"I'm sorry to bother you my lady, but your aunt has come to see you." Verena said, throwing the curtains open and after dropping into a quick curtsey, scurried out to prepare her morning dress.

Elizabeth stretched herself on her bed before hopping out to greet the Marchioness. It wasn't the most ideal of times, but her aunt had always been a morning lady, much to her and her father's chagrin, due to the odd hours of the morning on which she used to welcome herself in Yardwell, forcing them to abandon beds and keep guard on the doorstep.

Thus, it didn't surprise Elizabeth to find her aunt perched elegantly on the golden-cushioned chair in the room, all washed and dressed at the ungodly hour of the morrow. She wasn't glad to find her aunt intruding on her precious hours of the day-the only ones when her heart and mind, both were at peace.

But a look at the Marchioness said that she wasn't glad either. Her aging, though unlined face now had crinkles of worry spread across her face. It was a strange look on her aunt. She looked worried, and confused. And that alarmed her.

Because the fact that her aunt and her daughter were the last ones to drown in the pools of confusion wasn't lost to her.

The thought snapped her back to senses, worry clouding her mind. This wasn't an early morning call for getting her ready for the day-this was something important. Far more important than that.

Elizabeth straightened her night robes and slowly crept towards her aunt.

"Oh...good morning, Elizabeth. Did you sleep well?" Her aunt questioned her in the most casual way possible. Elizabeth merely nodded.

"Good good! You have a long day ahead of you, and it is important for you have a relaxed..."

Elizabeth chose this moment to interrupt her aunt. "Aunt!"

Her aunt blinked. "Yes?"

Elizabeth stared at the blue orbs that were so familiar to her. It was a shared legacy between her, her father and her aunt. Even if she hated her aunt for waltzing in her life and draping her in layers of silk and social etiquette, she couldn't truly hate her.

She was the only motherly figure she had in her life, after her mother had passed away when she was but two years old.

She didn't remember her mother. She could only remember her aunt in the misty fogs of her childhood memories. And to have her look all wearied and time-stricken, it was a sinking feeling.

"Is there a problem, aunt?" Elizabeth questioned, her eyes eager to see the dullness off her aunt's face.

Her aunt sighed. "As a matter of fact, yes, there is a problem, dear."

She did not interrupt the silence that ensued. She waited for her aunt to continue.

The Marchioness sighed again.

Not good. Not good at all.

"You do know today's the theatre night, right, dear?"

She did not. Of course she hadn't paid attention to Verena's chattering about today's schedule.But accepting that won't mean any good, now would it? She replied with a small nod.

Her aunt squinted her eyes, but let the thing go.

"It is an esteemed event where the Warnian culture is presented by local artists." She paused, looked at her for a moment, before continuing. "It is an event where every debutante, every guest is invited."

As was the custom, Elizabeth filled in the next lines. There were some invitations spared by lords exclusively for the debutantes to accompany them to the event.

The question was - how did it concern her? And a bigger question was, why was her aunt so daunted by the fact?

Unless it was what she was thinking, or worse, what she didn't want to think!

"This letter has arrived for you, Elizabeth," her aunt said, waving a gleaming golden envelope in her face.

She grabbed the letter as soon as it landed on the tea table beside her.

She didn't like the way it screamed royal in every way possible. Removing the parchment from the golden envelope, she read through the contents of the letter.

And the undersigned designation.

Apart from the natural beauty of the country, Warnia had not presented her with any pleasant sights. The undersigned name was one such sight to behold.

It spoke "Thomas James Amulet Warring, Crown Prince of Warnia".

The bloody prince had sent her an invite!

She looked up to her aunt. Again, she knew it was a loathsome prospect for her, but why was it a cause of worry to her aunt?

It was the prince after all, even if that didnt matter to her. Made the baffoon even more of a chauvinist stuck-up in her opinion. Her aunt ought to be happy.

But she wasn't. Her aunt sighed a third time since her visit to her room.

"Dress accordingly dear, and gather all the poise the governesses have tried to instill in you over the years. You'll be sitting in the box with the royals, of course. Verena, call the seamstress please, will you? We need to put some ruffles on the emerald gown, and - oh! So much to do!"

The Marchioness waved her hand dismissively and launched herself into the wardrobe along with Verena, but not before giving her a hard, stern look.

The airiness of her aunt's demeanor had evaporated, leaving a frosty chill on her face.

It was a look that said it all. Again in her very short two-day stay in Warnia she had been warned of the dangers that lurked below the green and vibrant surfaces of the kingdom.

It was Catherine first, then her aunt, and her own discoveries lurking in the shadows. It felt as if everyone knew something that she didn't.

She had taken up a frivolous feud with the prince without realizing what she already knew about him. The conversation she had accidentally stumbled upon in the balcony. Between Lord Nargots and himself. About her.

She had been foolish. Irrevocably nuts. It wasn't a friendly serve of wits. It was a real play of conspiracies, conspiracies she didn't know about!

It was a tough play that could endanger things beyond just life. It could take away her freedom. And God how she valued that! 

She quietly folded the letter, swiped it back into the envelope and locked at the seal. It was a crest she had seen on the carriage that had come to pick her up from the warf. The royal crest of the Warring house. 

----------------------

"Whom are you penning the letter to?" 

Thomas looked up from his writing desk to find his best friend leaning on the door frame of his room. Theo strode in, fanning himself with a letter of his own. 

Thomas leaned back on his chair and smirked. "Who have you written to, Theodore?" 

Theo shrugged. "Some Lady Adine of Demonire. Great slender waist, plump hips. Full lips. And above all, rubia."

Thomas let out a laugh. "What is with you and the Demonirian 'blonde' women? I find it ridiculous. We have dark heads in all our country, and you like those foreign almost white-haired chits?" 

"Variety is primal in one's life, mi amigo. Now, you've dodged the question well. Who's you're writing to?"

Thomas sighed. "Lady Isadora De Hannet, daughter of some rich marquess, I guess."

Theo instantly sobered. He looked at his friend, the one he had known for decades now. He knew the inner tales of his friend's family. More than what the others knew. He had built the trust his friend had in him. He knew what the King was capable of if things didn't work the way he wanted. Perhaps sometimes more than the prince himself. Lady Elizabeth was the plan, and his friend was about to disrupt the same. 

But this wasn't the time. Not when the king was looking so closely. Strike at the time when the opponent is distracted. Right now, he's just too focused. 

"I'm not listening to anything this time, Theo. The woman is mad, loca! First in the corridors, then on the dance floor - the chit doesn't leave any chances to insult me! And the insufferable tendencies of the chit, no, I'm sure I can't handle the woman any longer!"

And endanger her life. 

He would never admit to it, not even to his best friend. It was the least he could do to the woman. 

Theo looked ready to defend back, but Thomas let on a stoic face. He would not budge from this. Not this time. The chit will be left alone. It wasn't a bad gamble at all. He wold be away from the insufferable chit, and she would be safe from the dangers of the kingdom. Him pleased, his conscience pleased. 

It was a win-win situation.

The young lord yielded. He couldn't do anything to change his mind now that he had chosen to be stubborn about it. He simply shrugged. 

Thomas returned to his letter, a pleased smile on his face. He folded the letter, slipped in into the envelope, and sealed it with wax and his seal. 

Theo peered from the above. "For the last time, why isn't your seal the crest of Warring family?" 

"Because I'm not the king, I'm the Prince of Alahmara. It is tradition in our house to have seals different from the King for his family. Even the prince." 

He reached out for the service bell and rang for a footman. A young lad wobbled in and bowed. 

"Deliver this letter to Lady Isabella De Hannet, as soon as possible."

"And this to Lady Adine of Demonire. Do make haste," Theo said, and handed over the two letters to the footman. His eyes widened with fear as he peered at the letter of the prince. He looked up to his master, shook his head and bowed before leaving the room. 

As he came back to the hallway, he considered his options. His Highness was just a prince, but His Majesty was king. He could defy a prince, but not a king. He walked up to the debutante's quarters and left Lord Theo's letter with Lady Adine's lady's maid, before walking up to the destination of Lord Thomas's letter. 

The fireplace. 

He didn't wait to watch the golden envelope turn into ashes as he bent his head down and went about to do his other chores.

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Whoops! Here we go with our first ever conspiracy! Its not just words after all, its even actions in Warnia. This was supposed to be a filler chapter, but I guessed that would be like dragging the story. So here we go! Stay safe people!