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Chapter 16 - Chapter 16 : Smile

The morning light poured through the stained-glass windows of Blutthal Fortress, painting the stone walls with hues of ruby and gold. Lady Isolde von Adalbrecht sat poised before the tall mirror in her chambers, the faintest trace of a smile touching her lips. At fifteen, she was a vision the very image of a duchess, with raven-black and a hit of red hair cascading in controlled waves and eyes sharp with intelligence behind a mask of calm grace.

But beneath that polished exterior, a storm still brewed.

Her reflection was flawless, but Isolde knew all too well the cost of such perfection.

The corridors buzzed with the news of her beauty and wit. Whispers followed her like shadows, voices admiring her sharp mind and elegant composure. Yet, despite the praise, many still spoke in hushed tones of the "ghost behind the red silk," the mysterious wife of Archduke Otto who was seldom seen and never heard in public.

Today was no exception. Isolde's footsteps echoed softly in the grand halls as she prepared for court functions, a dance of politics and power where every smile and nod was weighed, every glance dissected.

Otto had begun to bring her more frequently to public events. His proud gaze shadowed her every move, but his words remained clipped and cold. To the court, they were a perfect pair — the archduke and his elusive duchess.

Yet, the truth beneath their union was far from the polished facade.

At the imperial palace in Ecléron, Empress Lysandra von Montclair received word of Isolde's growing presence. The young duchess, once a country girl named Liesel Maren, had risen swiftly, too swiftly for some tastes.

Lysandra's sharp eyes narrowed as she observed the rumors swirling through the corridors.

"Ghost behind red silk," they called her.

"A shadow draped in crimson," whispered the courtiers.

The Empress was a woman of formidable presence herself, slender but unyielding, with raven hair streaked faintly with silver at the temples, a testament to the burdens of rule at only eighteen years old.

She understood the dangers posed by power wielded from the shadows. And Isolde, with all her beauty and mystery, was a puzzle Lysandra was determined to solve.

As Isolde entered the throne room alongside Otto, all eyes turned toward her. Noble ladies whispered, some with admiration, others with veiled disdain.

Isolde moved with practiced grace, her face an unreadable mask. Inside, she braced herself — the invisible eyes of the court like a thousand blades against her skin.

The Church, a powerful force within the realm, lauded the union between Archduke Otto and his duchess. They praised the sanctity of their marriage, the strength it symbolized.

Yet even their blessings were tinged with skepticism, and Lysandra, ever politically astute, watched from the shadows, wary of what lay beneath the surface.

At a reception later that evening, Lysandra approached Isolde with a measured smile.

"You have grown into a remarkable young woman, Lady Isolde," the Empress said, her voice smooth as silk but edged with steel.

Isolde inclined her head gracefully, heart pounding beneath her composed exterior.

"Your Highness honors me too greatly."

Their eyes met briefly, a silent challenge passing between them.

Lysandra's gaze lingered on the faint scars hidden beneath Isolde's sleeve, remnants of a past the court would never suspect.

"Remember," Lysandra murmured, "in this world, appearances can be both shield and weapon."

Isolde nodded, understanding the unspoken warning.

Behind the mask of the duchess, she was still the girl who had lost her name, her childhood, and her freedom.

But she was learning, slowly, carefully, to wield her mask as both armour and weapon.

The night deepened, and as Isolde returned to her chambers, she allowed herself a rare moment of vulnerability. She touched the necklace Otto had given her long ago, heavy, cold, a symbol of ownership.

Her reflection in the darkened glass was no longer just a girl in silk and jewels, but a woman forging her own path, one fragile step at a time.

Outside, the court whispered, the rumors growing like wildfire.

The ghost behind the red silk was becoming something more, a force to be reckoned with.

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