The grand ballroom of Astoria's royal palace shimmered with an opulence that would leave any visitor breathless. Chandeliers hung low, each crystal prism reflecting the glow of the enchanted fireflies that floated lazily beneath the high, arched ceilings. A fountain at the room's center bubbled softly, its waters laced with a faint silvery light—a whisper of ancient magic.
Princess Lira stood on the balcony overlooking the celebration, her crimson gown pooling at her feet like a spill of blood against the polished marble. The fabric was exquisite, imported from the far-off kingdom of Valdren and rumored to be woven by blind seamstresses who could hear the colors in silk. It was meant to make her unforgettable tonight. But Lira cared little for gowns or jewels.
Her gloved fingers brushed the intricate railing, cold to the touch, as she scanned the room below. Nobles from every corner of the realm had gathered, their laughter and conversations blending into a honeyed hum that irritated her more than it should. Tonight was the Choosing—the night when Astoria's most eligible suitors would vie for her hand. The idea of being paraded like a prize in her own home made her stomach churn.
"You look stunning," came a familiar voice, soft but tinged with worry.
Lira turned to find her handmaiden and childhood friend, Aelis, standing a few steps behind her. Aelis, always practical, wore a simple forest-green gown that highlighted the earthy tones of her freckled complexion. Her hands were clasped tightly, betraying her nerves.
"Stunning or not," Lira said with a bitter smile, "it won't change what tonight is."
"Lira…" Aelis hesitated, glancing at the open balcony doors to ensure no one overheard. "Your father's been clear. This isn't just about a husband—it's about alliances. The kingdom needs this."
Lira's expression hardened. She'd heard it all before. The droughts in the southern provinces, the growing unrest in the east, the dwindling coffers of Astoria's treasury. "And yet I am the price to be paid," she muttered, brushing past Aelis and stepping into the room.
The moment she entered, the murmurs began.
"Princess Lira," the herald's voice boomed, announcing her presence.
All eyes turned to her, some filled with awe, others with ambition. She descended the grand staircase with measured grace, her head held high despite the weight of the crown on her brow.
"Your Majesty, the Duke of Icarin," the herald called as a tall, broad-shouldered man approached.
Duke Rhen was the first of the suitors to present himself. His emerald-green doublet was embroidered with gold, a testament to his wealth, and his smile was polished to perfection. He bowed low, his dark hair falling artfully across his forehead.
"Princess," he said, straightening. His voice was warm, smooth, and confident. "It is an honor to stand before you. Might I have this dance?"
Lira hesitated for only a fraction of a second before placing her hand in his outstretched palm. Refusing the first suitor outright would cause an uproar, and she had no desire to give the court more reasons to gossip.
The orchestra began to play, a waltz swelling in perfect harmony with the rustle of gowns and whispers of conversation. Rhen guided her onto the dance floor with a firm but respectful grip, his steps precise and practiced.
"You've done this before," Lira remarked dryly as they began to move.
Rhen's smile widened, revealing perfect white teeth. "Many times, Your Highness. But never with someone as captivating as you."
Lira resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Flattery. Always flattery. It was the same with every nobleman she'd ever met, their words as shallow as the ornamental fountains dotting the palace gardens.
"And tell me, Duke Rhen," she said, her tone sharpening, "what would you offer Astoria if I were to choose you?"
Rhen faltered, the mask of his confidence slipping for just a moment. He recovered quickly, though, his smile returning. "My loyalty, of course. And the resources of Icarin. Our lands are rich in minerals, and our armies are unmatched."
Before Lira could reply, a shadow passed across the edge of the dance floor. She turned her head slightly, catching a glimpse of someone standing at the room's periphery. He was dressed simply in black, a stark contrast to the ostentatious attire of the other nobles. His face was obscured by the brim of his hat, but Lira could feel his gaze on her, sharp and unwavering.
"Something wrong, Your Highness?" Rhen asked, his tone a mix of concern and curiosity.
"Nothing," she replied, forcing her attention back to him. But the unease lingered.
The dance ended, and Lira pulled her hand from Rhen's grasp before he could speak again. She offered him a polite nod and stepped away, weaving through the crowd with purpose.
Aelis appeared at her side as if summoned by thought alone. "What is it?"
"There's someone here who doesn't belong," Lira whispered. "By the far column."
Aelis frowned but nodded, falling into step beside her. Together, they approached the edge of the ballroom where the stranger had stood. But when they arrived, he was gone.
"Who would dare crash the Choosing?" Aelis murmured, scanning the room.
Lira didn't answer. Her eyes caught on something glinting faintly on the floor. She bent to pick it up—a ring, its design unlike anything she'd seen before. The metal was black, almost obsidian-like, and its surface was etched with strange, shifting symbols.
A chill ran down her spine as she held it.
"Lira?" Aelis asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Lira slipped the ring into the folds of her gown and straightened. "Nothing," she said quickly. "It's nothing."
But it wasn't nothing.
The rest of the night passed in a blur. More suitors, more dances, more hollow promises. Yet Lira couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to change.
It wasn't until the ball ended and the guests began to depart that she finally returned to her chambers. The ring burned against her palm as she pulled it from her pocket and held it up to the candlelight. The symbols shifted again, almost as if alive.
And then she heard it—a voice, soft as a whisper but carrying the weight of thunder.
"Find me."
Lira gasped, dropping the ring as if it had bitten her. It clattered to the floor, the sound unnaturally loud in the stillness of her room.
The voice came again, this time from within her mind.
"You are not who they think you are, Princess."
Her heart pounded in her chest. She backed away from the ring, her breath coming in shallow gasps. But even as fear gripped her, a part of her—a small, defiant part—felt a flicker of something else.
.