The grand ballroom was a living masterpiece, its gilded walls, and ornate arches reaching toward a ceiling painted with constellations, glittering as though the stars themselves had descended. Crystal chandeliers dangled like frozen waterfalls, refracting the golden light of a thousand flickering candles. The air was rich with the scent of roses and lavender, mingling with the faint clinking of glasses and the hum of conversation.
Lyra stood at the center of it all, her emerald-green gown shimmering like a forest kissed by morning dew. Silver embroidery traced delicate vines across the fabric, catching the light with every movement. Her hair was an elegant cascade, loose curls framing a face both regal and soft, while a necklace of emeralds and diamonds rested against her collarbone, a perfect complement to her attire. Beside her, Astrid was a vision in midnight blue, the gown's flowing silhouette embroidered with sapphires that seemed to mirror the night sky. Astrid's grace was effortless, her poise unshaken even in a room full of critical gazes.
The evening unfolded as expected: dances choreographed like clockwork, polite conversations disguised as strategy, and subtle glances exchanged like unspoken declarations. Yet Lyra's focus wandered. She felt Dylan's unwavering attention on her, his hand firm yet considerate against her back as they danced. But her gaze often strayed to Astrid and Alexander.
Astrid, usually reserved at such gatherings, seemed almost luminous tonight. The Crown Prince moved beside her with practiced charm, but his smiles for Astrid felt genuine, their light-hearted laughter a stark contrast to the calculated airs of the room.
"Princess," Dylan's voice cut through her thoughts, drawing her back. He leaned in, a teasing lilt to his tone. "Am I that dull a dance partner?"
Lyra blinked, startled, then offered a sheepish smile. "I'm sorry. I was just… distracted."
Dylan followed her gaze and chuckled. "It's rare to see Alexander like this too. Perhaps we're witnessing something special?"
Lyra sighed but said nothing, a peculiar warmth spreading in her chest as she watched her sister. The music ebbed, signaling the end of the dance. Dylan gently took her hand and guided her toward the balcony.
The night air was cool and crisp as Lyra stepped onto the marble balcony. Beyond, the palace gardens stretched like a labyrinth of shadow and light, torches casting long, flickering beams across manicured hedges and marble fountains. Dylan leaned casually against the railing, his dark hair slightly tousled by the breeze.
"Are you enjoying yourself, Princess?" he asked, his voice easy yet tinged with curiosity.
Before Lyra could reply, her gaze locked onto a figure lingering at the edge of the garden. Her expression darkened, her words a quiet hiss. "Bastard."
Dylan raised an eyebrow, startled. "Me? What did I do?"
Lyra shook her head, her voice sharper. "No. That bastard."
Dylan followed her line of sight to the man by the garden gates. Recognition flickered in his features. "Who is he?"
"The man who betrayed my sister," Lyra said bitterly, her hands tightening on the balcony railing. "He's no longer a baron, it seems. He married Lady Ashley, the Marquis of Ceres' only daughter."
Dylan's jaw tightened. "Lady Ashley Ceres? She's my cousin."
Lyra turned sharply, disbelief flashing in her eyes. "What? You can't be serious."
Dylan nodded grimly. "Engaged since birth. I never liked him much, but I didn't realize he was that man."
Lyra's teeth clenched, her gaze snapping back to the garden. "He's risen in status, but at what cost? He's a danger to Astrid, Dylan. We have to act quickly."
Dylan's expression hardened, his earlier lightheartedness replaced by resolute determination. "I'll warn Alexander. You find Astrid."
Lyra gave a curt nod, her gown swishing as she hurried down the stairs.
The garden was quiet save for the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze and the distant murmur of fountains. Lyra spotted Astrid near a rose trellis, her serene expression illuminated by moonlight as she traced her fingers along the petals.
"Astrid," Lyra called, her voice steady despite the thundering of her heart.
Astrid turned, surprise flickering across her face. "Lyra? What's wrong?"
Lyra's smile was forced but warm. "Alexander's looking for you. He mentioned wanting another dance."
Astrid tilted her head, a small, curious smile on her lips. "Did he?"
Lyra nodded, the lie slipping smoothly. "He's by the fountain. You should go to him."
Astrid hesitated, glancing between Lyra and the path ahead. "What about you?"
"I'll join you shortly," Lyra assured, her tone light.
After a moment, Astrid nodded and walked toward the fountain, her silhouette vanishing into the maze of hedges. Lyra exhaled, her shoulders easing as the immediate danger passed.
Dylan appeared moments later, his expression taut.
"Any sign of Alexander?" he asked, his voice steady yet laced with concern. The faint furrow in his brow was almost imperceptible, but Lyra had learned to read him like the pages of a favorite book.
"I sent Astrid to him," she replied, her gaze flickering toward the wrought-iron garden gates. "She believes he's waiting for her by the fountain."
Dylan's shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, relief softening his sharp features. "Good. And the… bastard?"
Lyra's lips pressed into a thin line. "Still lurking near the entrance. If he sees Astrid—"
"He won't," Dylan interrupted, his voice firm yet reassuring. The gentleness in his tone was like a shield against the tension in the air. "Alexander won't let that happen."
A weary sigh escaped Lyra, her delicate shoulders sagging under the invisible weight she carried. "Thank you," she murmured. "For helping."
Dylan stepped closer, his hand lifting to brush a stray lock of hair from her face. The gesture was tender, almost intimate. "Always," he said softly. "May I ask something, if you don't mind?"
Lyra hesitated, her gaze meeting his. In his eyes, she saw curiosity mingled with something deeper, something she could not yet name. "What is it?"
"Why are you so nervous about them meeting?" His voice was gentle, yet insistent, as though he sought to unravel the knot of her thoughts.
Her brow furrowed, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face. "Should I not be?" she asked quietly. "I don't want my sister to feel hurt by seeing him again… with a wife and a daughter."
Dylan's expression softened as he watched her, his gaze searching hers. "Does that mean Astrid still loves him?"
Lyra shook her head, her voice firm but tinged with sadness. "No, I don't think so. At least, she says she doesn't… and I believe her."
Dylan's head tilted slightly, his eyes narrowing with thought. "How can you be so certain?"
Lyra's expression softened as she sought the words. "Because… do you know what matters more than love in a relationship?"
"Respect?" Dylan ventured, his tone contemplative.
"That too," she replied with a small nod. "But trust is what truly matters. My sister didn't just love him. She trusted him. She trusted him to save her from the gilded cage she'd been born into. Astrid never wanted to be queen. The crown was a burden she despised, but she clung to him because he was her escape. And when that trust shattered… it wasn't the absence of love that broke her. It was the betrayal."
Dylan's chest tightened at her words, the weight of Astrid's pain seeping into him. "But she got what she wanted, didn't she?" he asked softly. "She's free now."
Lyra's gaze grew distant. "Yes," she said, her voice a mere whisper. "But not in the way she dreamed. Freedom came at a cost she wasn't prepared to pay. And though she's no longer bound by the crown, the scars of that betrayal remain."
"Scars fade with time," Dylan said gently, his voice a soothing balm.
Lyra's lips curved into a faint, wistful smile. "Do they?" she asked, her tone tinged with both hope and doubt. "Do you believe the right person can heal them?"
Dylan's gaze held hers, steady and unwavering. "I believe scars are proof of survival," he said. "And yes, the right person can make them fade. Not because they erase the past, but because they help you see the beauty in what remains."
Lyra's breath caught, her heart fluttering at his words. She looked away, her voice barely above a whisper. "How do you know when someone is the one?"
Dylan's reply was immediate, as though he'd carried the answer with him for years. "You just know," he said simply. "It's a feeling… a certainty that settles deep within you."
The tension between them was palpable, a fragile thread connecting their hearts. Dylan's fingers tightened around hers, his voice dropping to a murmur. "Have you ever felt that?"
Lyra's eyes widened, her cheeks flushing as she quickly looked away. "No," she stammered. "I haven't…"
Relief flickered in Dylan's gaze, though he tried to mask it. "Good," he said softly. "Then perhaps… one day, you will."
Lyra's heart raced as she met his gaze once more, her voice trembling. "You're very forward, aren't you?"
Dylan's smile was warm and playful. "Life is too short for hesitation," he replied. "Especially when it comes to the people who matter."
Before she could respond, a guard appeared, bowing low. "Your Highness, the king requests your presence immediately," he said to Dylan.
Dylan straightened, giving Lyra a small, regretful smile. "Until later, Princess," he said softly, before following the guard into the night.
Left alone, Lyra remained motionless, her thoughts swirling like the petals scattered across the garden path. She glanced back toward the fountain, her heart heavy with the weight of her own unanswered questions. Tonight had shifted something within her, but whether it was for better or worse, she could not yet say.
Lyra strolled through the palace gardens, the muffled hum of music and laughter from the ongoing ball inside fading into the background. The soft glow of lanterns bathed the pathways and hedges in warm light, and the cool evening breeze carried the delicate scent of blooming flowers. She had sought solace in the quiet outside, away from the grandeur and noise of the ballroom.
She wasn't alone for long. Astrid appeared, her face calm but shadowed with thought. "Needed a moment?" Lyra asked, glancing at her sister as they fell into step together.
"Alexander was called away by Father," Astrid replied with a small shrug. "And truthfully, I needed the air. It gets suffocating in there."
The two sisters walked side by side, their footsteps soft on the cobblestone path. For a while, neither spoke, simply taking in the peaceful ambiance of the gardens.
"It's so peaceful here," Astrid finally remarked, her voice calm yet tinged with wistfulness. "It reminds me of how home used to feel… before everything changed."
Lyra nodded, her gaze distant. "It's been a long time since things were calm back home. I can barely remember it, to be honest."
Astrid's smile was faint, but sadness lingered in her eyes. "Do you remember how lively it used to be when Mother was alive? Everything felt… safe. Warm, even. But after she passed…" She trailed off, her voice faltering.
"Father was never the same," Lyra finished softly. "He became colder, angrier. As though he had no more love left to give."
Astrid exhaled deeply, her hand brushing against Lyra's as if to draw comfort from her presence. For a moment, there was only the gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze.
The tranquility shattered when a voice emerged hesitantly from the shadows.
"Princess Astrid…"
Astrid froze, her hand instinctively tightening around Lyra's. Lyra turned sharply toward the source of the voice, her heart sinking as recognition dawned.
"What are you doing here?" Astrid's voice was steady but cold, a sharp contrast to the warmth it had carried moments before.
"I… uh… What are you doing here?" the man stammered, attempting a weak smile.
"We were invited," Lyra replied icily, stepping slightly in front of Astrid. Her protective instincts flared, and her glare could have frozen the very air around them.
"Of course you were," the man said, his expression faltering. "But you've never attended before. Does this mean your aunt has finally granted you freedom?"
"Why do you care?" Astrid's tone cut like a blade.
"Does it matter?" he countered, attempting to feign nonchalance. "At least for old times' sake, I can ask that much, can't I?"
Astrid's gaze hardened, her voice a low growl. "But you're dead to me."
His face fell, and he took a hesitant step forward. "…I already apologized."
"Then why," Lyra interjected sharply, "are you still speaking to us?"
Without another word, Astrid grabbed Lyra's hand and moved to walk past him, but his hand shot out, grasping Astrid's wrist.
"Let me go," Astrid demanded, her voice low and furious.
"First, we need to talk," he insisted, his grip tightening.
"I have nothing to say to you," Astrid snapped, struggling to pull her hand free.
"But I have much to say to you!" he exclaimed, desperation creeping into his tone.
"And I don't want to hear it," Astrid retorted. "Now let me go!"
Lyra, seeing her sister's struggle, stepped forward and grabbed his arm. "You heard her. Let her go."
"Not until I'm done talking," he said through gritted teeth.
"You've already said what you wanted," Lyra hissed, her grip tightening. "You still betrayed her. What more could there possibly be to say?"
"Not to her!" he shouted, his voice rising in frustration.
"I said I don't want to listen!" Astrid yelled, her anger finally boiling over. She yanked her wrist with all her strength. "What will the truth get me, huh? Will it change anything? Will it erase what you've done? Will we go back to how we used to be? No! That's not going to happen, and I don't want it to happen. So let. Me. Go!"
Her voice echoed through the garden, startling both Lyra and the man into silence. Just then, Alexander appeared, his tall frame emerging from the shadows, his face composed but his eyes sharp.
"What's going on here?" he asked, his voice calm but commanding.
The man hesitated but released Astrid's hand reluctantly. "Your Highness," he began, inclining his head slightly, "this is a personal matter. I would request that you stay out of it."
Alexander stepped forward, placing himself between Astrid and the man. His piercing gaze left no room for argument. "Personal matters," he said coolly, "can still be handled civilly."
"I was being civil," the man replied defensively.
"I fail to see how forcing someone to listen against their will is civil," Alexander countered, his voice dangerously calm.
The man faltered but then squared his shoulders. "Then I promise to be civil. Now, if you'll excuse us, I have something to say to Astrid."
Alexander raised an eyebrow. "And yet, here you are, addressing her without her title. Tell me, have you entirely forgotten your manners?"
The man's confidence slipped. "We… we know each other. It's a personal matter, as I said."
"We knew each other," Astrid cut in sharply. "Not anymore. I have nothing to do with you." She grabbed Lyra's hand, motioning for Alexander to follow. "Let's go."
But as they turned to leave, the man called out again, his voice filled with desperation. He reached out as if to grab Astrid's hand once more, but before he could, Alexander stepped in front of him, his expression darkening.
"Touch her again," Alexander said quietly, his voice low and lethal, "and I promise you, it will be the last thing you ever do."
Still, the man pushed forward, his desperation blinding him. In the scuffle, Alexander's glasses slipped off his face, and the man accidentally stepped on them.
"Hey!" Lyra shouted, her anger finally breaking through. She grabbed his arm, her grip surprisingly strong. "Stop this nonsense. You're married now, aren't you? With a wife and child to think of. Go focus on them. Or perhaps you'd like me to pay them a visit and tell them exactly what kind of man you are?"
The man's face paled, but he remained silent.
Alexander also stepped closer, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "If you value your legs or your tongue, I suggest you never so much as glance in her direction again. Is that clear?"
The sheer venom in his tone left the man too stunned to speak. Without another word, Lyra grabbed Astrid's hand, pulling her away from the scene. Alexander followed, his protective presence shielding them as they disappeared into the safety of the palace.