button clicked into place, Louise straightened, her reflection in the full-length gilded mirror showing a princess poised, regal, and utterly in command. Her silver hair, now perfectly coiled and adorned with delicate jewels, framed a face that betrayed no hint of the earlier dark amusement.
"The Northern Legion ceremony first, Daisy," Louise commanded, her voice crisp and efficient. "It's imperative to show solidarity with the fallen, to remind the people that even in victory, we acknowledge sacrifice." Her words were perfectly calibrated, a blend of genuine respect for the institution and a keen awareness of public perception.
As they moved through the opulent corridors of the palace, the murmur of courtly life swelled around them. Courtiers bowed deeply, guards saluted, and whispers followed in their wake. Louise acknowledged them all with a cool, regal nod, her eyes missing nothing. She saw the eager ambition in some, the veiled contempt in others, the simple fear in most. Each glance, each whisper, was data, meticulously collected and filed away in her formidable mind.
The mid-morning ceremony for the fallen soldiers of the Northern Legion was a somber affair, held in the Grand Courtyard. A somber crowd of grieving families, grizzled veterans, and palace officials gathered under a sky that seemed to echo the muted grief. Louise stood perfectly still, her posture impeccable, her expression a mask of appropriate solemnity. She delivered a brief, eloquent speech, her voice carrying across the courtyard with surprising warmth, speaking of duty, sacrifice, and the enduring spirit of the Astrean Empire. She even managed to conjure a single, perfectly placed tear that traced a path down her cheek, a subtle touch that would undoubtedly be recounted and admired throughout the court for days. It was a performance, a necessary one, and she executed it flawlessly.
After the ceremony, the grim reality of imperial governance resumed.