Like some phalanx formation from the Steel Age they surround her, petals protecting a flower pistil with all four siblings covering each flank as a sea of guests parts before them. It's a message to every single possible suitor; every possible powerplayer, every playboy: to even bear witness to the Silver Throne you’ll need to face the Empire’s rifles, survive its crushing wealth, play the impregnable court, and win the love of her people.

  To dare approach unprepared is paramount to suicide, to even lock eyes with the Fourth Princess spells disaster politcal, social, and perhaps even physical. She is the unseen force behind the Silver Throne, almost never outside the palace walls with only the rarest of appearances in court. She was the unknown quantity, the powerplay and perhaps the true powerplayer.

  Across distant nations, in their rooms of intelligence agents and computational devices (never powerful enough to break the divine covenant of course), they theorized Princess Sophia’s true purpose within the Ensolian Imperium was that of subterfuge. Where her siblings took charge at the forefronts of leadership in military, economics, court and diplomacy; someone had to keep the proverbial house clean.

  At home; inconvenient revolutionaries were quietly shot and buried in deep graves while abroad, entire families of scheming royals would mysteriously succumb to the dubbed “ricin flu” (ricin, as a potent neurotoxin, would give its victim a few days of extreme sickness before death; and was as much a calling card of antiquity Ensolia as rare silver). All nations had their dirty laundry, and the cleanliness of Ensolia’s current ruling family was rank with something far more dangerous than anyone could uncover.

  Though for the rest of the siblings, in closest proximity to this esoteric figure, knew her true nature and as such, all shared the same thought:

  I really hope they had a chance to bathe her after dragging her out of bed this afternoon…

  Sophia herself tries to ignore the immense discomfort at being the center of attention, the scowl on her face arising from both an immediately exhausted social reservoir and the pain from a (at least how she feels it) misfitted pair of slippers. She really hoped that her kin: her impromptu squad of bruisers and social warriors, would somehow keep everyone away. That somehow tonight, at her own coming-of-age debut, she could just slither behind the wall of siblings and never speak a single word to any suitor or political machinator. That tonight, for her twenty-first birthday, she could just eat a few pastries, down a glass or two of sweetened soda-water, and just go back to sleep in her comfortable bed.

  That goal wasn’t too far at all; a refreshments table was set up in the far end of the hall within visible range. Piled high with fruits taken from the growers in the southern reaches of the empire as well as an electric fountain of constantly recirculating wine, Sophia catches the glance of something more.

  Her pale blue eyes widen, her soul elevating as emotion surges from within her. A belated breath, a hungry face flushing with blood; she finds her most beloved there staring right back at her. The only lover she would ever need in her life, the only thing that made this cruel universe worth living in.

  On the far end of the table there was a pile stacked tall with donuts: circular rolls of sweetened dough with their centers cut out subsequently deep fried in oil, cooled and drenched in such varieties of flavored glazes and chocolates that she could barely count them all.

  Donuts; the most pure and perfect of loves. Of how that beautiful coating of sugary glaze would melt in mouths, the softness of the doughy flesh would give way at the slightest pull; she could, if left unattended, probably eat a dozen of them before etiquette would nag at her conscience.

  Goddess please give them to me… Sophia pleads to the watcher of all.

  She needed them, and she needed them now.

  If she could only somehow steer this vehicle of politics just forty degrees to the relative left their paths would intersect, just enough that she could fill her possession with one… no four of those beautiful pastries.

  But she wasn’t in charge of this ride, Naomi’s tactically oriented mind already finding the most advantageous position within the Grand Ballroom and guiding them all towards it. A pair of pillars at the center of the room and against the northern wall providing coverage from the rear and allowing for a more metered approach to any objective within. A natural chokepoint for the filtration of any incoming entries; and all they had to do was to get to it without harassment.

  “Ambush.” Naomi hisses at the flash of the sunset orange coloration of the nation to their direct south east. “Amorai Republic incoming. Natan, Beatrice.”

  The two take the front, a counter-assault prepared as Natan cracks his neck while Beatrice pulls a seductive smile. Their third and second princes were here together, working in both tandem and competition as they march towards the formation with intense glares. Both have the charm to match Natan’s capabilities in the social circles, but with Beatrice alongside him this would be a quick kill.

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  Natan immediately throws a casual and insultful greeting to the second prince, enough of an offense that some of the nearby guests chuckle at their expense. Stammering, unable to recover, Beatrice adds more onto it with a story headline dredged from the gutter media.

  Alice tugs the uniform of her older sister. “Naomi, the Kiralian delegation…”

  They’re taking their chance, Sophia left open but not defenseless.

  “I see them.” Naomi curses. “Watch over Sophia, Alice.”

  “I will.” The youngest one nods sternly.

  Sending herself away on an intercept course, Naomi takes one last glance over at Sophia. A wordless exchange lost on her, but enough that the line of don’t go anywhere passes through to the fourth.

  Sophia sighs in frustration.

  If only her childhood friend could come and rescue her from this awful fate. If only that handsome prince would come and take her hand now; declare that he always loved her since that fateful day underneath the peach grove. If only he could come and save her from this madness, like in so many of those wonderful romantic tales, that would be so utterly wonderful…

  … if only she had anyone of that sort…

  Unlike being sent to military academy like Naomi, or boarding schools like Natan and Beatrice, Princess Sophia was instead instructed by private tutors and brought in lecturers; her education expansive, but social circle miniscule.

  Not even small… Sophia suddenly realizes in a wave of crippling anxiety. Completely non-existent!

  Goddess she really had nobody.

  So when Pierre, the 1st Duke of the Duchy of Leiaux, approaches her from Alice’s blindspot she’s completely caught off guard.

  Twenty years her senior, unmarried (or at least, forcibly divorced from the rumor mills), the middle aged man greets her with an overly flirtatious advance. “Hello my sweet. You look stunning this evening.”

  Sophia just stares like a rabbit caught in the fast approaching headlights of a motor carriage, a flight or fight response defaulting to freeze instead. “I-i… I…” She barely stammers, her entire psyche completely losing cohesion as anxiety takes over first from the gut, then to the heart, lungs, and then her vision. A low drone begins to pound her eardrums in lockstep with an accelerating pulse, lips barely moving as air is forced out somehow. “I-...I…I…”

  A full five seconds of awkwardness as Sophia’s composure of a response continues to fall on a looping record of static noise, the crowd in an awaiting silence before the landmine Naomi left behind detonates.

  “Hey!” Alice marches forward, the girl half the middle aged man’s height; a challenge called as she places her hands on her hips. Her innocent voice is so soft and sweet that they all come to listen to what it has to say. “That’s not how you greet someone of true royalty, mister duke! No wonder why your wife left you for that manwhore last year! She’s probably moaning as we speak!”

  The crowd audibly gasps in horror at the mention of that rumor, the Duke completely slack jawed as the young princess proudly smiles at her handiwork. “Now chop chop you have somewhere better to be.”

  She leaves this rotting corpse to hang across the proverbial bridge as a dire warning, an entire collateral section of the guest list left stunned, smoldering like the aftermath of an arson attack.

  Natan and Beatrice return from campaign quickly, with Natan making his own observation of the youngest’s uncensored words. “Alice, I’m telling father to limit your news intake.”

  She gives a cheeky, innocent smile. “And why is that brother?”

  He cracks a rare grin at her: the so lauded and celebrated ‘People’s Heart’ of the empire. “You shouldn’t be given access to weapons of this sort, my dearest princess.”

  Naomi interrupts, also returning with a quick jog. The seriousness in cold eyes, like a general returning to a rubbled hometown. “Bad news. Sophia’s gone.”

  A quick scan of the space by each of them, a sudden realization of their failure. Slipping away between just the smallest lapses of attention was, before, a small gimmick to get out of classes or court. But now, the worst habit of their sibling is suddenly more consequential than ever.

  Goddess. They all curse together.

  Beatrice grimaces her teeth, quoting her sister. “‘I could never be an assassin’ my ass.”

  “And I keep forgetting how quiet she is…” Natan adds.

  “Stay focused.” Naomi consolidates their thought processes into a coherent strategy.

  “I’ll ask around the guests.” Beatrice offers. “See if anyone’s seen or… *tried* socializing with her.”

  Natan speaks up for him and the youngest. “Alice and I will try and intercept her before she gets to the refreshment table.”

  Little chance of that. Naomi thinks to herself, before adding onto it. “If she’s not there after three minutes, split up and search for her yourselves. I’ll grab a servant to make sure she hasn’t tried to… retire to her room. I’ll join you two afterward.”

  They have a plan.

  “We’ll have to find her quickly, before she ends up…”

  Naomi and Alice settle on their own words: Embarrassing herself?

  While Beatrice and Natan take a much more dire consequence into consideration: Causing an international incident?

  …

  Goddess when Mother finds out about this she’s going to kill them all.