1519

January was always bleak in Europe. The hills were barren and brown, coated in a fine layer of frost and dew that shone vividly in the afternoon sun. There was something about winter that was beautiful to Cecilia. If the situation had been one of pleasure instead of pain, she would have suggested a run through the misty valley. She imagined rolling down those hills spinning and spinning until she was dizzy. She would lie in the dew-covered grass and smile at the warm sun on her face. All at once Cecilia felt disgust creep up her throat like bile ready to choke her to her death. If it were not the week anniversary of her father's death she would be happy to be traveling across the countryside of her home country.

The country was so beautiful with it's bare trees reaching their spindly limbs towards the grey sky and wafts of fresh snow unmarred by prints of feet like a blanket spread out for miles. White ice begged to be jumbled and flung into the misty air. Cecilia breathed against the glass pane separating her face from the flakes of snow falling from the frozen sky. A moist fog darted across the glass where her lips once were. She smiled to herself and dragged her fingertips across the cold surface forming a letter C in the condensation. Cecilia leant back against the cushioned carriage seat. She adjusted the scarf that clung to her pale neck and breathed into her cupped palms before sticking them back into the dense fur muff on her lap. It was white fur, a present from her half sister on her thirteenth birthday. Cecilia chewed her lower lip before glancing over at her governess.

"Lady Temple," she addressed the much older woman who turned to her with a pained look, "How much longer? My feet are frozen."

"Not too much longer, Your Highness. Would you like a throw for your feet?" Cecilia accepted the soft throw from the governess that was embroidered with her family crest and initials. She wrapped the woolen blanket around her frigid feet and sighed in relief passing a smile to her watchful governess.

Lady Temple was far from just a governess in all honesty. When the Empress Bianca, Cecilia's mother, had passed away when she was just six years of age, the Emperor had hired Lady Temple to care for his treasured youngest daughter. For nine years the kindhearted governess had been the closest thing to a mother the young duchess had. Her father had never remarried after her mother passed away and for good reason. The Emperor was growing old, and he knew it. He had not particularly enjoyed his deceased wife's companionship, and their marriage seemed to age him drastically. In the years before his death he had traveled everywhere with his coffin behind him. When he feared the end was near he wrote a will. Cecilia had not much given though to where she would live after the passing of her doting father which is why she had been surprised, and quite appalled, when in his will Emperor Maximilian had left his daughter in the hands of his grandson, Charles.

Cecilia hated Charles. It was not simple to describe their relationship for many factors came between their mutual distaste of each other. Cecilia was a threat to Charles, and everyone but her knew this fact for in his will Maximilian I had said, "Cecilia Anna Elisabeth Margret, Archduchess of Austria, will one day make me proud in the arms of God when she is crowned Holy Roman Empress."

Cecilia could sense their arrival before she even heard the horns. It was as if all the life had been sucked from the carriage. She was an empty shell. Gone were her mother, her father, her friends of the court and her pets. Soon her dear governess would be departing as well, gone in the wind like her father who had said goodbye days before his death promising to return to her with sweets and a thousand singing birds. Cecilia had no hope left and it was evident in her dull demeanor much unlike the cheerful duchess. Lady Temple could do nothing but bite her lip watching the color drain from her mistress's face. She begged herself not to weep.

The carriage rocked to a stop as the horses were slowed. She could hear them stomping their iron clad feet in irritation, pulling at the metal pieces in their mouths to continue on. The horns continued to blare as the doors were opened letting in dull shrouded beams of light. Cecilia blinked at the tall boy gesturing towards her and offering his hand in assistance. Cecilia grabbed hold and was gently led from the carriage, down the single iron step, and to the cobblestones beneath her. Cold radiated through her fur cloak and winter boots. The wind tickled her bare skin causing wisps of brown hair to dance their way from her braid and tangle around her heart shaped pale face. Lady Temple placed a hand upon her delicate shoulder and lightly pushed her forward to begin the short walk to the courtyard. Cecilia had been to the palace many times before in her fifteen years. It was where her father spent most of his time, and in her youth she had spent many summers wandering the courtyards with her mother. When she passed away the newly widowed King moved his daughter to the safety of Osten House, a chateau he had built specifically for his prinzessin, as he called her, a German endearment for princess.

Cecilia of Austria was a princess in all aspects of the word. She had grown up in a society of glittering jewels and parties. She was well mannered as a child, even more so at fifteen. Her mother had often spoiled her with sweets, as her behavior was always excellent. She was quiet, and reserved, and often more interested in learning languages in private than speaking to a crowd of young eligible princes. Her father had grown to accept the way his daughter was and had not pressured her into marriage much unlike her older siblings, and even nephews and nieces. She was the Emperor's little treasure, his schatzi, and nothing would change that. For that is why Charles had held a grudge. His own father had been forced to marry his virtually deranged mother whose condition had worsened upon the death of Philip. Cecilia had been two at the time so the event was not accountable for her, but she had heard the rumors. The whispers. The horrifying stories of madness and what the servants claimed as witchcraft. They said Joanna paced all night and chanted in foreign tongue. She was declared mad by an Imperial physician and was considered unfit to govern her own country. Charles had never felt the love of either parent. For that he was bitter.

The courtyard was square in shape and enclosed on all sides by tall brick walls. Tall windows loomed above her head. She could see the shadows of others dancing in and out of her sight as she walked forward. Rose bushes lined the cobbled pathway and she ached to stop still and smell their plush perfumed buds. Laughter was raining out of the open doors spilling over her like warm milk. She felt like she was drowning with the wave of anxiety that shit her sharply stopping her mid step. Lady Temple offered no words just the placement of her hand on Cecilia's lower back.

"Lady Temple." Cecilia whispered back to her calm governess, "Is this a welcome party?"

"No my dear, I'm afraid not." The governess sighed. Lady Temple refused to tell her innocent, wide-eyed mistress the real reason Charles was celebrating. It was unreasonably cruel to celebrate the death of a loved one in the manner in which Charles was doing so. It was not her say however, but Lady Temple could not fight the pang of sadness that wafted through her senses. She bit her tongue and pushed softly forward the young Archduchess who resumed walking and reached the archway of the doors. Music was playing in the hall, joyous lively music from a violin. She recognized the sound for she had learned the violin many years before when she had turned seven at the instruction of a man by the name of Gregory. He had been harsh and very unsatisfied of her playing. Cecilia still distasted the violin, but the music was pleasing to her. She could make out the source of the music through the crowded hall. A boy no older than her was playing as fast as his hands could handle, the crowd was dancing and laughing and enjoying themselves. That made Cecilia smile. It had been awhile since she had been to a party.

"Your Highness." A startled voice said from her immediate right. She looked over just in time to see the girl bow sending those around her into frenzy.

"Now announcing," the boy who had led them inside started making the musician on his violin stop abruptly. All eyes went to them as he finished, "Her Royal and Imperial Highness, the Archduchess Cecilia of Austria, and Lady Temple."

The whispers started almost instantly and a sense of unease hit Cecilia like a bag of bricks and mortar. It was almost like they had not been expecting her at all. What was the purpose of this party if not to welcome her?

"Wonderful! I see you have arrived in one piece!"

Cecilia turned to see Charles starting towards them from where he had been standing with a group of well-dressed young men who were regarding Cecilia with interest. It was apparent he was decently drunk judging by the swaying of his body and the smell radiating from his clothing. A goblet was perched in one hand while the other clutched the hand of a petite blonde with curls for days. Her smile was one of disdain but Cecilia responded with her own forced grin out of politeness. The girls shared forced air kisses as Charles watched.

"My darling aunt," the way he said aunt made Cecilia flinch. He said it the way you would describe a dirty, smelly, mangy dog: full of disgust. It was almost as if the word left a bad taste in his mouth. Cecilia could understand his problem with calling her aunt, as he was her elder by half a decade. He smiled at her with cold eyes before finishing with, "I hope you enjoy your time in Vienna. Come and feast! Be merry! Be joyous! It will be short lived."

Cecilia frowned at the words, "Why is the party to be short lived?"

He drank from his gold jewel encrusted cup before pointing to her, "Because we are going to Spain, dear aunt. You and I will be leaving tonight." He paused and stepped closer to tip her chin up so their eyes met. He smiled a wicked smile only to finish his words, "I hope you brought your things because I fear you'll never be returning to Austria again."