Liora's POV.
I sat stiffly on the cushioned stool, my hands folded neatly in my lap, but my mind refused to stay still. The silk gown felt heavier than it should, dragging at my shoulders, tugging at my arms, reminding me with every movement that tonight was not about me. It was about appearances, about duty, about my father's ambition.
"Hold still, Princess," one of the maids whispered, tugging at the lace around my collar. I gave a small nod, barely meeting her eyes, letting the necklace settle around my neck. The sapphires caught the candlelight, gleaming like tiny captured stars—but even their sparkle felt suffocating. A gift, a symbol, a reminder. I could feel it pressing against my skin like a whisper of expectation: you must be perfect tonight.
I rose carefully, lifting my skirts to glide over the polished marble. My heels clicked in rhythm with the orchestra in the adjoining hall. A familiar shiver ran through me. The ballroom seemed impossibly vast tonight. Chandeliers blazed overhead, and faces crowded the space, polite smiles painted on features I barely recognized. Nobles. Academicians. Diplomats. All waiting for me to perform, to be their future hope, their crown's shining example.
Father stood near the center, his expression a mix of pride and something sharper—expectation. He caught my eye for a moment, and I forced a small smile. It wasn't entirely fake, but it wasn't entirely mine either. Every movement, every gesture, every word tonight would be measured, precise, correct.
"Princess Liora," a dignitary said, bowing low, his voice polite. "Your acceptance into the academy is remarkable. The kingdom will be fortunate to have your talent."
I nodded, offered a smile, and said, "Thank you," careful to sound gracious, humble, poised. Inside, though… inside, my heart was hammering, my stomach twisting. I had dreamed of this moment for years, imagined the academy as a place of freedom and learning. And now that it had come, all I could feel was the weight of everyone watching, everyone waiting for me to succeed, and the knowledge that every misstep would reflect not just on me, but on the kingdom, on my father's pride, on the name I carried.
Father clapped his hands, drawing the eyes of the room back to me. "My daughter! Do enjoy tonight! Let this celebration mark the beginning of your brilliant career!" His gaze lingered on me, proud but impossible to satisfy. I nodded, acknowledging him, moving carefully through the crowd, bowing and exchanging polite words. I smiled where I was supposed to, laughed softly when it was expected. But every gesture felt borrowed, a costume draped over the nervous fluttering in my chest.
I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror along the corridor—my reflection staring back with wide eyes, lips pressed into a line of composure, shoulders squared as though I could carry the weight of everyone's expectations. My hands trembled ever so slightly. This was my life: polished, planned, predestined. And yet… somewhere beneath it all, a tiny spark of restlessness stirred. A whisper that there was more than the lights, the gowns, the nobles, the endless measuring of my worth. A whisper that life—real life—waited somewhere beyond these walls.
I drew a slow breath and straightened my spine. Tonight, I would smile. Tonight, I would perform. But even as I stepped into the ballroom, the music swirling around me, the scent of perfume and candle wax filling my senses, I knew that part of me—the part that longed for freedom, for something unpredictable, for something real—was already waiting in the shadows.
I was weaving carefully through the throng of guests, trying to maintain the delicate balance between appearing polite and remaining invisible. If I could, I'd disappear behind a pillar and hide for the rest of the evening. One more conversation, one more bow, one more "Congratulations, Princess Liora," and I might actually combust.
And then—of course—he appeared.
A boy, with a grin that suggested he thought the world existed just to annoy me. His posture was casual, too confident, too aware. And somehow, he had the audacity to step directly into my path.
"Princess Liora," he said, bowing with a flourish that made me want to roll my eyes. "It's an honor to meet you."
I nodded politely, my lips curving into the faintest of smiles—but inwardly, I was bristling. Why does anyone feel the need to speak to me right now? I just wanted the music, the crowd, the polite distance that kept strangers at bay.
"I—I'm Alaric," he added, straightening and letting his grin widen. "We might be classmates at the academy."
My jaw tensed. Of course. Someone thinking that because we'd both been accepted, we were suddenly meant to be friendly—or worse, allies. I couldn't even begin to care.
"I'm not interested in being your classmate," I said, my tone sharp, carefully polite but impossibly direct.
He blinked, then laughed—a rich, easy laugh that seemed far too amused by my bluntness. "Well," he said, still grinning, "that's one way to make an impression."
I folded my arms lightly, refusing to be drawn in. Why is he laughing? I thought. Does he even understand that I don't have the patience for this right now? The audacity. The sheer confidence.
"Princess?" he asked again, leaning slightly closer, clearly not deterred by my icy tone.
"I said I'm not interested," I repeated, more firmly this time. My voice carried just enough authority to make the room feel quieter around us, even if just for a heartbeat.
Alaric just laughed again, that ridiculous laugh, like he found my words charming instead of final. "Well, then. I suppose I'll have to find other ways to make sure you remember me," he said, and gave me a bow that was almost playful, almost teasing, before stepping back to let me pass.
I exhaled quietly, wishing I could have avoided the encounter altogether. He's annoying. Too confident. Too… alive, I thought, adjusting the necklace at my throat. And yet… for some reason, I couldn't stop thinking about the glint in his eyes as he laughed.
I shook my head. No. Focus, Liora. Ignore him. There are far bigger things to worry about tonight than this ridiculous boy.
I stormed up the grand staircase, ignoring the polite nods and murmurs behind me. The ball, the nobles, the endless smiles, the constant "Princess Liora, how wonderful!"—I couldn't take another second of it.
The balcony doors loomed ahead, and I threw them open without a thought for ceremony. The cool night air rushed over me, crisp and freeing, carrying with it the scent of the gardens below. I planted my hands on the stone railing, pressing my forehead against my knuckles, and let myself breathe.
"Why does he always—" I muttered to no one in particular, my voice swallowed by the wind. "Why can't he see that I'm not a prize? That I'm… just me?"
The world felt so small, so suffocating. Every expectation, every smile, every congratulatory word from the nobles felt like a weight pressing down on my chest. I wanted to scream, to throw something, to disappear entirely.
And then I noticed her.
At first, she was just a shadow by the fountain. But as my eyes adjusted, I realized she was dressed like a princess—silk and lace catching the moonlight in a way that made her look impossible, unreal. My breath caught. Another royal family member? I reminded myself. My father had invited dignitaries and heirs from neighboring kingdoms, yes… but something about her didn't feel like that.
The girl moved gracefully, unaware of me above, her long dark hair spilling down her back like ink over velvet. And then, slowly, she turned.
Our eyes met.
It was brief, a single heartbeat, but it felt like… something. I couldn't name it. Her gaze wasn't polite, or curious, or formal. It was… intense. Electric, even, though I had no reason to feel it. My heart skipped. My chest tightened.
I blinked, and she was still there, staring. There was a pull—something different, something I couldn't explain. I had never seen anyone like her. And then reality crashed back.
Footsteps. Heavy, insistent. My father's booming voice cut through the night, breaking the spell.
"Liora! There you are! Come, darling, look at everyone! How proud I am of you! Truly, this is a night to remember! Your success at the academy—why, I never imagined—"
I turned back toward the ballroom, forcing my composure. I let my hands rest against the railing, smoothing my skirts. Words poured out of him, meaningless, yet I nodded, smiled, and feigned interest. I'll deal with you later, Father, I thought, letting my teeth clench.
When I dared to glance down at the fountain again…
She was gone.
No trace. No shadow. Only the soft ripple of water in the moonlight.
I frowned, heart still racing. Had I imagined it? I shook my head, forcing myself to look back at my father as he continued his endless monologue, brimming with pride, excitement, expectation. Words, words, words. I smiled politely, but inside… my mind was still at the fountain, on the girl with the dark hair, in the silk dress, and those eyes. Something about her felt… dangerous. Different.
And I didn't know why, but I already knew I couldn't stop thinking about her.
Who's that girl?
TO BE CONTINUED🎀