-Princess Aveline Ravelynn, Elaria:
The mirror didn't lie—but I almost wished it would.
Sunlight streamed in from the high-arched windows of my chamber, catching the flecks of gold embroidered into my gown. The fabric shimmered when I moved, soft as breath, delicate as a sigh. Lira's fingers fastened the last of the pearl clasps down my back, her touch careful and precise.
"You look like a dream," she whispered with a small smile.
I didn't answer right away. My gaze was locked on my reflection. The gown was ivory silk threaded with silver and ice blue, delicate patterns stitched along the hem like frost creeping over a windowpane. It flowed off my shoulders, gathered snugly around my waist, then fell like water to the floor. My hair was coiled in soft braids, tiny crystals woven through like stars caught in twilight. A necklace of moonstones rested above my collarbone—elegant, regal, flawless.
And yet… It didn't feel like a dream. I felt like an offering.
"I should be excited," I said softly, still watching the girl in the mirror.
"You don't have to be," Lira replied gently, adjusting one of the bracelets on my wrist. "Not yet."
A pause.
"Maybe I'm hoping I'll meet someone tonight. Someone who sees me—not the crown, not the politics. Just me." I laughed, barely. "I must sound foolish."
Lira looked up, her eyes kind. "You don't sound foolish. You sound like a girl who wants love. That's not the same thing as being naive."
I bit my lip and let my fingers trail over the silver belt at my waist. "But love doesn't always belong to girls like me, does it? Not when there are alliances to forge. Borders to secure. A kingdom to protect."
"You're still allowed to hope."
"Even when I know I may not get a choice?"
Lira didn't answer that. She didn't have to.
The silence stretched between us, heavy and intimate. Outside, I could already hear the faint hum of preparations—musicians tuning instruments, nobles arriving in clattering carriages, the laughter of guests echoing from the garden. The celebration would begin soon. Seven days of pageantry. Seven days of suitors and scrutiny and smiling until my cheeks ached.
I didn't want it.
But I also didn't want to disappoint my mother. Or my people. Or my father—especially him. And part of me… part of me was curious. Maybe one of the men would surprise me. Maybe I'd find someone whose voice made the world quiet, whose presence steadied the air around me.
"I hate that I'm so desperate to be seen," I whispered.
"You're not desperate," Lira said, pinning the last ornament into my braid. "You're human."
The door creaked open without warning.
I turned just in time to see a familiar figure sweep into the room.
Elira, Lira's older sister.
Elira stumble inside, breathless, her cheeks flushed red. Her apron was wrinkled, and a few strands of hair had escaped the bun pinned at the nape of her neck.
"Princess," she panted, clutching the edge of the doorframe. "You need to come. Now. It's the king—he's in the Great Hall. Everyone's there."
My brows knit. "What? What happened?"
"I—I don't know everything," she said quickly, rushing to me. "But he's furious. I mean truly furious, more than I've ever seen him. The ministers, the princes—they're all there. Something about… something about who's coming."
My pulse kicked up. I glanced at Lira, who was already moving, grabbing my cloak and slipping it over my shoulders without a word. I didn't wait for another explanation.
I lifted my skirts and ran.
The sound of our footsteps echoed through the halls—mine fast and light, theirs behind me, trying to keep up. I didn't speak. I didn't stop. Marble floors blurred beneath me, banners swaying overhead, and every turn I took seemed to lead me into deeper silence. The kind that hangs just before a storm.
When I reached the doors to the Great Hall, I paused only for a breath. Then I pushed them open.
The voices hit me at once.
"—utterly unacceptable!" my father roared, his voice echoing through the vaulted chamber like a cannon. "This cannot happen. I won't allow it!"
Inside, the room was filled with tension as sharp as broken glass. The council members stood in a wide semi-circle, murmuring to one another, while my three brothers were flanking my father, all with varying expressions of concern—or in Prince Caelum's case, cold calculation.
At the center of it all stood a trembling man dressed in deep green leather, a leather satchel slung over one shoulder, and a sealed scroll held tightly in both hands. A messenger.
"I only speak what was written, Your Majesty," the man said in a shaking voice. "I swear it. The kings—King Lucan Velshar and King Rhysand Varynthal of Dravareth—have accepted the invitation. They will attend the festivities."
A stunned silence followed his words, so thick and absolute I could hear my breath.
I stepped back into the shadow of the doorway, whispering urgently to Lira, "What is this? What's happening? Why is he so angry?"
Lira shook her head once, then leaned closer to me. "Dravareth. The kings from the hidden kingdom. They're coming, it's never a good news."
I blinked. "They are coming?"
She nodded. "They never have before. No one thought they would."
"But… why is that such a problem?"
Elira, still catching her breath, leaned toward me as well, lowering her voice to a murmur. "Because they're not just kings. They're husbands. Two men. And no one—especially not the council—wants them here. Not among the suitors. Not near you."
I swallowed hard, my eyes lifting back to the scene in front of me.
My father paced like a beast behind his throne, one hand gripping the hilt of his sword though he hadn't drawn it. "We sent that invitation out of courtesy, not expectation. They were never meant to come! They've declined every invitation we've ever sent. We've kept them at a distance on purpose."
"Perhaps this is a trap," Caelum offered calmly. "An insult in disguise. A display of dominance."
"Or maybe they want something," Thorian said grimly, arms crossed over his broad chest. "They don't make casual decisions."
Prince Emric said nothing—just stood beside my father with that ever-watchful stillness, his gaze moving slowly between the ministers, the messenger, and finally the scroll.
I stepped in cautiously.
My heels clicked faintly on the marble floor, but my father didn't turn to look at me. His eyes were locked on the parchment the messenger still held in his trembling hands.
"What exactly did the message say?" he barked.
The man flinched. "Only that they accept the royal invitation to the birthday of Princess Aveline Ravelynn, and that they will arrive together at the opening feast, with formal offerings of goodwill. Signed in both their names."
The words hung in the air like a sentence handed down in court.
Silence.
My father exhaled sharply through his nose. "Get out."
The messenger hesitated.
"I said get out!"
The man nearly tripped over his own feet as he bowed and fled the hall.
I stood frozen near the entrance, unsure if I should step forward or vanish. My mother wasn't here—thank the stars. Her absence left a visible crack in the room, one I longed to slip into and disappear.
Then my father's gaze swept the room—and landed on me.
His expression shifted slightly. Still rigid. Still angry. But beneath it was something more cautious, like he'd been caught off guard by my presence.
"Aveline," he said, his voice curt but not unkind. "You weren't meant to hear this yet."
Then Caelum stepped forward, folding his hands behind his back. His voice was smooth. "We should inform the princess, Father. She deserves to know the terms of interaction. What is permitted? What is not."
Father's gaze snapped to me again, sharp and unyielding. "Yes. You are to stay away from them."
My brow furrowed. "Why?"
The room stilled.
"I don't understand," I said quietly, genuinely. "What's wrong?"
That was the wrong question.
My father's face twisted with fury, his voice rising like a whipcrack through the chamber. "What's wrong? Aveline, they are two men. That union is unnatural. That kingdom is unnatural. I don't want you anywhere near them, do you understand me?"
I flinched but didn't step back. "But, Father, they're just—if they love each other, why does it matter? It doesn't seem fair to treat them as dangerous for being different, as far as I know they have never harmed us."
"Aveline," Caelum warned under his breath, but I didn't stop.
"If they're married, then let them be. It doesn't affect us. Just because they're two men doesn't mean they can't—"
"Enough!" my father bellowed, cutting through my words like a blade.
I jumped, the echo of his shout slamming into my chest.
"Don't speak like that again," he hissed. "Not here. Not anywhere. You're the princess of Elaria, not some naive farm girl with childish ideals. You will do as you're told. They are not welcome here. They were never supposed to come. And they will never be welcome in this palace—or your presence."
My vision blurred, and heat rose behind my eyes. But I held my ground.
"Go to your room," he snapped. "Now."
"Father, I—"
"I said go!"
The chamber fell into silence again, crackling with tension. I didn't dare look at anyone else. But I felt Emric gaze on me—steady, regretful. The faintest movement of his head urged me to obey.
My lips parted, but I said nothing.
Instead, I turned.
My footsteps felt heavier than before as I fled the hall, the tears finally falling the moment I crossed the threshold.
Lira and Elira followed, calling my name softly, but I didn't stop. I didn't want comfort. I didn't want anyone to see.
By the time I reached my chambers and slammed the door shut, my sobs were silent, but my heart roared louder than my father ever had.