The summer sun bathed the courtyard in golden light, highlighting the marble fountains and perfectly trimmed hedges of the palace grounds. From her seat in the west wing's upper balcony, Princess Anya, fourth in line to the throne, gazed out at the bustling preparations below. Servants scurried about, arranging flowers, draping banners, and polishing the silverware for tonight's banquet.
Anya shifted uncomfortably in her chair, her long silk gown clinging to her in the heat. As usual, the palace hummed with purpose, but she felt oddly detached, like a guest in her own home. Being fourth in line meant she had little to do except exist in the shadow of her older sisters, Celia and Margaret, whose every movement seemed to command the kingdom's attention.
Celia, the eldest, was the embodiment of perfection: graceful, poised, and utterly untouchable. She had spent the past year preparing for her future role as queen, and her presence alone seemed to cast everyone else in shadow. Margaret, second in line, was the clever one, with a sharp wit and a smile that could charm even the coldest hearts.
And then there was Anya.
She sighed, leaning her chin on her hand. Below, her parents—the King and Queen—walked side by side, greeting advisors and inspecting the final arrangements. Her mother glanced up briefly, her eyes meeting Anya's, but there was no smile, no acknowledgment. Just a brief, unreadable look before turning back to her duties.
"Daydreaming again?"
Anya turned to see Leila, her cousin, leaning against the balcony doorframe. Leila was everything Anya wasn't allowed to be: bold, carefree, and unapologetic. Her auburn curls framed a face that always seemed on the verge of mischief, and her eyes sparkled with a rebellious energy that both intrigued and frustrated Anya.
"Not daydreaming," Anya replied, sitting up straighter. "Just… observing."
Leila snorted. "Observing what? The endless cycle of bowing and curtsying? Come on, Anya, you're wasting a perfectly good afternoon."
Anya frowned. "I can't exactly run off into the gardens like you. Some of us have expectations to meet."
"Expectations," Leila said, rolling her eyes. "You mean sitting here, looking pretty, and waiting for Celia to bark orders at you?"
Anya bristled. "Celia doesn't bark orders."
"She doesn't have to. Everyone jumps to please her anyway." Leila walked over and plopped down beside Anya, dangling her legs over the edge of the balcony. "Honestly, I don't know how you stand it."
Anya hesitated. Leila wasn't wrong—Celia's presence was overwhelming, and Margaret wasn't much better. But voicing such thoughts felt disloyal, even if they echoed in her mind every day.
"I don't mind," Anya lied. "It's just… how things are."
Leila raised an eyebrow. "You've been telling yourself that for years. When are you going to do something about it?"
Before Anya could answer, a sharp voice cut through the air.
"Anya! Leila!"
Both girls turned to see Celia standing in the doorway, her gown shimmering like liquid gold in the sunlight. Her expression was a mixture of annoyance and authority, the kind that made Anya's stomach twist.
"The banquet starts in four hours," Celia said, stepping closer. "Mother wants you downstairs now. Both of you."
Leila smirked. "What, are we polishing silverware now?"
Celia's eyes narrowed. "I suggest you lose that attitude, Leila. You're lucky to even be invited after last year's… incident."
Anya glanced at Leila, who stiffened slightly but didn't reply. The "incident" Celia referred to was vague—a scandal involving Leila and a nobleman's son—but it was enough to cement her place as the family's black sheep.
"Let's go," Celia said, her tone leaving no room for argument.
As Anya followed her sisters down the winding staircase, she couldn't shake the unease that had settled in her chest. Tonight's banquet wasn't just any royal gathering—it was a chance for the kingdom to see its future. Celia would be the star, Margaret her charming counterpart, and Anya… well, Anya would be expected to smile and blend into the background.
But as she glanced at Leila walking beside her, head held high despite Celia's cutting words, Anya felt a flicker of something else. Defiance.
Maybe tonight, she thought, things would be different.
---
The grand hall gleamed under the warm glow of hundreds of chandeliers, their crystals catching the light and casting a golden hue across the room. Long tables draped in deep blue velvet stretched the length of the hall, each adorned with towering floral arrangements and glittering silverware. The scent of roasted meats, spiced wine, and fresh pastries filled the air, mingling with the soft hum of strings from the royal orchestra.
Anya lingered near the entrance, her hands clasped in front of her as she scanned the crowd. Nobles from every corner of the kingdom were in attendance, their jeweled attire as extravagant as the palace itself. Celia and Margaret had already made their grand entrance, gliding through the room with practiced grace.
"Don't they ever get tired of pretending?" Leila whispered beside her, tugging at the high collar of her dress.
"Pretending what?" Anya asked, keeping her voice low.
"That they're perfect," Leila said, nodding toward Celia, who was engaged in animated conversation with a foreign ambassador. "It's exhausting just watching them."
Anya bit back a smile. Leila's irreverence was a breath of fresh air in the otherwise suffocating environment. But before she could reply, a herald's voice boomed across the hall.
"Presenting Princess Anya of Westmere, fourth in line to the throne."
Anya's stomach tightened. She stepped forward, her heart pounding in her chest as hundreds of eyes turned toward her. She curtsied briefly, her gaze fixed on the polished marble floor, before making her way to her assigned seat at the head table.
As she sat down, she noticed Celia watching her from across the table, her expression unreadable. Margaret, seated beside Celia, leaned in to whisper something, and the two sisters exchanged a knowing glance.
Anya shifted uncomfortably, glancing at the empty seat beside her. It was meant for Leila, but her cousin had slipped away, likely to avoid the spotlight.
The King stood, his presence commanding even in the midst of the grandeur. His voice carried effortlessly across the hall as he welcomed their guests and toasted to the kingdom's prosperity.
As the banquet began, Anya picked at her plate, her appetite dulled by the tension in the room. Celia was deep in conversation with a visiting prince, her laughter ringing out like a bell. Margaret, meanwhile, was charming a group of foreign dignitaries with her wit.
Anya felt invisible.
"You look like you're plotting your escape."
She turned to see Leila sliding into the seat beside her, a mischievous grin on her face.
"Where were you?" Anya asked.
"Exploring," Leila said, reaching for a goblet of wine. "Did you know there's a secret passage behind the tapestry in the east wing?"
"Leila!" Anya hissed, glancing around to see if anyone had overheard.
"Relax," Leila said, taking a sip. "No one cares what I do, remember?"
Before Anya could respond, a sudden commotion drew everyone's attention. The doors to the hall burst open, and a messenger stumbled in, his face pale and his uniform disheveled.
The room fell silent as he approached the King, bowing deeply before whispering something in his ear. The King's expression darkened, and he stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, his voice heavy with authority. "It seems we have urgent matters to attend to. Please, enjoy the rest of the evening."
The murmurs began as the King and Queen left the hall, followed by their advisors. Celia and Margaret exchanged worried looks, while Anya turned to Leila, her heart racing.
"What do you think that was about?" Anya whispered.
Leila shrugged, but her expression was unusually serious. "Whatever it is, it's not good."
---