Chapter 1
I walk from the library to the palace gardens. Walking through the gardens helps keep my anxiety down. After all, today is a very important day and everyone is stressed.
I reach the door that leads to the gardens. The guard nods at me and opens the door when I approach. The fresh air and breeze on my face feel wonderful.
“Elara,” a gruff voice says.
I turn and see Mark walking around a rose bush. He is one of the palace gardeners. He is my favorite and is like a grandfather to me even if he is gruff. That’s why he doesn’t address me properly.
“Shouldn’t you be getting ready to meet your guests? I have heard a lot of chatter about the visits and heard they were for you. So why aren’t you ready?” he asks.
“I needed a break to visit the gardens. Just for a few moments.” I replied.
“Who are the main guests today?”
“Prince Adrian from Raiville and Princess Serenya from Mardell. My parents thought it would be good to start building alliances early.” I say as I smell a rose.
“Future husband?” Mark asks as he walks to the small pond with water lilies of varying colors.
I turn away as I blush. I don’t really see boys romantically the way a lot of girls at the castle do so I find it unlikely. I sometimes get drawn to girls but it’s only for a while. I haven’t been in a romantic relationship before at all. “I don’t know,” I tell Mark. “I should go get ready. Good day Mark.”
“Good luck Elara.” Mark gives me a small smile that I return.
I hurry inside and go to my room. I open the door to see the dress my maids laid out for me on my bed. The gown is a lavender with purple lace. I quickly put it on then go downstairs. My makeup and hair were done earlier so I don’t worry about them.
My parents are in the throne room talking when I approach. They see me then stop.
“All ready,” I smile.
My parents have small smiles as they lead me to the great hall.
The great hall is too warm, the air thick with perfume and candle smoke. Every noble in the kingdom has gathered, their jewels and silks glittering as they murmur in anticipation. I stand a little behind my parents, my hands folded carefully in front of me, though my palms are damp against the satin of my gown.
I hate this. The staring, the whispers, the way everyone is waiting for me to smile and bow at the right time. If I could hide in the gardens forever, I would. But today, there is no escape.
The herald steps forward, his voice ringing out, "Her Royal Highness, Princess Serenya of Mardell!”
The massive oak doors swing open, and I forget to breathe.
She enters like fire through shadow — her gown a deep crimson that clings and flows with every confident stride. Jewels scatter light from her hair, but it’s her presence, not her beauty, that makes everyone fall silent. Serenya moves as if the hall belongs to her, as if she were born to stand in every gaze and not falter.
I envy her instantly. And yet, I cannot look away.
When she reaches the dais, she bows to my parents with perfect grace, her eyes gleaming as though she finds the formality amusing. Then she turns toward me.
“And you must be Princess Elara.” Her voice is rich, low, threaded with mischief.
“Yes.” My curtsy is too quick, nearly clumsy. “Welcome to our court. I hope your journey was… pleasant.”
Her lips curve. “Pleasant? Hardly. Endless roads, poor food, a broken wheel on the carriage. But”—her eyes find mine, sharp as steel, bright as sunlight—“arriving to such a welcome makes it all worthwhile.”
The words are ordinary enough. But the way she says them, as though I myself am the welcome, sends heat flooding my cheeks. I duck my head, fumbling for composure, as courtiers titter behind their jeweled fans.
I should not be flustered. I have read books on diplomacy, on how to remain poised under scrutiny. I know how to nod, how to smile politely, how to say nothing at all. And yet, with Serenya’s gaze fixed on me, every word I have ever learned seems to vanish.
The words are ordinary enough. Courtiers will hear only politeness. But the way she says them makes my skin burn. As though I myself am the welcome.
Laughter and whispers ripple among the watching nobles, fans flicking open to hide knowing smiles. My cheeks flame. I duck my head, pretending to adjust the fall of my gown, but nothing hides the furious beating of my heart.
I should not be flustered. I have read enough books on diplomacy to know how to stand calm under scrutiny, how to nod and smile without revealing a single thought. Yet with Serenya’s gaze fixed on me, every practiced lesson flies from my mind.
“I’m glad you are here,” I say at last, my voice too soft.
Her smile sharpens. “Oh, I think I will be glad too.”
I look away quickly, pretending to adjust the fall of my gown. My heart beats far too fast for a simple exchange of greetings. She is overwhelming, dazzling, impossible to ignore.
And I—I am nothing but a bookish girl who hides in gardens.
Still, when I glance up again, Serenya is watching me. Not my parents. Not the courtiers. Me.
And her smile lingers.
It’s a smile that says she knows a secret. A smile that makes my heart lurch in a way it has never done before.
Around us, the courtiers murmur with delight, some admiring her gown, others whispering about the strength of an alliance with Mardell. My parents sit straighter, pleased with the impression she’s made.
But all of that fades to nothing.
Because I am thinking of the warmth in her eyes, the daring in her voice, and the way she carries herself as though she cannot imagine a world where anyone would look away from her.
I should not notice these things. I should be thinking of politics, of diplomacy, of my role as heir. But instead, I find myself wishing the hall would be empty, that I could ask her what makes her smile like that, and what it would feel like if she smiled at me alone.
The moment stretches longer than it should. Serenya’s eyes remain fixed on mine, steady and unflinching, as though she is testing how long I can endure her gaze.
I am the first to look away. My hands twist in the folds of my gown, and I try to appear calm, though I feel anything but.
My mother clears her throat, stepping smoothly into the silence. “We are honored by your presence, Princess Serenya. May this visit mark the beginning of a lasting friendship between our kingdoms.”
“Indeed,” my father agrees, his voice ringing with warmth.
Serenya turns to them, bowing once more. “The honor is mine, Your Majesties. My father sends his deepest regards and hopes that in time we will strengthen not only our bonds but our futures.”
The courtiers nod approvingly, some whispering words like alliance and prosperity. Their eyes flick toward me more than once, as though I am already part of this unspoken negotiation. I keep my head high, but inside, my stomach knots.
A servant steps forward with a silver goblet, offering it to Serenya. She accepts, lifting it gracefully to her lips before setting it aside. “Your wine is finer than ours,” she says with a wry tilt of her mouth. “Perhaps I shall have to beg for a cask to be sent home with me.”
Laughter ripples through the hall. She commands it easily, the way she commanded silence before. Every word she speaks bends the crowd toward her, as if she were the sun and the flowers leaning for light.
And me? I am still caught somewhere between envy and awe.
When the formal greetings end, Serenya steps down from the dais and makes her way through the hall, courtiers parting eagerly to greet her. She speaks with them all — a nobleman about falconry, a lady about embroidery, a knight about jousting — and in each exchange, she shines as though she belongs in their world, in every world.
I remain near my parents, feigning composure. But I can feel her. Even when her back is turned, even when she is laughing with someone else, I am aware of her presence as though it tugs at me.
I shouldn’t be. She is only another guest. Another piece of the endless political puzzle that makes up royal life. And yet…
At last, her circuit through the hall brings her back to me. Her eyes gleam, catching mine again. “You are very quiet, Princess,” she says softly, though others stand close enough to hear. “Do you always hide behind silence, or are you saving your words for when they matter?”
The question is simple. But my throat tightens.
“I… prefer to listen first,” I answer.
Her lips curve, dangerous and knowing. “Then I hope, in time, you will find me worth speaking to.”
Before I can reply, a courtier calls her name, drawing her away once more. Her crimson gown flickers like flame as she vanishes into the throng.
I stand frozen, my heart racing.
“Elara,” my mother murmurs beside me, her smile fixed for the crowd though her voice is sharp with warning. “Do not let yourself be unsettled. Remember your place.”
I nod, but my thoughts whirl. I have read of battles and treaties, of rulers who led with steel and cunning. Yet I have never read about what it feels like when one person enters a room and changes the rhythm of your heartbeat.
The moment Serenya drifts into the throng, laughter following her like music, I feel the walls of the great hall pressing in. Too many eyes, too much heat. I mumble something about needing air and slip toward a side door I know well.
The door opens onto a stone patio that overlooks the southern gardens. Evening has begun to fall, the sky painted in streaks of violet and gold. Lanterns hang from wrought-iron posts, their light soft and warm, spilling across the flagstones.
I step out, breathing deeply. The perfume of the hall lingers on my gown, but here the air carries the gentler scents of jasmine and honeysuckle. My shoulders loosen.
I lean against the carved railing, staring out over the sprawling hedges below. From here, the world seems quieter, farther away. And yet my thoughts are anything but calm.
I see her again in my mind — the confident tilt of her chin, the flame of her gown, the smile that seemed meant only for me. The memory makes my cheeks burn all over again.
It’s ridiculous. I have spoken with countless nobles, endured endless introductions. Why should one princess leave me so undone? Perhaps it was the certainty in her gaze, as though she already knew I would falter. As though she had plucked the mask from my face with nothing more than a look.
I press a hand to my stomach, where the fluttering won’t stop. I hate it. I love it. I don’t understand it.
“Elara?”
I turn, startled. One of the guards lingers in the doorway, his expression politely blank. “Are you well, Princess?”
“Yes,” I say too quickly. My voice steadies on the next words. “Only a moment of air before the next guest arrives.”
He bows and withdraws.
Alone again, I close my eyes and tilt my head back toward the darkening sky. Stars begin to pierce the fading light, sharp and cold above the horizon. How simple it must be to be a star — distant, untouchable, never expected to smile or bow or wed for politics.
I am not a star. I am a daughter, a princess, a piece on the board. My parents would remind me of that if they saw me now, clutching the stone railing like it might keep me from drifting away.
Still, when I open my eyes, I imagine crimson flame against the stars, a laugh that could make even the coldest night seem warm.
And I know, deep down, that I will not forget her.
A sudden hush falls from the hall behind me, carried through the open door.
The herald calls again, announcing another arrival. The crowd turns eagerly toward the doors, but my mind lingers only on Serenya — her fire, her smile, and the way she looked at me as though she saw more than the quiet girl who hides in gardens.
And for the first time in my life, I wonder if being seen might be more frightening — and more wonderful — than being overlooked.
