It was raining the night she came back.
Not the gentle kind. The sky roared, thunder rolled across the mountains, and the wind slammed against the palace walls like it wanted in. But inside the ballroom, everything was warm and golden—untouched by the storm.
Prince Lucien had just turned sixteen.
Laughter echoed around him. Music floated through the air. Nobles danced under crystal chandeliers. He stood at the center of it all, tall and composed in deep violet robes, his black hair slicked back, his sharp eyes calm. The perfect prince. The future king.
No one in the room knew the storm was already here.
The ballroom doors slammed open so hard the music stopped mid-note. Gasps rose. Heads turned. Wind howled through the hall, scattering petals and silks like ghosts.
A girl stood in the doorway.
Dripping rainwater, cloaked in a deep blue coat, her soaked black hair clinging to her face. Her skin was pale from the cold, but her violet eyes burned with something fierce and quiet. She looked about sixteen. Like she belonged—and like she didn't.
Lucien stared at her, confused. There was something strangely familiar about her face, but he was sure he had never seen her before.
Whispers rose behind him.
"Who is she…?"
"She looks like—"
"No, that's not possible…"
The king's face turned stone-still.
The girl didn't flinch. She walked forward, slow and sure, ignoring the guards frozen at the sides. Rain dripped from her boots onto the marble floor. Her gaze locked on Lucien—and she didn't look away once.
She stopped in front of him.
He looked at her, brow furrowed. His voice caught in his throat. "Do… I know you?"
She shook her head lightly. "No," she said. "But you should have."
He blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"
Then her voice dropped low, but it echoed in the silence that had swallowed the room.
> "Sixteen years ago, the queen gave birth to twins."
"One of them was you."
"The other was me."
Lucien's heart stopped.
His lips parted—but no words came out.
> "You didn't know," she said softly. "I can see it on your face."
"They told you I died, didn't they?"
He nodded slowly. "I… I didn't even know there was a second child."
> "There was." She raised her chin. "There still is."
Thunder cracked overhead, making someone flinch. The king said nothing. No one moved.
> "I didn't come to ruin your celebration," she said. "I came to reclaim what was taken from me."
And as the storm raged just beyond the open doors, she stood tall in the middle of it all—calm, soaked, and unshaken.
The forgotten twin had returned.