Chapter 22

"What do you know?" Jasmine's calm inquiry cut through the air, a measured challenge that left Helen momentarily stunned. As Jasmine lightly adjusted the foam on the vanity, resetting her powder with unhurried grace, the atmosphere in the room became charged with anticipation. Helen, expecting tears and pleas for mercy, was instead met with an unexpected composure that heightened threw her into confusion.

As Jasmine rose from her seat with deliberate poise, she dropped a bombshell. "It's no use talking to you here. I believe it's time to meet with the King."

"What?" she stammered, struggling to grasp the sudden turn of event.

"The king," Jasmine replied tersely, heading toward the door with an air of purpose. Helen, fueled by a mix of shock and frustration, felt the urge to claw at Jasmine's face.

The king hadn't actually sent for her.It was a calculated move to unsettle her, much like what had transpired with the girl from Thrustfall. What she didn't expect was for Jasmine to be this braven.

Helen followed Jasmine, ready to unleash her frustration.

"Oh, come back here, you arrogant little prude!" Helen's voice echoed through the corridor. Sophia, on her way for a visit, caught wind of the commotion. "Where are you going?" she inquired, intrigued by the unfolding drama.

"I received a message that the king sent for me," Jasmine explained calmly, aware of Helen's attempt to regain control. Helen, through gritted teeth, insisted, "Get back to your room."

"If his Majesty sends for you, you should go," Sophia encouraged, unknowingly caught in the web of tension between Jasmine and Helen. She headed down holding in her anxiety. The people of Ashford depended on her.

Bursting through the grand doors of the court, Helen's voice echoed with urgency, "Your Majesty, this girl is a fake!" The king's countenance darkened at the sudden disturbance. "What is the meaning of this?" he thundered, demanding an immediate explanation.

"Your Majesty," Jasmine greeted with a respectful bow, an air of regal calmness enveloping her. The king's scrutinizing gaze met hers, and for a moment, the court held its breath. "I was told you sent for me," Jasmine continued, her voice steady despite the brewing tension.

"Oh, shut it, you fake!" Helen interjected with a scornful tone, frustration evident in her demeanor. To her dismay, Jasmine remained composed, not succumbing to the anticipated turmoil. "Your Majesty," Helen greeted with a nervous smile, attempting to regain control of the narrative.

"My name is Princess Olivia from Ashford," Jasmine declared bravely.

The king's eyes flickered with a hint of recognition at the mention of Ashford.

"Oh, shut up. You are not!" Helen cried, refusing to yield. Undeterred, she pointed out her suspicions. "The easy grace of a princess is surely one thing she could have mastered. But what about her palms? Her hands and feet, calloused – not the kind royalty would have..." Helen began, attempting to cast doubt on Jasmine's authenticity.

"What do you know?" Jasmine interrupted calmly fixing her gaze on Helen with an unyielding scrunity.

"Have you ever been at war?" Jasmine continued, delving into a more profound question. "Not the type where you're on the offensive, not the kind you carry out here. Not the one where you stalk out of boredom to destroy kingdoms, the kind where the strong create to prey on the weak out of greed," she declared, drawing attention to the darker facets of conflict.

"Olivia!" Sophia interjected with a cautionary tone.

"The kind where you're on defense," Jasmine asserted.

"You mentioned my palms. And I asked, what do you know?" she probed further thrusting them out

"Have you ever been at war? Watching your people die every day since the day you were born? Where a King so great would look down on small feeble kingdoms and decide to prey on them for fun," she questioned, her words a calculated, indirect shot at the reigning monarch.

"How dare you act so insolent. Do you know what I can..." the King began, attempting to reassert his authority.

"I am well aware, your majesty. Ashford is like ants compared to your great Empire," she interjected, acknowledging the vast difference in power dynamics.

"My calloused hands are hands that had to work for my own people. Taking on the burden as a princess, one with her kingdom at stake. Do you really think I would have the luxuries or the patience for such indulgences?" She directed her words at Helen with calm assertiveness.

"My hands carry the burden of the life of my people. The first call of royalty is to serve, and to serve my people. So, do you really think I would be more concerned with tea parties, gowns, and the pampering of my skin and hair while my people and my country are being trampled on by a King with no regard or conscience for a small, helpless unit?!" She challenged, the weight of my words hanging in the air.

The court fell into a stunned silence. The elders were taken aback by the audacity and bravery displayed. It was a moment of unexpected boldness.

"When elephants stump, they trample the ground beneath them, and the once-lush grass succumbs to the relentless force. Horses thunder in a wild stampede, and fierce lions engage in territorial battles. Amidst this chaos, it's the small, vulnerable creatures on the ground that bear the brunt of the upheaval. My kingdom, is similar to the trampled grass, it has endured the weight of your actions.

A realm without a future, waiting at the mercy of your decisions. Yet, it is my calloused hands that make you restless?" She scoffed, challenging the perceptions of those in the room.

"You've lived your entire life in comfort, sheltered from the harsh realities. Ashford, on the other hand, lies practically in ruins – a shattered entity awaiting redemption. Yet, you doubt the King's believing he has audacity to deceive you, the only chance left for our kingdom's revival? Such skepticism only highlights your ignorance," she asserted boldly, the weight of her words echoing through the room

The men in attendance gasped, drawing sharp intakes of breath. She had dared to call the king ignorant within the very walls of his court.

"To attribute calloused palms to one being a fake princess implies that your royalty doesn't work or labor. You wine and dine, eat and drink, and throw lavish parties all day!" Her voice, almost a yell, reverberated in the grand hall.

"Olivia!" Sophia cautioned, but Jasmine wasn't done. She sharply interrupted, "I'm not finished."

"Me standing here is of no use. One word from you would end Ashford, I know that quite well. But what I won't take is you questioning the integrity of our King, one who wouldn't play with the lives of his people. Your false accusations undermine what the royalty of ants carry as its responsibility."

"What would it be, an ant hill easily trampled upon? You have already caused enough damage, and thus I plead for an end to this war," she concluded with dignity.

The king, seated in his imposing throne, stared at her in silence. Jasmine embodied the image of a princess who had lost everything.

"What do you think...." Helen began to vent, the King's decisive voice cut through, "Enough."

Jasmine's words lingered, carrying the weight of a royal pushed to the limit. The desperation and the last bit of arrogance painted a portrait that left the king mostly convinced. Her demure grace and poise, combined with a passionate distaste for the life they lived in Nightfall, made it difficult to believe she could be a fake.

The king's command cut through the air like a sharp decree, "Leave." And obediently, Jasmine turned to depart from the regal chamber.

"You don't actually believe that girl, do you?" Helen questioned, her disbelief evident in her tone. "What king would send his child to an unknown fate?"

Sophia chimed in, "I also had my suspicions."

"There!" Helen exclaimed triumphantly.

"But not anymore," Sophia said softly, her conviction interrupting Helen's certainty. The elders observed the unfolding scene in hushed silence, their eyes reflecting a collective curiosity.

"She has that arrogance of a royal. The way she pleaded for her people—a desperately helpless and arrogant royal," the king remarked, a chuckle underscoring his words.

Conquering kingdoms was a leisure he enjoyed, and the girl wasn't entirely wrong in her assessment. He noted an intriguing quality in her.

Helen persisted trying to speak

"Let the matter go." The King bellowed.

"You just want to see Ashford in ruins," Sophia said with a sigh.

"I don't believe her," Helen whined.

"The witches will confirm it. They'll be arriving in a fortnight," the king declared, effectively silencing the brewing argument with the weight of impending verification.

"That's the prince's bride?" Gambit asked, breaking the elders' silence that had persisted after the departure of non-court members.

The encounter with the Ashford princess and her impassioned plea had left them more convinced of her distinctiveness.

"This just might work," another elder stated optimistically.

"We shall see," the king mused thoughtfully.