---
The hall was beautifully adorned with crystal lanterns, their light casting an exquisite glow over the space. Everything radiated elegance; this was truly a royal ball. The guests gathered in various clusters, their conversations buzzing with excitement and anticipation.
L'Oracle de la Reine was a rare and prestigious event, occurring perhaps once in a century. Its rarity only added to its allure, as it symbolized an extraordinary tradition—seeking divine intervention to select the king's bride and future queen. Not every king was granted the privilege of L'Oracle de la Reine, as it was akin to directly asking the Almighty to choose a wife.
This evening, only the most distinguished families were present, their invitations serving as testament to their status. Each family brought daughters of remarkable grace and accomplishments, all eagerly awaiting the oracle's pronouncement. The air was thick with tension, as excitement mingled with unspoken envy.
The grand doors of the hall opened with a resounding creak, and the announcer proclaimed, "Announcing the Charter Execurium family of Heris and Mariale!"
All eyes turned toward the entrance, but the anticipation quickly gave way to murmurs of disbelief and disdain. Dylan and Marie entered first, walking arm-in-arm, their expressions strained. Behind them followed Jaslin and Mahalia, their presence drawing whispered comments and looks of barely concealed horror.
Mahalia leaned toward Jaslin with a smirk. "I knew my attire wouldn't be well-received, but this is excessive, don't you think?"
Jaslin winced. "Well, in high society, wearing your debut dress from eight years ago is… bold, to say the least."
Feigning disappointment, Mahalia sighed. "Really? I thought they'd applaud my excellent figure and timeless beauty. Wearing the same dress after eight years is no small feat."
Jaslin chuckled softly as they descended the stairs, their conversation a sharp contrast to the judgmental stares.
A servant approached with a tray filled with colorful, glimmering stones.
"Uh… what's this?" Mahalia asked, her brow furrowed.
"Aethonites?" Dylan inspected the tray, equally puzzled. "What for?"
The servant hesitated, offering a nervous smile. "All the ladies of each house are required to select a stone. It's a gift—a souvenir from the king."
Mahalia raised an eyebrow. "Father, what are these… Aetho—what?"
"Aethonites," Dylan explained. "They're ancient gemstones believed to carry celestial energy. Fortune tellers often use them, claiming the stones can predict or influence one's destiny."
Jaslin's eyes lit up as she eagerly picked a stone from the tray. "Really?"
"Yes, but each one is worth the price of a medium-sized cottage," Dylan added grimly. "The king giving away so many is… unsettling."
Mahalia quickly pieced it together, and she suspected she wasn't the only one. The so-called souvenirs were no ordinary gifts—they were the king's subtle way of choosing his bride.
"I have to pick a stone," she thought, her mind racing. "I'll just choose the most unimpressive one. There's no way I'm becoming queen."
Her hand reached for a jagged, dull stone that barely gleamed under the light. "Father, what's this one called?"
"That's a Terraka," Dylan replied. "It's notorious for resembling an ordinary rock. Merchants have often been tricked into collecting real stones instead. Some fortune tellers don't even bother buying it, claiming it predicts financial misfortune."
Mahalia's smile widened. "Perfect."
After selecting their stones, Mahalia whispered to Jaslin, "Hide your Aethonite. Don't let anyone know which one you picked."
Jaslin nodded in agreement, clutching her chosen stone tightly.
---
After the First Dance
Mahalia and Jaslin laughed together, their lively chatter drawing attention as if they were in their own world. Their ease at such a high-stakes event seemed almost defiant.
A group of women approached, led by Juniper Marcuse. A servant followed them, carrying a tray of drinks.
Juniper offered a saccharine smile. "Wine, anyone?" She directed her question toward Mahalia and Jaslin.
"Juice for me, thank you," Jaslin said.
"Same here," Mahalia added.
For a moment, the group sipped their drinks in awkward silence. Then Juniper broke it with an exaggerated laugh.
"I must admit, I was surprised to hear your family announced," she said, her tone sweet but laced with mockery.
Jaslin flinched, but Mahalia's smile didn't waver. "Why is that, Juniper Marcuse?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Juniper said with a faux-apologetic laugh. "Perhaps I'm overthinking."
One of Juniper's companions chimed in, "It's nothing personal, of course. It's just… L'Oracle de la Reine is no ordinary event. You wouldn't expect every Tom, Dick, and Harry to attend."
Mahalia smirked. "Really?"
Another added, "Honestly, Mahalia, you must lack self-awareness. Regardless of her innocence, the fact remains that your mother was imprisoned for arms trafficking. And you—well, you're hardly prime marriage material."
The group burst into laughter, their cruel words echoing like daggers.
Juniper feigned sympathy. "Let's not be harsh. Sure, Mahalia is almost thirty, but she's not that old. And Jaslin might still be a candidate."
Mahalia frowned. She wasn't exactly hurt by what they said except from one comment from Juniper
"Almost thirty? Juniper, I just turned 27. I suppose that's close to 30, but your tone makes it sound as if I'll turn 30 any second now."
The group turned their attention to Jaslin.
"She's not a bad pick," one said begrudgingly. "Young and pretty."
"But that's not enough. She's practically a servant in her family. She has no inheritance and would be a burden to any man foolish enough to marry her."
Mahalia frowned as she noticed Jaslin nervously fiddling with her dress. She decided enough was enough.
"What is this?" Mahalia's tone turned sharp. "I indulged you because you looked like little children performing a poorly rehearsed play. But if this is the extent of your performance, I'm no longer interested."
Juniper blinked in shock. "What?"
Mahalia's smile faded, replaced by an aura of cold authority. "Let me make one thing clear: neither I nor my family cares for the king. You can quote me on that."
The group visibly paled under her piercing gaze. Mahalia took a deliberate sip of her drink, her voice colder than ice. "Now, make yourselves scarce."
The women hesitated before retreating, their confidence shattered. Mahalia watched them go, muttering under her breath, "Simply pathetic."
Jaslin looked up at her cousin with gratitude. "Thank you."
"It's nothing," Mahalia replied nonchalantly, though a sly grin tugged at her lips. "But honestly, how am I the 'old one' while you're the 'young one'? There's hardly any difference between us."
Jaslin initially looked stupefied but then broke into laughter. Mahalia pouted.
"What's funny? You think I'm joking?"
Jaslin shook her head. "No, I apologize. I apologize for my rudeness. It's just…ever since your coma, you've been different. You do so many out-of-character things, and just when I start worrying about what new thing you'll do next, you act like yourself again."
She continued laughing, but Mahalia was speechless.
"I mean, how am I supposed to answer that? I'm scared senseless, and I forgot I was even supposed to act like Mahalia," she thought nervously.
Noticing that her cousin wasn't amused, Jaslin stopped laughing. "I'm sorry for offending you."
"What? It's nothing like that. I just realized how…stuffy this place feels."
"Stuffy? But—"
"I'll be outside, in the garden," Mahalia said, dashing off before Jaslin could finish.
---
Outside in the Garden
Mahalia walked through the garden, enthralled by its beauty. Even in the moonlight, the flowers and plants looked breathtaking. She bent down to sniff a flower when she heard a man and woman arguing.
"I mean, what are balls without scandalous liaisons?"
She turned to leave, but something in their conversation made her pause.
"Please…Lord Zachary, be merciful. Surely there must be something you can do," the woman said in a distressed tone.
Mahalia hid, unable to resist eavesdropping. She didn't know why, but she felt curious since Zachary was mentioned.
"Anyone would be interested," she muttered to herself. "After all, this is no-nonsense Zachary in a relationship."
Though she tried to justify her actions, she couldn't help but feel annoyed at the thought of him being involved with someone.
"It's upsetting…I pity the woman in love with that man."
"Morgan, I understand your feelings, but this is beyond me. I'm not the right person…"
"Please, sir—"
Mahalia frowned, wondering why the woman was being so formal. She peeked and saw the woman was in a maid's uniform.
"Scandalous," she whispered excitedly.
"You know the truth. Shouldn't you be more understanding? My mother is innocent—she didn't kill Qaya Wright. I even think she was murdered!"
Mahalia froze.
"My mother is innocent! Please don't let them sully her name, even in death. We're already going through so much, and now the sanctuary is demanding atonement for her sins with an enormous compensation. Lord Zachary, you're the only one I can turn to."
Zachary sighed, looking genuinely saddened. "I'm sorry. You went through the trouble of disguising yourself and sneaking into this ball, but I can't help you. This is beyond me."
"So…you can't help in any way?"
"I…" His voice trailed off as he looked in the direction where Mahalia was hiding.
"Lord Zachary?"
"This isn't a good time to talk. You leave first—I'll find you and try to help however I can."
The maid nodded gratefully and watched as Zachary walked away. Left alone, she bowed her head and sobbed softly.
"I know my mother wasn't a saint—she worked at Zajey—but she couldn't have killed that lady…so why? Maybe this is the price for her misdeeds."
She tried to dry her eyes when she heard soft footsteps approaching. She looked up expectantly.
"Zachary?"
"No," a woman replied. "I'm Qa—Mahalia. You mentioned something about your mother working at Zajey. Can you tell me more about that?"
"What?" Morgan looked at her incredulously. "Who even are you?"
"You see, I'm—"
"You know what? It doesn't matter. I don't know what you're talking about."
She turned to leave, but Mahalia grabbed her hand. "Please, just tell me what you know about Zajey. I mean no harm."
"Let go of me! I told you, I have no idea what you're talking about." She snatched her hand away and ran off.
"Argh! Damn this dress," Mahalia cursed. Even if she tried to run after Morgan, there was no way she could catch her in this outfit.
"I see you've finally decided to stop hiding."
Mahalia flinched at the sound of Zachary's voice. She turned to face him, surprised by how close he was. The fact that she hadn't heard him approach impressed her.
"Hiding? What are you talking about?"
"You don't know? I also have no idea why you would be eavesdropping."
Mahalia bit her lip in embarrassment and turned away. "What an overactive imagination you have."
"Say what you want." Zachary grabbed her arm. "Let's go. There's an announcement."
"I don't want to be there."
"Well, you have to. The king demanded it."
"Oh-oh, I forgot who I was talking to. The king's loyal hound."
Zachary paused and let go of her arm.
Mahalia was stunned by his reaction. "Did he not know that was what people called him?"
"I understand why you would think that of me, but even you, Mahalia Heris, know that hound or not, it's wise to obey the king…at least while you bid your time."
Mahalia was taken aback—not just by his words, but by the way he said them. He seemed different…she couldn't quite put her finger on it, but something had changed.
"What do you mean by bid your time?"
"Let's go in."
---
The moment everyone had been waiting for finally arrived—it was time for the future queen to be chosen. Awin made his first appearance of the night, followed closely by the oracle: a scrawny, unkempt man with filthy hair and fingers. Mahalia fought hard to suppress a gag as he passed by her.
The ceremony began with the presentation of the queen's crown. The oracle carried it as he approached two basins—one filled with wine, the other with rose water. He dipped the crown into each basin before setting it atop a mirrored stand. The room held its collective breath as he leaned forward, staring into the mirror for an agonizingly long time.
The silence was deafening.
Then, suddenly, the oracle erupted into maniacal laughter.
"It is true! It is true—the prophecy!"
His voice sent chills down every spine in the room, a sound so powerful it seemed to etch itself into the walls.
"Have you all forgotten the prophecy?" he cried, eyes gleaming with wild excitement. "The ancients foretold that the mother of our nation would hold the chosen and blessed aethonite in her hand!"
The hall broke into a wave of murmurs. It was true that such a prophecy existed, but it was so ancient that no one alive had been born when it was first proclaimed.
The oracle stumbled forward, moving with the erratic energy of a drunkard, until he reached the section where the guests stood. He thrashed about, startling everyone, and then—abruptly—he collided with Mahalia, causing her aethonite to fall to the ground.
"Ah! Yes!" he cried. "May the heavens be blessed! Our queen stands before us, holding the very symbol of stability, earth, and fertility! As the prophecy says, 'She who holds the Terraka will be crowned queen under the light of night.'"
Mahalia and her entire family stared in horror as the oracle proclaimed her the future queen. Her eyes darted to Awin, searching for a reaction. His satisfied grin was all the confirmation she needed—this was a setup, a carefully laid trap she had walked into without realizing.
In that moment, everyone in the hall knew their lives would never be the same.
Jaslin clutched her aethonite, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. Frustration and disbelief gnawed at her. How had they not seen this coming? It was a perfect trap. If they had refused to attend the ball, they'd have been accused of insulting the king. No matter what choice they made, they were doomed from the start.
Beside her, Rivan muttered something under his breath.
"What did you just say?" Jaslin asked sharply, turning to him.
Rivan looked up at her, his gaze falling to her aethonite before he repeated himself: "He's lying. The prophecy says, 'The one who holds Astra is light to the queen of the dark.'"
"Then let's contest it!" Jaslin exclaimed, grabbing Rivan's arm as though ready to drag him toward the oracle.
But Mahalia stopped her.
"What are you doing?" Jaslin demanded.
"Don't be reckless," Mahalia said firmly. "It's obvious this was orchestrated to make me queen. I don't know why Awin would go to such lengths, but calling out the oracle won't solve anything."
"But—"
"Jaslin, think. You were the one who picked Astrum. I won't let you do something so foolish. Let me handle this. You're too young, too precious for me to let Awin's schemes reach you."
Jaslin clenched her jaw, fighting back tears. It hurt to see Mahalia shouldering so much, protecting someone as "useless" as her. But at the same time, her heart swelled. She couldn't be envious of Mahalia—she had known since childhood where her loyalties lay.
Yet, as Mahalia stood resolute, shielding her from Awin's machinations, Jaslin couldn't help but think she looked like a goddess.
"Who else could look so benevolent while caught in such a trap?"
To be continued...