Episode 13

It had been almost a month and the debutante ball was drawing near. Sol had persuaded her father to host her and her stepsister's presentations together, as they were only a few months apart in age. She explained to him how complicated organizing one ball was, let alone imagining two and so close together in timing.

Sebastian was somewhat reluctant since he wanted the best for his daughter but lacked the patience to go through the process twice, especially for a daughter that wasn’t his own.

Sol knew that even though she was only about to turn 16—which in another era would have been considered just adolescence—in these times, one was seen as a woman. Therefore, she planned to dress accordingly.

Her dressmaker was the happiest of all, having established her own shop in one of the top areas of the quaint town. The fact that Sol wore those dresses—and was seen in public with her father, who raised no objections—started a trend with other young ladies emulating her style.

Of course, not everyone dared to wear such dresses. Although they were beautiful, the fact that they exposed part of their "legs" was frowned upon, but unquestionably, they were much more comfortable.

On another note, Sol was progressing well with her sword training; she no longer grew tired so quickly. With her surplus energy, she trained even more. She awaited the taunts from her so-called sister to give her the thrashing of her life, which would give her stepsister a real reason to complain.

Meanwhile, with the duke,

The duke had been summoned to the palace by the king's order. He did not know the reason for the summons but knew he must attend. He just hoped it was not for another war.

Thus, the duke readied his horse and set off to the kingdom with his men. The duke disliked using carriages, perhaps it was inappropriate to present himself in such a manner, but he found riding faster and more comfortable.

After about 40 minutes, he finally arrived, leaving his horse in the care of his entourage who went off to a designated area to wait, while one accompanied the duke on foot.

Upon arrival, he walked through a grand corridor, bypassing the main palace until he reached a door leading to the king's office.

Duke: Inform the king of my presence; he summoned me.

The man announced him, and the king granted him entry.

The duke entered and settled into a chair near the king's desk. The duke found this unusual, as audiences with the king typically took place in the main hall, not his office.

Sebastian: Good afternoon, King Frederick, to what do I owe the honor of this summons?

Frederick: Welcome, Sebastian. Please, take it easy, first off, would you like something to drink?

Sebastian: A tequila will do.

Frederick: Tequila?

Sebastian: Sorry, that word has stuck with me now from the war. Wine will be fine.

Frederick ordered wine and two glasses. What he was about to discuss with Sebastian necessitated a toast.

Frederick: Well, Sebastian, the reason I've called you here is to request an engagement with your daughter.

Sebastian: What!! Are you mad, you're too old for my daughter!

Sebastian exclaimed, horrified at the thought of his daughter beside such an old man.

Frederick: No, no, the engagement would be between my son, the crown prince, and your daughter.

Sebastian sighed but still disliked the idea; his daughter was barely turning 16. He would never marry off a child, let alone his daughter, moreover, the prince was older and well-known for his womanizing ways.

Sebastian: It's an honor, King, that you consider my daughter, but she's still too young for an engagement.

Frederick: But she is about to turn 16.

Sebastian: I'm sorry, still, she is too young for me. However, I propose this: if my daughter shows interest in him on the day of her ball, I will accept the engagement, provided they will not marry until she is at least 18.

The king was displeased with the duke's rebuttal but trusted his son would charm the girl. Besides, no one turned down the chance to become the future princess. This child would be no exception; it was an advantageous match that could not be missed. With this mindset, the king agreed.

Frederick: Alright, Sebastian. If your daughter takes a liking to my son, you will accept the engagement, but you mustn't sway her decision—let her choose.

Sebastian: It shall be as you say. Now, I must depart.

The duke was irate. How dare the king have designs on his child? How could it be that 16 years was a suitable age for marriage? Without another word, the duke strode to his men, mounted his horse, and rode away hastily, needing to see his little girl.

At the duchy,

Sandra: What's wrong with you, you idiot?

. . .

Sol was in her room, gazing out the window, when she saw her father approaching at full speed. An idea quickly came to mind, and she hurried down to where her stepsister was.

Her stepsister was in the sitting room, enjoying tea and chatting with her mother.

Upon seeing Sol rushing toward her, Sandra was struck by the brilliant idea to spill her tea on Sol as if by accident. The tea was still hot, yet Sandra threw it.

Sandra: What's wrong with you, you idiot?

Sol let out a sharp scream that was heard by the duke as he arrived. He dismounted his horse swiftly, sword drawn. He ran toward the cry, finding Sol on the ground with her chest wet from the dress she was wearing, scalded by the hot tea, and an empty teacup in Sandra's hand.

Sandra: I...I'm sorry, it was an...an accident, she came running...

Sandra stuttered, unable to find her words, especially with the sharp edge of the duke's sword now at her throat.

The duchess scrambled to lift Sol, knowing that defending her own daughter would not appease the duke's anger, and it had to appear as an accident.

Maricela: Child, there was no need to run, look now. Duke, call a physician to treat the burn.

Sebastian sheathed his sword and ordered a physician to tend to his daughter, but he required an explanation for what had happened to ensure he brought the necessary treatment. Sandra collapsed to the floor once the duke withdrew the sword, narrowly escaping harm. The duke knelt and picked up Sol, carrying her to her room.

Sol nestled her face in the crook of the duke's neck and offered Sandra a smile, who still lay sprawled on the floor.

Sol knew how easily they could be fooled; they were such predictable women. Yet she never imagined that wench dared to throw hot tea on her. It hurt, of course, but it was worth it.

Moreover, she had recently discovered she inherited her father's healing power, so she would not scar. And now that she remembered, she still didn't know what her mother had imbued in her before dying.

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