The Princess' Harem
Chapter 163: Whispers and Doubts

Chapter 163: Whispers and Doubts

As Viana approached, passing a small, intricate rug, deliberately placed just off-center, shifted slightly beneath her foot. It was a nearly imperceptible movement, designed to catch her heel, to send her sprawling.

Viana felt the slight, unexpected unevenness beneath her heels. For a split second, her balance wavered. A gasp, a faint murmur, rippled through a small group of onlookers who had been watching, perhaps anticipating.

But Viana did not fall. Instead, she took an extra, fluid step, turning the near-stumble into a graceful pivot. She merely continued her path, her smile unwavering.

Rayne, who had been conversing nearby, saw the incident. A flicker of cold awareness passed through his eyes as he glanced at Agness, then back at Viana, with a slight smile.

Agnes’s most persistent tactic involved words, of course. She would engage Viana in conversation, always with a polite smile, but her questions were barbed.

"Princess Viana, it must be quite different, the Elysian court, so much smaller, yes? Do you have similar traditions of the Summer Solstice Procession? Our own dates back three centuries, with every specific floral tributes required, you see. So utterly charming, yet so precise in its execution."

Agnes might say, her voice honeyed, at a late-night ball. The music played softly in the background, straining her words. Viana would meet her gaze, her own smile genuine, yet firm.

"Indeed, Lady Agnes. Elysia’s traditions are unique, forged by our own history and our people’s spirit. While we do not have a Solstice Procession precisely like Valendale’s, we have our own profound ceremony, celebrating the bounty of our harvests, the strength of our warriors, and the wisdom of our elders."

She paused, keeping her smile reaching her eyes, then continued with a firm yet gentle voice. "Our floral tributes, though perhaps simpler, are deeply meaningful, born from the heart of our land, from generations of devotion."

She never allowed herself to be drawn into comparing and finding Elysia lacking. Instead, she would gently pivot, showcasing Elysia’s strengths.

Rayne often interjected, casually, smoothly, to deflect or complement Viana’s responses, showcasing their unity, their shared understanding.

"Princess Viana has a remarkable grasp of strategy, Lady Agnes. A rare quality in any royal, I assure you, far more valuable than the intricacies of a thousand-year-old procession." Rayne might offer, his voice smooth, yet firm and a hint of annoyance. It carried an underlying current of loyalty, of protection, a subtle warning to whoever tried to do harm to her ’fiancée’.

Viana understood the game. Lady Agnes, with her impeccable lineage and deep understanding of Valendale’s society, was a formidable opponent. But Viana possessed her own strengths—a sharp mind, innate grace, a stubborn resilience forged in the fires of Elysia’s recent struggles, and most importantly, the unwavering, if carefully understated, support of Crown Prince Rayne. She would not break easily.

The weeks stretched on, each day bringing new social obligations, new scrutinies. Viana attended formal dinners, witnessed Valendale’s elaborate court rituals, and even partook in a ceremonial hunt, demonstrating a quiet skill with a bow that surprised many of the Valendale lords, earning their grudging respect.

She spent hours in conversation with Empress Isolde, discussing everything from statecraft to embroidery, subtly proving her intelligence and capability. She met with various noble ladies, forming tentative connections.

***

One day, during a ladies’ afternoon salon, a gathering of the highest-ranking noblewomen in Valendale, the atmosphere seemed particularly charged. The room was abuzz with hushed whispers, the clinking teacups, and the rustle of silken gowns.

Viana sat beside Empress Isolde, listening patiently as the ladies discussed the upcoming winter event.

Then, a Marguse, her eyes sharp and assessing, turned to Viana. Her voice carried a feigned innocence that did not quite mask its underlying intent. "Princess Viana, we have heard much of Elysia’s recent... alliances. Is it true that your kingdom has forged a pact with the elves? A rather unusual choice, for a human kingdom, wouldn’t you say?"

Viana felt a sudden chill. This was Agnes’s handiwork, undoubtedly. The question was designed to highlight Elysia’s desperation, perhaps even to paint Viana as consorting with questionable, non-human entities.

Before Viana could respond, Rayne, who had just entered the salon to greet his mother, paused at the threshold. He caught Viana’s eye, a brief, silent exchange, then spoke, his voice clear and confident.

He offered a subtle nod of confirmation. "Indeed, Marquise. The elves are allies of Elysia. Their wisdom, their connection to the land, has proven invaluable in battling the blight that threatens our shared borders. An alliance of necessity, forged in mutual respect."

His confirmation, rather than reassuring the ladies, seemed to cause a ripple of disbelief. Murmurs, louder now, swept through the salon.

"Elves?"

"They say elves are capricious..."

"Such an alliance, it is unheard of for a human monarch..."

The whispers grew louder, their faces, usually composed, now showed open skepticism, a quiet reluctance to believe.

Then, another voice cut through the murmurs, sharper, more direct. A young Countess, known for her sharp tongue and her fervent admiration for Lady Agnes, leaned forward, her eyes bright with challenge.

"And what of your own palace, Princess?" she asked, a faint, mocking smile on her lips. "We hear tell that it is quite... unconventional. Filled with men, chosen by you, serving as guards, advisors, even companions. Is that truly the custom in Elysia for a royal princess? Or is it merely... your preference?"

The implication was clear, a veiled accusation of impropriety, of an unmarried princess who disregarded tradition, who surrounded herself with male favorites. Viana felt a flush rise to her cheeks, a sudden heat.

It was a deeply personal attack, designed to cast doubt on her character, on her morality, in this highly conservative court. The murmurs grew, expectant, waiting for her response, for her stumble.

Viana took a breath, holding it for a single, controlled beat. She met the Countess’s challenging gaze, then swept her eyes across the faces of the other ladies, her expression calm. She knew this was a critical moment.