There were too many gazes. They pressed against me like a physical weight, stripping away my skin until I felt like nothing more than a porcelain doll on display. I had lost count of the guests after the seventeenth greeting; the royal life was not a privilege, it was a ruthless cycle of etiquette. In that moment, I would have traded my crown for a single breath of the garden air, and the chance to see him again.
I didn't know his name. I only knew his presence. He was always there at the window, a silent sentry who seemed to prefer the company of flowers to the company of men. Secretly, I had spent months wishing his eyes were for me, but he had avoided my gaze so often I had begun to lose hope. Then, a few days ago, it happened. Our eyes collided. It lasted only seconds, but it was the most honest conversation I had ever had.
"Milady, how have you been?"
The voice was a familiar irritation. Zenulaks. He was a childhood friend, though "friend" was a generous term for someone so profoundly annoying. I couldn't say it, of course. My father's piercing gaze was a needle in my back, sewing me into the posture of a perfect princess. I forced an awkward smile.
"I am doing well, Zenulaks. And you?"
"Oh, Princess! I have been the best I could possibly be," he began, launching into a predictable rant. "As you can see, my looks are dazzling, and my physique is flawless. I don't think there is a better indicator of well-being than this, is there? Though I must admit, you are nearly as dazzling as I am tonight."
I didn't bother processing the rest. He said the same thing to every woman in the room, a man who lived only to admire his own reflection. I nodded at the correct intervals, my gaze drifting away while my father's eyes kept me anchored in place. I was exhausted. I had been standing for hours, surviving on nothing but a few sips of wine, my face aching from the mask of a fake smile.
Zenulaks continued to talk to himself, essentially, while I turned my eyes toward the dark windows. I wondered if he was out there. Was he at his post, searching for me in the crowd, or was he staring at the empty garden where I should have been? The darkness outside the glass was a black canvas, and I painted it with every question I was too afraid to ask aloud.
Then, a cold gust of wind swept through an open casement, breaking my trance. I turned my head, and there he was.
Time didn't just slow; it stopped. I caught only a swift glimpse of his face, but it was enough to send a surge of electricity through my tired heart. But something was wrong. The spark I had seen in his eyes days ago was gone, replaced by a look that was suffocatingly sad. He looked lost. Broken. I wanted to scream his name—whatever it was—and hold him until that look vanished, but I was a prisoner of my rank.
I watched as he turned to walk away. Every step he took felt like he was distancing himself from me not just physically, but emotionally. The connection we had shared in the garden was fraying. I felt a sudden, sharp panic—a realization that if I let him walk out that door, I would lose something I hadn't even truly found yet.
My feelings won. To hell with etiquette. To hell with my father's gaze.
I took a step toward him, leaving Zenulaks mid-sentence. But the moment my heel struck the floor, the world changed. The brilliant, golden light of the Sun-Oil lanterns vanished instantly. The hall was plunged into a thick, terrifying darkness, illuminated only by the pale, ghostly moonlight spilling through the windows.
I was thankful for the shadows. Under the cover of the blackout, I could move toward him without being caught. I navigated the hall like a ghost, pushing past confused nobles and dodging the silver gleam of guard spears. I reached the spot where he had been standing, my heart racing with a desperate hope.
He was gone.
I searched the gloom, my eyes straining, but the space was empty. The weight of the world returned, heavier than before. I felt like a fool—a princess who had fallen in love with a stranger's gaze. He didn't feel the same. He had no reason to stay.
Tears pricked my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. If this was the end, I would face it with dignity. I turned to walk back toward the moonlight of the windows, my body feeling like lead. I was leaving behind a dream that had been doomed before it began.
I raised my heel to take a step, but in the darkness and the haze of my own sadness, my foot slipped on the polished tile. I felt the sickening lurch of a fall. I braced myself for the impact, for the humiliation of crashing to the floor.
But the floor never came.
Strong arms caught me by the waist, steadying me with a firm, protective grip. In the darkness, I couldn't see his face, but I heard the clatter of a heavy spear hitting the ground—abandoned so the wielder could catch me.
As the moonlight shifted across his features, my breath hitched. It was the face I had been searching for. It was him.