Stitching the Kingdom

No charming princes, no gossip over jam-grazed cookies and sponge cakes, no twirling in dresses laced with crushed gemstones or slippers spun from enchanted glass.

There was simply too much to do. Too much to learn. She worked hard not just for herself, but for a country that had lost its queen.

Each morning, she rose before the sun had fully kissed the palace's high towers. She splashed ice-cold water on her face—a brisk ritual that banished any lingering drowsiness—then dried herself with a soft towel and turned to the dresses laid out for her.

“Which dress shall it be today, Your Highness?” Nina, her faithful lady's maid, asked.

Today, she had chosen two options: one, a dignified gown in a calm shade of Persian green and peacock green; the other, a bright, lively dress embroidered with colorful flowers and tied with an eye-catching Icterine-yellow ribbon. It reminded Charlotte of the gardens, where blooms were beginning to wake with the spring.

“I’ll take the yellow one,” she said, smiling.

Once she decided on today’s dress, Nina dusted her face lightly with powder and helped arrange her hair. Instead of the elaborate, intricate styles she wore for formal audiences, Nina simply braided her hair into a neat ponytail with a bright red ribbon.

For a princess, it was a surprisingly simple, innocent look. Yet this had become her symbol—an emblem of her free spirit. Though there was a deeper reason she clung to this style, she rarely spoke of it.

After she slipped into the soft dress, Charlotte and Nina headed toward the castle's heart—the sacred Chamber of Life—for morning prayers. As they walked, castle workers greeted them: maids with fresh linens, laborers polishing windows, cooks with baskets of produce, knights on patrol.

"Good morning, Princess, Lady Nina!”

"Good morning, everyone. It's finally warming up, isn't it?"

"Yes, Your Highness! Please visit the gardens later. The head gardener has been boasting about the blooms all morning!" one worker replied.

"Thank you—I'll be sure to take a look."

Though she chatted easily, her steps never faltered. Palace schedules moved like clockwork, and she had no wish to disrupt their rhythm.

Down a flight of stone steps, they entered the heart of the castle—a vast, circular courtyard carved into the building itself. The Chamber of Life was open to the sky, with no roof and no glass in its windows. Rain and sun alike fell freely within.

At its center grew the sacred tree—a living offshoot from the original Mother Tree, a remnant of the world’s ancient magic. Around it, other trees and wildflowers had been carefully planted, creating a vivid, living tapestry of greens and colors. The great tree’s branches were heavy with spring’s first buds, tiny explosions of green unfurling into tender leaves.

Nina spread a beautiful carpet embroidered with motifs of forests and spells at the tree’s root. Charlotte knelt there, closing her eyes and folding her hands. She offered thanks for the gifts of the forest and the blessing of life itself, then prayed for those who were not here.

The ancient tree, as always, offered no reply. It only watched, patient and eternal.

After the prayer, they headed to the Royal Breakfast Room. A long, stately table—large enough to seat dozens—stood quiet and mostly bare. Only one place was set: a porcelain plate and polished cutlery laid out neatly at the head, waiting for the princess.

As she took her seat, the head chef appeared, pushing a cart laden with covered dishes.

"Good morning, Your Highness," he greeted with a bow. "Today's salad is made with lettuce and herbs we picked just this morning."

“Oh, I’ve been waiting all winter for a lettuce salad,” Charlotte said with a delighted smile, unfolding her napkin with practiced grace.

“Not to worry,” the chef added with a wink, “you won’t see many pickled vegetables again—at least not until winter returns.”

She gave a wry smile. She'd never been fond of pickled vegetables, truth be told. The scent of butter melting over the bread, the snap of fresh herbs between her teeth—these simple pleasures made her glad that spring had returned. 

Once the meal ended, duty called. She sat upright in one of the study rooms, pen ready, shoulders squared. Tall shelves lined the stone walls, packed with ancient books whose faded titles spoke of forgotten times.

The door creaked open. Edmund stepped inside—chancellor, historian, and her ever-patient tutor, though never without a touch of pomp. He was short and round, with slicked-back hair streaked with white, always fussing with his mustache or glasses whenever he got dramatic.

He dropped a battered old book onto the table with a thud and cleared his throat. 

"Today, Princess," he said with a small bow, "let us review the rise and fall of the Northern Empire of Sorcery you studied earlier, along with what tends to befall lands struck by great calamity."

She nodded. The flourishing of magical culture, the rot of power, and the literal collapse that followed.

"Not only magic," Edmund continued, "but storms, earthquakes, tidal waves, famine... After a disaster, survivors often hide their origins. Many believe that such misfortunes cling to people like a curse, claiming the survivors bring with them death, misfortune, or even the reek of stagnant Od."

He gave a slight shrug. "Of course, such beliefs are little more than superstition."

Charlotte lowered her eyes. Surely those who lost everything—their homes, their loved ones—must carry sorrow too heavy to bear. And she knew: few communities could truly open their hearts to strangers who brought with them tales of grief and ruin.

"And even if they are not shunned," Edmund said, voice growing softer, "there are always those who would seek to exploit them. It is not unreasonable to think that some survivors remain, but few would openly speak of their past."

She hesitated, then asked, "I understand about commoners and lesser nobles. But what of the royal family of that empire? Or the magi who served them?"

At her question, Edmund fell silent for a long time, pondering carefully.

"...Corruption had festered among the rulers for generations," he said at last. "It would not be surprising if some—disgusted by the decay—had fled before the empire’s collapse. Runaways, hidden among the scattered survivors."

So, survivors might still exist, yet their identities remained veiled by necessity. She quietly drew her own conclusion.

Still, Edmund wasn’t finished. He gave a slow, almost mischievous smile.

"Why, Princess," he said, "for all we know, one of them might even be living among us today."

Charlotte blinked in surprise, then gave a soft, delighted laugh.

"That would be rather wonderful, wouldn't it?"

Edmund chuckled but soon grew serious once more.

"The power of that nation must have originally existed to protect its people. But history has shown us time and again—no matter how strong the magic, if the hearts of those who wield it grow corrupted, they cannot prevent a country’s decay. Your power, Princess, exists to protect. But remember—power great enough to save can just as easily destroy."

"...I understand," she answered, folding her hands solemnly over her chest.

Yet Edmund, ever warm, added, "Though I say this, we harbor no worries about you. It is difficult to imagine you ever falling prey to greed or ambition."

She smiled, touched by his faith in her, though inwardly she squirmed a little, recalling the times she had ‘sampled’ treats from market stalls during royal inspections.

…That’s not an abuse of power… is it?

The subjects she had to master were endless: history, mathematics, diplomacy, economics… She wasn’t expected to become a scholar in each field. But for royalty, knowledge was as vital as any armor. A princess without a shield would be devoured before she even understood the danger.

With her parents missing, she had no choice but to become strong on her own. She approached her lessons with fierce determination, refusing to be left defenseless.

Beyond academics, there was cultural knowledge to acquire—art, music, and dance. Her daily schedule was as tightly stitched as the embroidery hoops she still struggled to master.

She stared down at her latest project. She was supposed to be stitching an image of the sacred Mother Tree… yet what she had created looked more like a crooked stick with droopy leaves.

Eleonora, her aunt by marriage and embroidery tutor, peered over her glasses and sighed. “Your Highness… you’re trying very hard, I know. But even so, this is…”

Charlotte groaned and flopped over the embroidery frame. “I know.”

The morning lessons were only the beginning. Afternoons were no easier—meetings with governors, reviewing citizen petitions, drafting official letters, and attending etiquette lessons.

She hurried around the castle, so busy she felt dizzy, but she never let it show. Especially not in front of Vanellope, her etiquette tutor, who stood as still and imposing as a marble statue. Her tight brunette curls were pinned high atop her head, spectacles gleaming sharply under the light. This woman could easily read the tiniest cracks in posture or expression, catching any hint of fatigue or distraction.

"Then, Your Highness, let us begin again from the top," Vanellope said in a tone that was almost mechanical.

"Yes, ma'am."

Charlotte pinched the hem of her dress, gave a flowing curtsy, and spoke as if they were in an official setting, watched by dozens of people. Even when Vanellope posed sly or loaded questions, she answered smoothly with a smile, never letting her soft inner heart show, hiding everything behind a perfect mask of grace.

Smiling and showing that smile to others had already become second nature to her, whether it was fake or genuine.

"That will be all for today, Your Highness," Vanellope said with a precise nod. "Don't forget you have dance instruction next."

At the mention of dance, Charlotte's spirits lifted. Finally—the part of her day she truly looked forward to. Dance lessons were her one guilty pleasure.

After changing into her lighter practice dress, Charlotte and Vanellope made her way through the eastern corridor, where tall windows let in the late afternoon sun. The grand dance hall shimmered with golden light as she entered, finding Eliza already there, her former renowned dancer from Bahharis, stretching near the harpsichord.

“Good afternoon, Eliza,” Charlotte said, dipping into a graceful curtsy.

"You're on time today. Good," Vanellope said.

“You’ve come, Princess. And hello to you too, Vanellope,” Eliza replied with a smile, extending her hand to Charlotte as if she were a prince stepping out of a fairytale. “Now then—shall we enjoy a charming little dance?”

Where Vanellope stood ramrod straight in her austere moss-green dress, hair pinned into an unyielding bun, Eliza was a vision of rebellious charm. Her long black braid swung over her shoulder, and her crisp teal blue trousers and black boots gave her a lively, roguish air. Against her sun-kissed skin, the colors sang.

Today's lesson was the waltz, the crown jewel of courtly dances.

Eliza, tall and nimble, moved with ease at the front, but Charlotte hardly needed any direction. When the steps quickened, she answered in kind, twirling, dipping, and arcing like a young swan awakening to its wings.

"Charlie," Eliza said, flashing a grin that could topple kingdoms, "you were simply born to dance, weren't you?"

Charlotte laughed softly, cheeks warming at the nickname. "I daresay I prefer it to needlework or sitting at the harpsichord all day."

She loved the way music carried her, lifting her across marble floors as if she were weightless—no crown, no burdens, just a girl lost in the dance.

The waltz, the rondelle, the starfall—partner dances had always been her secret joy.

Eliza gave a devilish little smile, then leaned in conspiratorially. "Then you must catch yourself a proper man at the next ball. And mark my words—if he steps on your toes, I will have his head."

Charlotte gasped, "E-Eliza!"

"Darling, I refuse to see my finest pupil wasted on clumsy oafs," Eliza said, winking at her. "You’ll be the envy of the ballroom, and I intend to bask in the reflected glory!"

"But… I don’t even have a fiancé yet…" she murmured, glancing away shyly.

Not letting her retreat, Eliza twirled expertly and blocked her line of sight with a playful spin.

"Oh, come on! The Flower Festival is just around the corner, isn’t it? Nobles, handsome knights, dashing rogues—plenty of candidates. I wager they'd line up just for the honor of being your dance partner."

Her teasing tone was shameless, as if suggesting the princess could just pluck a partner off the street.

"...And as for their reward? A sweet little kiss on the cheek should do the trick, I'd say." She lowered her voice, whispering close to Charlotte’s ear.

"N-no! I can’t do that!" Charlotte cried, her cheeks turning the color of spring roses.

Eliza, beautiful and incorrigible, only chuckled—a woman who collected suitors as easily as flowers in a meadow.

"Eliza! Mind your tongue!" Vanellope’s voice cracked through the hall like a whip.

"Oops, she heard me." Eliza gave a theatrical gasp and stuck out her tongue behind Vanellope’s back, earning a stifled giggle from Charlotte.

As Eliza had said, she had never once had a partner of her own. Not at the palace balls. Not at the town festivals, where she watched laughing couples whirl across the squares.

No fiancé. No prince charming.

There were candidates—sons of noble families, distant princes of allied lands—but none had been chosen. Not yet. Not without her parents to guide the arrangements.

So for now—just for now—Charlotte told herself she didn’t need a partner. Until the day she met the one meant for her, she would dance with Eliza… and with herself, alone beneath the lights.

As the music ended and the dance came to a close, the two gently released their hands and bowed.

“See you at the next lesson, Charlie,” Eliza called as she gathered her things.

“You were wonderful again today, Your Highness. Rest well,” Vanellope said, bowing with grace as she saw Charlotte off.

The walk back to her chambers felt longer than usual as her heart still lingered on thoughts of what Eliza said during the lesson. By the time she arrived, the evening shadows were already stretching long across the castle halls.

“There you are, Your Highness,” Nina said, already waiting with a brush in hand. “You’re flushed—was the dance lesson a bit intense today?”

She smiled and seated herself before the large vanity. “Eliza was eager to teach me a new step or two. And then…”

“And then?”

“Oh… never mind,” she said, brushing it off with a tilt of her head.

As Nina worked through her golden hair with quiet care, she stared at her reflection in the mirror... wondering if anyone could ever love the real her—not the crown princess, but the lonely girl hidden beneath.

The one who still missed her parents every single day. The one who feared she would never be enough.

Most girls her age probably dreamed of kind, wonderful partners. And Charlotte was no different. She, too, dreamed.

But dreams were dangerous for rulers. They had a way of pulling you under, wrapping you in memories and desires sweeter than any reality, until you forgot how to stand on your own.

Those who stand above others could not afford to show weakness. So then—how could she ever meet someone, fall in love, and build something real?

The soft ticking of the mantel clock drew Charlotte back from her thoughts. The evening was advancing, and with it, the remainder of her duties.

Just as Nina finished tying the last ribbon into her braid, a knock sounded at the door. At her word, Edmund entered.

"Good evening, Your Highness," he said, adjusting his small round spectacles with thick fingers. Right now, he wasn’t wearing the face of her history tutor—but that of a ruler who ran the kingdom: the Chancellor.

"We’ve finally received the details for this year’s Flower Festival. It seems the townspeople are planning quite a few new events."

He held out a folder, then added, "And your meeting with the royal archivist begins in ten minutes. Also, the grain tax report from the southern valley is on your desk. Your final review and approval are needed."

His brisk voice snapped her back to reality.

"I’ll finish the report after dinner," she said, rising to her feet. "Have someone prepare tea for the archivist—he likes it with honey."

She turned away from the fragile girl in the mirror, fastened the mask of a perfect princess onto her face, and stepped back into the world.

As amber and violet light spilled across the darkening sky, the princess knew her duties were not yet complete.