Chapter 2: Chapter 1 – Gentle Morning

Chapter 1 – Gentle Morning

The soft whisper of silk brushing wood broke the stillness of the room.

A sliver of golden light slipped between the curtains, then widened—flooding the pale stone floor with warmth. Dust motes sparkled lazily in the air, dancing like tiny stars.

Outside, a bird chirped once. Then silence again.

On a bed far too firm for her small frame, Aurelia Serenelle Veltria shifted under a thin, worn blanket. She didn't wake right away. It took time. Her limbs ached—not from injury, but from years of poor nutrition, weak muscles, and restless sleep.

Her body felt heavier than it should have for someone her age.

Aurelia Serenelle Veltria

She blinked slowly at the light, squinting against it. Her platinum-blonde hair spilled across the pillow, tangled and dull. It hadn’t been properly brushed in days.

“…Seraphina,” she murmured without opening her eyes, voice barely audible. “You did it again.”

There was no answer. There never was. At least, not this early.

Seraphina never spoke first thing in the morning. Instead, she let the sun speak for her. Every day, she would quietly open the curtains without a word—never forcing Aurelia awake, never scolding her for oversleeping. It was one of her silent kindnesses.

Aurelia slowly sat up, her movements careful. Even that simple action required effort. Her joints were stiff, and her hands trembled slightly as she pushed the blanket aside. Her nightgown—soft but old—hung loosely on her thin frame.

Her gaze wandered around the room.

It was large, as was every room in the imperial palace, but that was where its luxury ended. The floor was polished, but bare. The walls were plain, unadorned. The furniture was simple and functional: a desk, a chair, a small armoire. No paintings. No rugs. No golden trim or silken drapes like the other princesses had.

She was still a princess… on paper.

But not in the eyes of the court.

Aurelia slid off the bed, her bare feet touching the cool floor. She walked slowly to the window, her steps soft and soundless on the stone. Outside, the garden waited.

A small, overgrown patch of green.

No one tended it anymore. The flowers bloomed where they could, weeds curling between cracked stones. Ivy tangled across the edge of the courtyard like it was trying to hold it all together.

Still… it was beautiful. In a wild, forgotten way.

“I hope you grow again today,” she whispered to the flowers. “Even if no one looks at you.”

She placed one hand on the windowsill for balance and leaned forward, letting the sun warm her face.

---

Four years ago, this world had been different.

Four years ago, her mother had been alive.

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Lysandra Veltria—a gentle, quiet consort with a soft voice and the scent of rosemary. Her smile had been Aurelia’s entire world. They had lived in another wing of the palace, surrounded by music, books, fresh linens, and laughter. Not splendor, but warmth.

And Seraphina had always been there—her mother’s closest friend and confidante. She had carried Aurelia as a baby, sung to her when she had nightmares, combed her hair with calloused fingers that smelled faintly of ink and rose oil.

Then, Lysandra died.

No one told her how. There had been whispers—an accident, a fall, an illness, poison—but nothing spoken aloud. Just a vague ceremony, a short eulogy, and then… silence.

The day her mother was buried, everything else was taken too.

Aurelia had been moved. Her rooms stripped. Her dresses replaced with plainer ones. Her name no longer called with fondness.

She was no longer “the kind princess.”

She was just the sixth. The forgotten one. The mistake.

Even Empress Rovanna, the Emperor’s first wife, had made it clear: Aurelia was nothing. Her daughter—the Fourth Princess—followed suit, whispering rumors in the halls, mocking her at formal dinners, “accidentally” spilling ink on her schoolbooks.

And the Emperor?

He said nothing. Ever.

Aurelia no longer understood why.

---

She turned away from the window, rubbing her arms. The sun was warm, but it didn’t reach inside her. The chill had lived in her bones for years.

Her stomach rumbled faintly, but she ignored it. There might not be breakfast again.

She walked slowly to the chair by the window and sat down, curling her legs up beneath her.

Just wait.

Seraphina would come soon. She always did. With her quiet footsteps and faint scent of lavender. She never rushed, never scolded, never pitied. She didn’t speak unless spoken to—but when she did, her voice was low and steady, like something you could lean against.

Aurelia rested her cheek on her hand and stared at the patch of sunlight on the floor.

“I hope today’s quiet,” she said softly, almost to herself. “Just quiet is enough.”

The light kept growing across the stone.

___

Aurelia stood beside her bed, arms raised in a slow stretch, her fingers brushing the air. Her body moved sluggishly at first—frail and light, as if her limbs belonged to someone else. But she kept going, her motions careful and precise, warming the cold stiffness in her joints.

It was a little routine she did every morning. A habit not born from discipline, but necessity.

She wasn’t strong. Never had been.

Her small, petite frame lacked the softness or fullness her age should’ve brought. Her legs were thin, her shoulders narrow. She’d grown slower than the others—not because of illness, but simply because there hadn’t been enough warm meals, enough clean water, enough care.

The palace had quietly decided she didn’t need those things.

Still, she stretched. Still, she moved. Because Seraphina had told her it would help.

And right on cue, the door creaked open with a low wooden sigh.

A familiar voice—low, warm, and just a touch playful—drifted in like sunlight.

“You’re already awake, my lady?”

Aurelia turned, smiling softly. Her eyes lit up with a kind of brightness she rarely showed to anyone else.

Standing in the doorway, as she had every morning for years, was her maid. Her guardian. Her friend.

Seraphina.

Serephina

She looked almost exactly as Aurelia remembered from childhood. Short, chestnut brown hair, always tucked behind one ear. Kind brown eyes, a shade softer than amber. And that ever-present expression—not of duty, but of calm affection.

Though she was twenty-seven, she looked no older than twenty. Time had been generous to her—or perhaps she simply carried herself in a way that made age irrelevant. The palace air was harsh, but Seraphina remained untouched by it, like a flower blooming in winter.

She wore the same long maid dress she had for years. Black with a white apron. It fit her curves well—her chest full, her waist slim, her posture proud. But if one looked closely, they’d see the edges were slightly frayed, the stitching redone by hand. The color had faded in places. It was clean and dignified, but worn thin by time and neglect.

Still, she wore it like armor.

And when she smiled, everything else faded away.

Aurelia straightened her spine a little, trying to look confident.

“You’re early today,” she said with a proud nod.

Seraphina stepped into the room, carrying a small silver tray in both hands. “That’s good to hear,” she replied warmly. “And how’s your body this morning?”

In response, Aurelia puffed up her chest and flexed her thin arms with exaggerated flair—tiny biceps, no muscle, just skin and stubbornness.

“I’m feeling strong today,” she said. “Stronger than yesterday!”

Seraphina blinked once, then let out a soft laugh. A light giggle, not mocking—but full of genuine joy.

“Oh my, such strength. Should I start calling you the palace guard?”

Aurelia pouted, her cheeks puffing just slightly. “You dare tease your lady? Is it really that funny?”

Seraphina smiled, placing the tray gently on the small table by the window. “It is,” she said plainly.

The tray carried a cup of warm water and a slice of hard, dry bread—no butter, no fruit, no porridge. Just enough to say a meal had been given.

Seraphina looked down at it, her expression darkening for a moment. That quiet frown again—the one that came whenever they pushed a little further.

Even after all this time… they hadn’t stopped.

This food wasn’t meant for royalty. It wasn’t even fit for servants. And yet, it was what Aurelia had received today.

Again.

Aurelia, unfazed, reached for the bread without hesitation. But her hand barely touched the edge of the tray before Seraphina gently slapped it away with a practiced motion.

“Teeth first,” she said, in a tone that allowed no argument.

Aurelia pulled her hand back with a groan. “Why? I’m a princess in name only. A ghost in this palace. What does it matter?”

“It matters because I said so,” Seraphina replied, folding her arms. “And because even if the world forgets you, you don’t forget yourself.”

There was no anger in her voice. Just steady, motherly insistence.

Aurelia huffed dramatically but didn’t argue further. “Fine… fine.”

She shuffled toward the cold bathing room, dragging her feet slightly on the polished stone floor.

“It’s just cold water again, isn’t it?” she muttered.

Seraphina walked behind her at a respectful distance. “Of course. As always.”

“Then why are you smiling?”

Seraphina’s voice was soft as a whisper.

“Because you’re still walking.”

They left the food behind on the tray.

The stale bread could wait.

The sun was rising.

And morning, at least, had begun gently.