A quiet orchestra plays humming melodies behind the tranquil atmosphere of the annual regal gathering. A bow merely being drawn over the strings of a polished violin brings the present Nobles and Counts to the end of their dance, and the ballroom floor clears as they circulate the outer areas of the hall.

Whispers flow through the crowd of high-class citizens, all remarking the first appearance of the princess. She’s been kept from all public events since her birth was announced. The city has been anticipating the day the King and Queen introduced her to them for 18 years.

For all of the gossiping, there is always one person keen on being the first to interact with the young royal. An old Count has already begun harassing her, much to her discomfort.

She’s not as practised in the art of mingling as she should be.

It feels as though the Count has been monologuing to her for ten dragging minutes, so she cannot be gladder when a young woman who looks about her age whisks her away from the man.

Once far from the Count, the princess places a hand on her evergreen corset, half in a state of relief and half in a feeling of uncomfortable tightness. A similarly designed fan covers the lower half of her face, hiding the relieved flush on her rosy cheeks.

“Thank you, um… My apologies, we have not yet been acquainted. Princess Iris. And you, madame, are…?”