Frieda Lancelot is one of many children of Prussian Nobleman Margrave Friedrich Lancelot. A striking girl with porcelain skin, golden eyes, and long wavy brown hair, she often caught attention for beauty. Often rejected from noble society for having a different mother, Frieda usually hung out in town with peasants to avoid the endless stares and whispers at the manor. Today, she perched on the edge of a fountain, reading a copy of Grimms' Fairy tales. Upon first glance, one would think she was another peasant.

"Nice try, but I know that's you, Frieda," a smooth voice brimmed with arrogance called out, pulling Frieda out of her trance. She looked up and saw a blonde nobleman with a smug face. It was Prince Dieter I of the Hohenzollern Sigmaringen house. His polished boots clicked against the stone street, and his gloved hands rested lazily behind his back. Despite being married to her cousin Mariele, Dieter had an obvious yet unwelcome interest in Frieda.

"Dieter, how could you tell?" Frieda asked, snapping the book shut.

"You're reading; most peasants can't read," He smirked, his gaze flickering to the fountain.

"And those who can wouldn't be so foolish do it in public," He pointed out. Frieda flushed a bit, berating herself for not thinking of that.

"Say..." Dieter leaned forward slightly, bending down to her eye level. "Don't you have duties to attend to?" He asked in a condescending tone. "Of course, he had to bring them up," Frieda thought. Being a bastard child in such a noble household was difficult. Despite being acknowledged by her father, Frieda was often forced to labor around the house so she'd "know her place"

"Oh, I finished..." Frieda claimed. Dieter's eyes narrowed with disbelief

"Finished? Oh, no no, there's always work to be done; silly child," He playfully scolded, his tone light, but the weight behind it lingered.

"What are you reading?" Dieter's voice cut through the market's hum. Before Frieda could react, he plucked the book from her hands.

"Dieter, give it back!" Frieda meekly protested. Dieter ignored her, his blue eyes scanning the green cover.

"Grimms fairy tale..." He read aloud, a smirk curling on his lips. "What are you, a child?" he asked, his tone teasing.

"Actually, yes," Frieda replied, crossing her arms with a pout. Dieter chuckled, and with a flick of his wrist, tossed the book into the fountain.

"No!" Frieda gasped, scrambling to retrieve it. Her fingers trembled as she lifted the dripping book from the water. Droplets cascaded onto her the apron wrapped around her blue skirt.

"It's about time you pulled your head out of those fairy tales and focused on more important things," Dieter chided, looking at her with a smirk.

"Like what?" Frieda asked, cradling the ruining back against her chest. It was covered in a black bodice with white string overlaying her white blouse. Dieter leaned in slightly, his voice lowered as he said,

"You're role in this family," his voice was almost soft, but the words stung of something colder.

"Unfortunately, as an illegitimate child, you're at the bottom. It's a blessing your father even lets you live in the manor at all," He mentioned casually. Frieda's grip tightened around the book.

"But Vater loves me... ja?" Frieda asked, her voice wavering with doubt. Dieter's smirk returned.

"Or so he claims, but we all know it's because you're pretty--and the only child named after him," Dieter chuckled.

"That's... shallow..." Frieda replied, unsure what to say. Her round golden eyes looked to the stone floor in shame.

"It is," He agreed, shrugging. "But that's nobility for you,"

"Stupid DIeter, why can't he be quiet?" Frieda grumbled under her breath, furiously scrubbing at the marble floor. Her arms ached from hours of work, but she kept scrubbing. Frieda always felt signaled out and knew why—because she was a bastard. No matter how often the nobles gossiped, it made no sense. Her father should be the one punished, not her.

"It's not my fault," Frieda sniffled, holding back tears. She heard the soft rustle of skirts, causing her to stiffen. Passing by was her cousin, Mariele, her platinum blonde hair shimmered in the sunlight, her green eyes glinting with mischief. Accompanying her was Frieda's half-sister, Theodora. She was also blonde but a darker shade with sharp blue eyes. In contrast to Frieda's humble peasant clothing, Mariele was dressed in an elegant green dress with floral patterns and a pearly white shawl held together by a flower clasp. Theodora wore a Prussian blue open-robe gown with a collared white blouse.

As they passed, Mariele's gaze flicked to Frieda, and a mischievous smirk crept across her face. With a nudge of her ivory leather shoes, she tipped the bucket at Frieda's side. The cold, soapy water drenched Frieda's blue skirt, pooling across the floor.

"Ah!" Frieda shrieked, jerking back in shock. Mariele and Theodora covered their mouth with delicate hands, laughing at the peasants' misfortunes.

"You missed a spot," Mariele teased, her voice dripping with a sickly sweetness. The two gave Frieda one last smirk before strutting away, their giggles still heard through the echoes of the hall. Frieda sat there, drenched in water. Her eyes burned with tears threatening to escape.

"This is so unfair!" She snapped, throwing the rag onto the wet floor with a loud slap. She stood up, pulling her skirt above her knees. Her eyes were red and moist with tears.

"I can't believe they're doing this!" Frieda fumed, her hands trembling with anger and she felt like her heart was about to burst out of her chest. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her emotions, and wiped the tears from her eyes.

After finishing the floor, Frieda returned to her small bed chambers and changed into a plain nightgown. She tugged at the sleeves, worn thin from overuse, before stepping into the dim hall. There, she went to her father's office. Her relationship with Friedrich Lancelot was strange. Many times he lavished her with attention, spoiling her like a princess. Other times, he barely acknowledged her. Slipping behind the mask of a duty-bound nobleman. Frieda never understood it. If he "loved" her as much as he claimed, why had he allowed his own daughter to become an indentured servant? Frieda stood outside the office door, hesitant. Her hand trembled as she knocked four times--three for business, four for familial matters.

"Enter." Friedrich's voice was sharp and commanding. Taking a deep breath, Frieda stepped inside. She was greeted by the familiar scent of parchment and candle wax. Friedrich sat at his desk, sorting through papers with weary precision. As he lifted his gaze, his strict demeanor softened upon seeing his daughter.

"Ah, Frieda, my darling," he greeted with a warm smile. "Come, sit. What brings you here?" He asked. Fried perched on the edge of the chair, wringing her hands nervously.

"Vater... I'm tired of being treated this way," She explained, trying to keep her voice steady. Friedrich's brow furrowed, his playful smirk betraying faux innocence.

"Whatever are you talking about?" He asked. Frieda's jaw tightened, annoyed as she knew Friedrich understood what she meant.

"It's unfair. I'm your daughter, but I'm treated no better than a peasant," Frieda explained. Friedrich leaned back, sighing deeply.

"Frieda, you know the reason. You're illegitimate—a bastard. That's how the world works," He explained. It did little to appease Frieda, only fueling her frustration.

"but why does that matter?" She asked, her voice trembling. "I didn't choose to be born this way. Why can't I be a part of this family?" She teared up.

"The Lancelot name carries weight. I have duties--to this family and our reputation. As much as I love you, I can't jeopardize that," Friedrich sternly explained.

"Isn't there any way to change it?" Frieda pleaded, gripping the armrest of the chair. Friedrich rubbed his temple as if debating something.

"I could arrange for you to marry a distant cousin," he offered. Frieda stared at her father, appalled.

"Vater, no!" She blurted out. "I can't marry a stranger!" she protested. Friedrich's eyes darkened, twitching in annoyance.

"Then you'll endure your current circumstances," he snapped. Frieda looked down, feeling hopeless. A knock echoed from the door, catching their attention.

"Lord Friedrich, supper is ready," a maid announced. Friedrich stood tall, smoothing his dark green waistcoat. Frieda looked up at him, hope flickering in her golden eyes.

"May I eat with you tonight?" She quietly asked. Friedrich shook his head.

"You eat with the servants. No exceptions," He flatly explained.

"Please, Vater, just this once?"

"No, Frieda. If I make an exception for you, then I'll be expected to make exceptions for others, and the integrity of the noble family is at stake," He explained.

Later that evening, Frieda lingered outside the dining hall, watching through the crack in the door as her father laughed beside his wife and legitimate children. Heinrich, Edwin, Theodora and Walter. Her half-sister Adelais used to sit amongst them but was married to a French nobleman. She spotted countless aunts, uncles, and cousins—everyone had a place. Except her.

"I can't believe I thought I belonged here..." She muttered. Her mind drifted to memories of France—her humble life with her mother before Friedrich whisked her away, promising luxury and nobility. It seems he had kept his promise, Frieda is surrounded by luxury and wealth, but not allowed to partake in it.

"I can't believe I ever thought I was special," Frieda thought. She remembers believing her father loved her more than his legitimate children, always visiting her, bringing her gifts, and talking about how prettier she was.

Frieda retreated into her room, which was with the servants, but it was somewhat nice. Probably the only sign of nobility she has. The room was small but well-appointed, with a window that overlooked the lush gardens. A simple yet elegant bed stood against one wall, adorned with soft linens and a warm quilt. A modest desk occupied the corner, a single book neatly placed atop it. Frieda sat down, reaching for a candle when a sharp knock startled her. She sighed, setting the candle aside.

"I barely sat down..." She muttered under her breath. Opening the door, she found DIeter leaning lazily against the frame, his usual smirk etched onto his face.

"Well well well. I heard the news, you're finally considering marriage," he drawled. Frieda frowned upon hearing that.

"What? Where did you hear that?" She asked.

"Your father announced it at dinner," Dieter replied, crossing his arms smugly. Frieda stiffened, feeling a mix of shock, annoyance, and betrayal.

"I'm not considering marriage," she snapped. "I told Vater I want to be accepted into the family. He said the only way for that to happen is if I marry," Frieda clarified. Dieter arched an eyebrow.

"So in other words, yes?" He asked.

"No, Dieter," Frieda sighed in annoyance, her shoulders sagging. "I don't want to marry for status, I want to marry for love—like in the fairy tales," Frieda's voice softened wistfully, her eyes drifting toward the book on her desk. Dieter looked at her then burst into laughed.

"Love? Oh, Frida, You're adorable," he chuckled. "Marrying for love is such a peasant thing to do," he scoffed.

"What are you talking about? What's wrong with marrying for love anyway?" Frieda asked, her eyes narrowing.

"We're nobles Frieda," He reminded. "We don't marry for love. We marry for money—power, alliances" Dieter explained as if it were basic knowledge. "You need to stop reading those childish fairytales and face the real world. It's all about being on top," he finished. Frieda's grip on her nightgown tightened.

"Then I'd rather stay a servant forever," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. Dieter chuckled, unfazed.

"Suit yourself. Just don't expect any sympathy when you're still scrubbing floors at thirty," with that, he spun his hell and strode down the hall. The echo of his footsteps faded into the distance.

Frieda lingered, staring into the dimly lit corridor. Her heart was heavy, and she wasn't sure if it was with anger or disappointment. She softly closed the door behind her and slumped onto the bed.

"Maybe I am childish," she thought, staring at the ceiling. Deep down, she didn't want to believe that. Her eyes drifted to the window, where the moon hung low, bathing the garden in a soft glow.

"Maybe I should... run away..." Frieda contemplated. "No one would miss me... Maybe I should go back to France with Mama..." She mused.