Chapter 180: The Sisters’ Gifts For Camellia [2]

"Which should I open first?"

"Mine, please, Your Highness!" Esther said first.

Camellia laughed softly.

"Then yours shall be first."

She lifted the blue parcel from the box with both hands.

It was smaller than the others, square and carefully cushioned in a nest of soft white cloth. The wrapping paper was a cheerful shade of sky blue, though the ribbon had been tied with an uneven bow that immediately revealed Esther’s own work. One loop sat slightly higher than the other. The ribbon had been tugged too tightly in one place and loosened in another.

It was not perfect.

It was earnest.

Camellia’s fingers touched the bow.

"You wrapped this yourself?"

Esther nodded vigorously.

"Monika helped me cut the paper because I made it crooked the first time. And then I made another one crooked too." She looked briefly embarrassed. "But I tied the ribbon myself."

"I can see that," Camellia said.

Her voice held no teasing.

Only warmth.

She untied the blue ribbon carefully, as though she did not wish to damage it, and opened the wrapping. Beneath it rested a small wooden box made from pale ash wood. The lid had been polished until it held a soft sheen, and a simple camellia flower had been painted across its surface in white and faint pink.

Camellia paused.

"Oh."

She lifted the lid.

Inside was a music box.

It was small enough to fit in both hands. A tiny silver crank protruded from one side, while the interior held a delicately carved scene of a winter garden: a little white pavilion beneath the branches of a tree, with miniature flowers scattered around its base.

Camellia looked at Esther.

"It is beautiful."

Esther’s face brightened.

"It plays a song too!"

Camellia turned the small crank.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then a clear, gentle melody began to fill the room.

It was not a courtly anthem or one of the grand songs played during royal ceremonies. It was a quiet tune, sweet and light, the kind that might be heard in a garden when spring finally arrived after a long winter. The melody carried no words, only the soft chiming of the music box.

Camellia listened without speaking.

Esther watched her anxiously.

"I asked Lord Ulrich to find one that would not be too loud," she explained. "I thought maybe you would want to listen to it when you were sad, or when the castle was too quiet, or when you could not sleep."

Her eyes lowered slightly.

"Princesses must feel lonely sometimes, too."

Camellia’s expression softened.

The music continued between them.

For an instant, the princess looked younger than she had at breakfast. Not a Princess, not the daughter of a Queen who had nearly been killed the night before. Just a girl holding a gift chosen by another girl who had considered, with all the seriousness in the world, whether she might become lonely.

"You are right," Camellia said quietly. "They do."

Esther’s eyes widened.

Camellia closed the music box carefully.

"Thank you, Esther. I will treasure it."

Esther smiled so broadly that Hermione could not help smiling as well.

"You really like it?"

"I truly do."

"I wanted you to have something pretty," Esther said. "And something that could make you happy."

"It will."

Camellia placed the music box on the low table beside the larger gift box, handling it with enough care that Esther’s shoulders finally relaxed.

Then she reached for the red package.

"This must be yours, Hermione."

Hermione sat a little straighter.

"It is."

Her parcel had been wrapped with much greater precision than Esther’s. The paper was a rich wine-red, folded into clean lines and sealed with a narrow gold ribbon. A small wax seal bearing the Rubenhart crest held the final fold in place.

Camellia looked at it with admiration.

"You wrapped this one yourself as well?"

Hermione nodded.

"Yes. Ulric—Lord Ulrich had the materials delivered, but I did the wrapping."

"Your work is very neat."

Hermione’s cheeks warmed slightly.

"Thank you, Your Highness."

Camellia broke the wax seal and removed the paper.

Inside was a slim leather case, deep red in color, with a gold clasp at the front. It was too narrow for jewelry and too substantial to be a simple writing box. Camellia opened it slowly.

Her breath caught.

A fountain pen lay inside.

The pen’s body was black lacquer with a fine silver cap. Along its length, silver filigree shaped like climbing camellia branches curled around tiny pale gemstones. Beneath it rested three small glass vials of ink: midnight blue, royal violet, and a soft silver-gray that shimmered faintly when the case moved.

There was also a stack of fine writing paper beneath the pen, its edges gilded in gold.

Camellia ran her fingers lightly over the silver details.

"It is exquisite."

Hermione looked relieved.

"I thought a princess would receive many jewels," she said, crossing her arms. "And many ornaments. But I thought perhaps you might enjoy something that belonged only to you, something you could use for letters, thoughts, or anything you wished to write. I think a good pen is not merely a gift. It is a means of being heard."

Camellia’s gaze lifted.

For a moment, Hermione looked uncertain, as though she worried she had said too much.

But Camellia’s expression became thoughtful.

"A means of being heard," she repeated.

"Yes."

Camellia looked again at the pen.

Princesses were expected to write constantly. Invitations, thank-you letters, formal replies, notes to noble families, requests to ministers, messages to the Queen. Yet most of those words were chosen by etiquette, corrected by tutors, or drafted by attendants before they ever reached the page.

This gift felt different.

It suggested that her own thoughts had value.

That her own voice mattered.

"I will use it," Camellia said. "Not only for formal letters. I will use it for things that are truly mine."

Hermione’s expression brightened, though she restrained it to a modest smile.

"I am glad, Your Highness," she said, unable to hide her proud smile.

Camellia set the pen back into its case and closed the lid gently.

"Thank you, Hermione."

Then only one gift remained.

The white package.

Airam’s.

Compared to Esther’s blue wrapping and Hermione’s red parcel, it seemed almost void. The white paper had no decorative illustration. The dark-blue cord binding it was thin, plain, and tied in a complex knot whose shape Camellia could not immediately understand.

Yet it was the only package that made the princess hesitate.

Not because she feared it.

But because Airam watched her with unusual focus.

Camellia looked from the parcel to the dark-haired witch.

"And this one is yours."

Airam nodded once.

"Open it carefully."

Hermione made a small sound.

"Airam?"

She was afraid she had prepared some spells to hit Camellia when it opened instead of a real gift. It wouldn’t have been too shocking knowing her elder sister.

"It is not dangerous," Airam said sternly. "Not unless Her Highness throws it at someone."

Camellia’s lips parted with a quiet laugh.

"I will do my best not to."

She examined the knot and slid a finger beneath the cord.

The knot loosened on its own at her touch.

The dark-blue thread fell away without resistance.

Camellia unfolded the white paper.

Inside was a circular hand mirror.

Its frame was made of silver, but the silver had been darkened around the edges in a way that made the pale metal at the center seem brighter. A pattern of fine blue flowers and tiny stars had been engraved around the rim. In the mirror’s handle rested a small oval stone, clear as ice with a faint blue light sleeping inside it.

Camellia lifted it carefully.

The glass reflected her face.

Then the reflection changed.

The exhaustion around her eyes softened. The lingering pallor from the previous night seemed to fade. The reflection did not make her into someone else. It simply showed her as she might look after a peaceful night’s sleep: calmer, better, and less burdened.

Camellia stared.

"It is magically enchanted," she said.

"Yes," Airam replied.

"What does it do?"

"It does not change your appearance," Airam said. "It only shows you what remains when fear, fatigue, and other emotions are removed."

Hermione wanted to roll her eyes, but it was so much like Airam to offer some kind of magic item that she found the gift cute.

Camellia looked at her reflection again.

Airam continued, more quietly, "I thought that might be useful for a princess."

Esther looked toward Airam with open surprise. "It’s amazing, Eldest sister!"

"I mean, an ordinary mirror would have been too simple, as expected," Hermione added with a nod.

Camellia held the mirror close, and she smiled.

The face reflected showed a face she didn’t have right now and somehow it made her feel good.

"It is a remarkable gift."

The princess turned the mirror slightly. The blue stone in its handle released a soft, almost imperceptible gleam across the room.

"I will keep it somewhere safe."

"Use it," Airam said.

Camellia looked at her.

"It is meant to be used," she added.

"I will," Camellia promised, with a chuckle.

She placed the mirror beside Esther’s music box and Hermione’s pen case.

The three gifts rested together on the table.

One was a melody for loneliness.

One was a means of being heard.

One was a reflection free from fear.

Camellia looked at the sisters across the open Rubenhart box.

"Thank you," she said.

The words were simple.

But her voice made them feel more significant.

"I thought I would receive countless gifts yesterday," Camellia continued. "And I did. Gold, jewels, rare fabrics, artifacts, ceremonial objects, and things offered because people believe a princess should possess them."

Her eyes returned to the three presents.

"But these are the first gifts I have received that feel as though they were chosen for me." Camellia’s voice softened as she looked at the three parcels arranged before her. "I hope this is the beginning of a friendship."

Esther beamed.

Hermione offered Camellia a small, sincere smile.

Airam did not say anything, though clearly she seemed to have stopped looking at the Princess as if she was her sworn enemy.

Camellia reached into the larger Rubenhart box, intending to move it aside now that it was empty.

Her fingers touched something beneath the protective cloth.

She paused.

The box was not empty.

Camellia leaned forward and parted the pale wrapping fabric.

There was another gift.