The Mad Princess and the Dying Prince novel Chapter 117

Lucia and her sisters hadn't arrived particularly early.

The sprawling gardens were already populated with noble guests.

It was the end of spring. The air was comfortably cool, and Princess Corinna's Estate boasted a magnificent array of blooming flowers in vibrant shades of violet and crimson.

However, the colorful bushes were currently draped with pale ribbons and white cloth rosettes, while sheer white veils hung from the branches, swaying gently in the breeze.

This abundance of white sombered the romantic, lively colors of the blossoms. It was a deliberate touch by Princess Corinna, honoring the period of national mourning.

In the center of the lawn, long wooden tables were arranged in two rows, neatly set with parchment, ink, and quills for the scripture copying.

Beyond a cluster of broad-leafed ferns stood a stone pavilion, its center table laden with chalices of sweet wine, cheese, and fresh fruit.

The area was perfectly situated under the dappled shade of ancient oaks and decorative stonework, allowing just enough sunlight to keep the chill at bay.

A gravel path wound past the boulders toward a small lake, its surface dotted with fresh green lily pads that had not yet flowered.

The young noblewomen who had arrived earlier were clustered in small groups. Some admired the blooms, others sipped wine from silver goblets, leafed through leather-bound books, or exchanged hushed gossip.

Mindful of the kingdom's mourning period, they were all dressed in appropriately subdued tones.

Yet, there was always room for subtle vanity.

One girl wore a heavy bracelet of pale, flawless alabaster, while another's hair was pinned with a masterfully carved pearl hairpin.

Another's skirts were threaded with hidden silver wire, catching the light like starlight with every step, while jeweled belts gleamed brilliantly around slender waists.

Perfumed sachets and heavy emerald pendants completed the displays of quiet luxury.

Compared to them, Lucia was truly, remarkably plain.

"Lucia Beaumont!"

Just as Lucia finished taking in the crowd, Helena stormed up behind her. Her sharp, carrying shriek instantly drew the attention of several nearby guests.

"L-Lady Helena, I..."

Helena's eyes narrowed maliciously. "Who gave you permission to use my name? You are nothing but the spawn of a low-born paramour. Know your place!"

Tears instantly filled Zella's eyes, threatening to spill over. She looked every bit the fragile, defenseless victim.

Her pitiful display managed to stir a modicum of sympathy among a few onlookers.

After all, not everyone in the capital's high society tolerated Helena's overbearing arrogance.

A young woman in a pale yellow dress stepped forward. "Is there truly a need for such cruelty, Lady Helena?"

Helena snapped her attention to the newcomer without a second thought. "What concern is it of yours, Gwyneth? You might be a trueborn daughter now, but do not forget your mother was just a concubine raised to wife. With such scandalous blood in your veins, it is no wonder you sympathize with a bastard!"

Gwyneth's expression hardened instantly. "Helena! You have gone too far!"

A few years ago, Helena had never been this brazen. But ever since her betrothal to the Heir to the Marquisate of Farwatch, her vanity had swelled to monstrous proportions.