Hi everybody! I'm still working on my other project (some of you may remember Mirrors of Ice; I'm waiting until it's nearly done before I show you it again), but I'm also writing this on the side for my cousin Sandra, who came up with the characters (except Hilda, who was originally called Haelin for absolutely no reason). 

I would appreciate any feedback on this, especially the last dinner scene. I think it could use major improvement, and I'd really love any constructive criticism.

Thank you so much! 

Kudos to whoever knows what other character of mine (who has also been on Vizzed) lives in this universe. Hint: read the lines about Hilda's gift closely.

(Note: it is an alternate universe; the characters' views on religion- and their made-up religion- are not necessarily my own or ones that I practice).


“I don’t see why it’s such a big deal,” Abigail said.

“Oh, come on. Like you wouldn’t complain if you were me,” Alexis gruffed, squeezing into a red dress.

“Isn’t she our age?”

“Like I care,” Alexis retorted, and clutched her stomach. “Ouf. I feel ill. I guess I’ll have to lie down.”

“No, you don’t,” Abigail chided. “You can’t avoid her forever, so just suck it up and give her the tour already.”

“Fine.” Alexis leaped up and twirled in front of the mirror, skirts splaying. “Good?”

“It’ll have to do,” Abigail said. “What time were you supposed to meet her?”

“Three,” Alexis said, fiddling with the arrangement of her bristling curls while one of her servants tried to run a brush through it.

“Then you’re ten minutes late,” Abigail said.

Alexis froze. One glance at the clock proved this to be painfully, woefully, true. “What?!” she wailed, swatting the servant away and taking the brush out of her hair. “Mother’s going to kill me! Hilda’s in the drawing room, and sweet Luna, I don’t even know what she looks like!”

Abigail raised an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you just ask?”

“Please come with me,” Alexis begged. “I can’t go alone.”

“Oh, like I know any better than you do,” Abigail retorted. “At least you’ve seen her before.”

“She was, I don’t know, four!” Alexis said. “A lot can change in thirteen years.” She gave a wide-eyed, pearly smile.
“You wouldn’t leave me alone, would you, Abby?”

Abigail sighed. “Let’s get a move-on before she decides to wander around herself.”


Princess Hilda of Izeokiey rubbed her arm while giving the scene another nervous, visual pat-down. A butler had welcomed her to the palace and led her to the sitting room, promising a member of the royal household would be along soon enough. The fact that she hadn’t met one of the court right away would probably have chafed with her parents, but Hilda wasn’t feeling too well at the moment and hadn’t even given it a second thought.

The butler had sped her through the palace so quickly she’d caught only glimpses of paintings, busts, stained glass, and chandeliers, nowhere near enough to be acquainted with the place. It would be accurate to say her entire experience of Lunaria had been so, the car going too rapidly that not only did the scenery blend into a monotonous roll, but she got carsick and had to lie down, eyes closed and nearly hyperventilating. The driver, noticing her plight, had slowed, but honestly more than half of it was nerves.

The drawing room was pleasant enough, she supposed. A fire danced in the hearth, giving a woodsy, sweet smell, and photographs of the royal family were above the mantle. She recognized none of them, despite a dim memory she had of the oldest one declaring that he would never step foot in her toyroom ‘because girls have cooties,’ when he couldn’t have been older than five or six. Hilda did her best to memorize the photos anyway as she sat on the couch. A low, oaken coffee table was laden with teas, candies, and nuts, but Hilda still felt too ill to contemplate tasting any sweets or having a sip of anything.

Hilda absentmindedly played with a curl of her hair as she dared to look at the clock again. Fifteen minutes late. Maybe she was early? Everything was so foreign and strange, and for a second she wondered if it was the custom to show up later than agreed in Lunaria, rather than ten minutes early as in Izeokiey. Surely, though, her parents would have warned her about it?

Her finger tightly wound in coils of hair, Hilda took a deep breath and tried to think of the ball next week, but that only stole the air right from her. They’d announce it at dinner, what she and Octavian were both dreading. She didn’t recall much of him, but he had a reputation with women that made it even it even to Izeokiey, leading her to the conclusion that he’d hate commitment as much as she would (if, albeit, for different reasons).
She briefly toyed with the idea of declaring herself a nun to avoid the whole matter when a door the corner propped itself open.

Hilda hadn’t even noticed she’d been bouncing her knee until she had to convert the movement into a standing transition. She tacked on a bright, beaming smile as two girls entered, one matching the portrait on the far right.
Hilda curtsied, eyes down. What fuzzy carpet, she thought. Just as she was mentally berating herself for noticing the carpet, of all things, at a time like this, the older of the two girls said, “Welcome to Lunaria, Princess Hilda of Izeokiey.”

They both curtsied too, but the younger one was glaring at the floor for some reason. Perhaps she was a hardwood kind of girl?

Don’t be ridiculous, Hilda chided herself. She doesn’t want to be here. Does she hate me or is there something else going on? She can’t possibly hate me already…

All three straightened at the same time, followed by a silence that made Hilda all too aware of the vacation her stomach seemed to be on. The girls exchanged glances, followed by the younger one sighing loudly. She crossed her arms and said, “I’m Alexis, third child of Queen Regina of Lunaria.” She gestured to the other. “This is Duchess Abigail of Heam, the daughter of my mother’s brother and cousin by blood. We’re going to show you around in the stead of my eldest brother Octavian.”

Relief flooded her immediately. Although a rational part of her knew that she’d have to meet him eventually, she couldn’t help but be grateful it’d been delayed by even a little. “Is he quite alright?” courtesy prompted her to ask.
“He’s fine. Things just had to be rearranged due to some unforeseen circumstances,” Abigail said, voice clipped.

Alexis winced, then made as if she wanted to move some of her brown curls out of her eyes, green like the tree in the middle of Izeokiey’s inner courtyard.

“I’m glad, then. Thank you for taking his place,” Hilda said. “It’s an honor to be visiting your prestigious court.” Her voice trembled at ‘visiting,’ and now it was her turn to keep from wincing. Act happy, Mother had said. That was all she had to do.

Thankfully, neither seemed to notice.

“My siblings will join us eventually,” Alexis said. “Be careful what you say around Scarlett, since she always calculates how to get the upper hand, and around Abigail- now she never stops talking, especially about other people, tha- Oww! What was that for?”

“What was what?” Abigail asked sweetly, removing her elbow from Alexis’s stomach.

That dreadful silence threatened to impose again, but Hilda smiled and said, “I’d be pleased to make their acquaintances, regardless.” Alexis gave her a look as if she’d declared herself Queen of the Sun, but Hilda continued,

“The palace is quite beautiful; I can’t wait to see it in its entirety.”

Was that not subtle enough? Or was it too subtle? Drat, she wasn’t good at this.

“Of course. Let’s get started. “Alexis shrugged. “Where first, Abigail? You pick.”

“I pick? Aren’t you supposed to be Madam Tour Guide?” Abigail replied.

“Um-“ Hilda called out. They turned to stare at her. “Do you have a chapel somewhere?” she asked meekly. “I want to send a quick prayer, since I got here quickly… It’s just a habit, I don’t mean to intrude or anything…”

“Lucky you, it’s just around the corner,” Alexis said.

“Really?” The chapel was hopefully the one place she could be comfortable, although she knew Lunaria had different gods than Izeokiey. Hilda didn’t mind, though- a chapel was a chapel, and her gods would accept her prayers regardless of where she was- they weren’t that finicky.

“No.” Alexis gestured widely. “It’s on the complete other side of the palace. Don’t you want to see the ballroom instead? It’s closer and more interesting- a win-win! I mean, seriously. You can’t want to walk all that way in those shoes- there’s at least four inches of heel on those.”

Hilda glanced down at her shoes. “I think you’re off by about two inches,” she said, “and I was sitting down for a while. I’ll be fine.”

“I really think you wouldn’t want to get blisters or something,” Alexis insisted.

“Just take her there,” Abigail said. “It wouldn’t kill you.”

“It might,” Alexis muttered. “I skipped the offering last week. The priest will have my head.”

“Then there’s nothing stopping you from giving it now,” Abigail said. “Skip too many and you’ll risk divine judgment.”

Alexis held up her hands in mock surrender. “Oh, dear; you’ve got me there!”

Hilda said nothing, though she personally would never skip an offering or even joke about it in such a manner. Maybe the Lunarian gods were more forgiving on the matter, which could explain Alexis’s carefree attitude towards them.
As the two Lunarian girls led her out of the room and down a lacquered hallway (so polished that it reflected Hilda like a perpendicular mirror), Hilda tried to memorize the route so she could find her own way in the time she’d be staying; already she decided it would be better not to ask Abigail and Alexis in the future.

She lost her trail, however, because of the palace’s maze-like structure. Everything about the place was formidable, with giant, overarching windows permitting entrance to a flood of sunlight. Sullen and thick wood or iron doors, all ornamented past practicality, seemed to stand as guards to hidden and suspicious passages. There were more paintings and framed photographs too, alternating between stiff, formal, unsmiling poses to more natural scenes of playing children and laughing adults.

The farther they went, the less frequent the photographs became, and more frequent the paintings. Eventually, they reached an area with windows of colored glass, hues fragmented. Lining the opposite wall were portraits of grim-faced men and women holding a jeweled scepter, circlets of light, woven silver or heavy crowns of gold resting on their temples.

“This is the hallway in front of the chapel,” Alexis said, breaking the silence she’d had up to this point.

“We call it the Hall of Remembrance,” Abigail broke in. “This is the place where we recall our honorable ancestors, the past kings and queens of Lunaria.” She pointed. “I’m only distantly related, but that queen over there was the one who fixed relations with Izeokiey about two hundred years ago and ended the Perpetual War.”
Hilda was familiar with her. Queen Theodora III. Hers was one of the few Lunarian names shining with pleasant light in Izeokieyan textbooks and historical annals.

“She also banned Roulinnian trade,” Alexis whined. “All our Roulinnian wine is in the vaults now. I think Mother opens a bottle once every twenty years.”

“Oh.” Hilda smiled shyly. “Is it that hard to get here?”

“Yeah, don’t brag,” Abigail said. “We all know Izeokiey is one of Roulinn’s top trading partners, and do not for the life of you bring it up in front of Regina if you value your head on your shoulders.”

“Well, that’s not where I was going with it,” Hilda said. “I meant to say, I brought a case of it. As a gift.”

The girls blinked blankly for a minute.

“You brought a whole case of it?” Alexis screeched.

“What year?” Abigail demanded.

“I think it’s 1846,” Hilda answered. “It’s my mother’s favorite year, and it’s rather hard to get even in Izeokiey… I understand something happened to the grape crop that year that made most of it too sour to drink, but I’m not that educated on the particulars of wine.” She could tell by their faces that they were beyond shocked. Roulinn’s wine was unrivaled, and good years could sell for thousands just in Izeokiey- she couldn’t even imagine how much it would be worth here.

“Why would you even do that?” Abigail breathed.

“I wouldn’t even give the gods a case of 1846 Roulinnian wine,” Alexis sighed, but her expression crumpled at Abigail’s glare.

“We just wanted to show our appreciation for everything,” Hilda replied, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. She wasn’t supposed to tell anyone before the announcement was made, she was pretty sure. She’d have to skirt around the issue. “Since my stay is going to be rather prolonged…”

“Is it now?” Alexis said. “You can stay as long as you like with that gift!”

“I just hope the queen won’t be offended,” Hilda added. “Since Roulinn was a former colony, I’m not sure it’s quite the best gift to offer.”

“Oh, please,” Abigail scoffed. “Her tastebuds overrule her pride.”

“As evidenced by the time we caught her pigging out with a whole bunch of those powdered fruit chews,” Alexis giggled.

“Uh…” Hilda faltered. How was she supposed to follow that?

“Quit making Hilda feel awkward,” Abigial said.

“I’m not making her feel awkward. Am I making you feel awkward?” Alexis asked, peering at her oddly.

Hilda had no idea how to respond. Yes, perhaps a bit, but there was no way she was going to admit it. “Erm, no.”

“Yes, you are. You can hear it in her voice. She hesitated,” Abigail said. “Listen, you can be all fake-polite as much as you want with everyone else, but it personally makes me sick.” She stuck out her tongue. “Okay?”

“Sure,” Hilda said. “I guess.”

“That’s progress,” Alexis said.

“She was probably raised better than we were,” Abigail sighed.

“Probably,” Alexis agreed.

“I’m sure your parents did an adequate… um…”

“All parents suck,” Abigail said, pointing at Alexis. “Especially hers.”

“Careful, there, Abby,” Alexis laughed. “You wouldn’t want your queen to hear that and sentence you to the dungeons for treason!”

They resumed walking, and when they stopped again, it was in front of a set of double doors, an image of the sun painted on the left and one of the moon on the right. It was not the pattern Izeokiey’s chapels so often used to identify themselves, but it was a familiar motif of Lunarian religion (Hilda had done her studying), and she guessed that this was the destination.

“In you go,” Abigail said. “We’ll wait here, unless Alexis wants to go in and prove her reverence with you.”

“I’ll prove it later,” Alexis said. “I’m good for now.”

“Are you sure?” Hilda ventured.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s not like the gods or the chapel are going anywhere,” Alexis dismissed. “If I’m wrong, may they show me the err of my ways.”

“That’s just asking for it,” Abigial shook her head. “Ignore that heretic, Hilda.”


The inside of the chapel was dim but warmer than the cool hallways outside, candlelight at the base of marble statues providing the sole light. At the head of the chapel, an altar with nine candlesticks, one for each of the Lunarian gods, was draped with blue embroidered cloth. Behind it stood a priest in a violet cassock, in the process of lighting the candles- one each hour- and catching sight of Hilda, he nodded his greetings.

“Hello, child,” he said. “I’ve yet to have seen your face here before. Are you new to the palace?”

“Yes,” she answered.

“I hope to see you often,” he replied. “The gods smile upon the pious.”

“Yes,” she agreed, stepping down the long aisle between the pews to him. “Might I have a spare candle for a prayer?”

The priest nodded. “Izeokieyan, are you? You have their accent.”

Hilda blushed. “I hope your gods will not take offense at praying to mine in their house.”

“Your gods and ours are kindred. I doubt it shall rankle them too badly, but just in case, it wouldn’t hurt lighting some candles for them.”

“I cannot do that,” Hilda asserted firmly.

“Very well.” The priest turned and grabbed a candle from a box between two statues and handed it to her. “This one will burn for about twenty minutes. Is your custom the same as ours?”

“We pray until the candle’s flame is no more,” Hilda said. “If that is what you mean, then yes.”

He nodded. “I leave you to your prayers, then.” The priest frowned at a candle that had burned itself out in front of Solus’s statue and moved to light it while Hilda lit hers and then retreated to a corner to send her prayers to her patron goddess, Adlin. The goddess of sky and freedom, Adlin had protected her family for generations, and when Hilda was sixteen years old, just last year, the Head Priest of Izeokiey had a vision in which Adlin had promised to make her the greatest of her bloodline. It was met with much rejoicing by her parents and much bewilderment (and fear) by Hilda, but she had yet to doubt it. Maybe the impending events were Adlin’s plan for getting her there.

Nonetheless, within a minute into her prayers, Hilda was in tears.



“It’s been twenty minutes,” Alexis said. “I hope she didn’t ask for a really long candle.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Abigail replied. “Unlike you, she has a sense of politeness. I’m sure she wouldn’t keep us waiting too long. Why don’t you go in and check on her?”

Alexis sighed. “Okay, but if I don’t come out alive, I want you to tell everyone the priest did it.”

Abigail rolled her eyes as Alexis pushed open the doors, not taking any consideration of the booming noise they made when they were thrust apart. The Lunarian princess strode down the aisle stiffly, and nearly yelped when the priest called out, “Here to finally offer your prayers, my child?”

“I’m here to get Princess Hilda,” Alexis said, “not waste my time playing with lights.”

The priest’s eyes narrowed. “You will bring misfortune upon yourself and your bloodline with that attitude.” He pointed to Hilda, who had the candleholder clasped between her hands as the last of the candle melted into a pool of wax, eyes closed and cheeks stained. “Izeokiey’s gods are fortunate to have an adherent like her, while you mock ours with your irreverence.”

“Like I said, I don’t have time,” Alexis whined. “I send plenty of offerings on the solstices and the holidays. If that doesn’t keep them happy, then I don’t know what will.”

Hearing her voice, Hilda looked up and tried to smile, but it faltered and fell. The priest swept upon her and took the candleholder from her, then gently prodded her towards Alexis. “Come back any time,” he said. “That goes for the both of you, Alexis.”

“Good prayers?” Alexis asked, taking one look at her and seeing that the girl was an emotional mess.

“Uh-huh,” Hilda replied distantly as Alexis grabbed her hand and dragged her out of the chapel.

~Intermezzo~
I look into those eyes, those cerulean eyes with irises so blue they almost blend in with the whites, and I beam widely, because eyes like those need a hint of tenderness.
“What are you crying for? You’re going to love it here,” I promise.
In my country, we usually say what people want to hear.
She shakes her head, disbelieving, and I only continue talking, babbling on and on to push her discomfort away before it makes me uncomfortable too. My cousin follows behind us, making casual comments on my chatter, but it’s all empty noise, all meant to distract, to evade, to avoid.
It’s kind of a national tradition.
We keep this up for what seems like hours, from room to room and hall to hall, and the only time this stops is when she points to a pink stain, at which a maid is furiously scrubbing, and with a bemused expression- how can she not be? The stain completely stands out compared to everything else- asks how it got there.
Abigail laughs but offers no explanation, and I resist the urge to join her. “It’s nothing,” I lie.


Princess Scarlett of Lunaria, the eldest of Regina’s daughters and second in line to the throne, turned heads when she strode into the dining hall- five minutes late, but that was to be expected from her; she had an air of elegance that lent itself to her fashionably late appearances. She’d purposefully chosen one of her better outfits for tonight, one that accentuated her near-divine curves. Her jewelry only called attention to her eyes, and her hair, pinned and styled to perfection, was definitely a work of art.

Octavian’s jaw dropped, since he seemed to have forgotten he had a younger sister who actually knew how to formulate outfits (unlike Alexis, who appeared to have been wearing the same thing since three o’clock, and her make-up had already smudged).

Scarlett only hoped that she’d put this foreign princess off-guard.

Princess Hilda smiled her greeting, and Scarlett gave her an equally fake one back. There was no way on Aelinn that smile was real.

Scarlett took a moment to smooth her skirts once she sat at Octavian’s right, next to Abigail. Scarlett had never been able to stand her cousin, and it took a measure of composure not to sneer at Abigail’s look of disbelief at her awe-inspiring beauty.

“Glad you could join us,” Regina said coolly. “I was worried it may have slipped your mind.” She sent her daughter a glare across the table, and Scarlett merely turned to Abigail and asked if the first course was over yet.

Abigail’s gaze darted between Regina and Scarlett. Her mouth opened and closed several times, but then Hilda said,
“We’ve just had the appetizers. Her Majesty thought it best to wait for you.”

“I am honored,” Scarlett said, and gave her mother what she hoped was a grateful look. She had to be on Regina’s good graces by the end of this, because she had plans for tonight, plans she hoped her mother would look the other way for.

The first course whizzed by, Scarlett not even touching it. She laughed at Alexis’s lame jokes, pretended to be interested when Regina asked Hilda questions about her childhood, and tried not to scoff at every little thing Abigail said. The only bright spots were Gwen and James, the youngest of the royal family. Seven and eight years old, respectively, they were squirming in their seats and interrupting nearly every word.

“Does Izeokiey really have a giant tree in the palace?” Gwen broke in as Hilda was telling King Charles how beautiful it looked lit with lights at the Winter Festival (her favorite holiday; Hilda was remarkably religious, and Regina found that just ‘precious’).

“Yes,” Hilda answered.

“What kind is it?” James added.

“It’s ash, I believe,” Hilda replied. “Forgive me; botany is not my area of expertise.”

“How did the tree not break the palace when it grew?” Gwen said, wide-eyed. “I don’t believe you, you know. No one has a giant tree in their palace.”

“The palace was built around the tree,” Hilda said. “It was already there when we settled Izeokiey.”

“So why did you build there?” James said, heaping mashed potatoes onto his spoon.

“Because the gods said-“ Hilda began, but a moment of shock overtook her when the mashed potatoes landed on her face.

Scarlett let herself smile a little there while Regina grew promptly red in the face.

Hilda only laughed and wiped it off with her napkin. “You should be careful,” she warned James. “I have better aim than that.”

At this point, Octavian cleared his throat loudly. “What now?” Regina snapped, her patience evidently running thin.

“Can we just get this over with?” he asked, and Hilda stiffened. Scarlett clasped her hands together and leaned forward in her chair. Abigail frowned and started doing her annoying mouthing-words-to-each-other thing with Alexis. Their silent conversation could have gone on for hours if Regina hadn’t spoken again.

“You two, stop it! We have guests at the table.” Then to Octavian she said, “It hasn’t even been the end of the meal yet.”

“I don’t care,” he said. “The sooner the better.”

Hilda sighed. “Are you all righ-“

“No, I’m not!” he retorted. “Don’t get involved.”

“This is about me too. I thought maybe you’re upset that-“

“I am not upset that we’re getting married!” Octavian bellowed.

Alexis dropped her fork. Abigail took a deep breath, James and Gwen started screaming, and Scarlett merely took a bite of her steak. After a too-long moment, Hilda ventured again, “Then what is it, Prince Octavian?”

“He’s just nervous,” Regina cut in. “That’s all it is. Scarlett, show Hilda to her chambers, please. The rest of you are dismissed.”

Scarlett didn’t need to point out that Octavian’s outburst had just resulted in a ginormous flop. Hilda stood, blushing profusely and vomiting apologies, but Scarlett ignored her until they were in the hallway. Then she turned and said,

“You want to know why he really doesn’t want to marry you?”

Hilda said nothing but stared at her like a moth caught in light.

“Because he has at least ten girlfriends,” Scarlett answered, “and I’m sorry to say, but he probably will after he marries you too.”