"My lady, the seamstress has delivered the final gown," Mira announced as she curtsied, her voice trembling with quiet excitement.
Gianne didn't answer immediately. She stood before the mirror, hands resting lightly on her vanity table. Her reflection was calm—dangerously calm. The kind of calm that preceded a storm.
She turned.
The gown was waiting on the dressing rack. Midnight blue with silver embroidery, the fabric glimmered like enchanted stardust. The high collar framed her face like a queen's, while the long sleeves and flowing skirt gave her an air of mystique.
"The tailor outdid herself," Gianne murmured, reaching for it. "Help me dress."
"Yes, my lady."
As Mira fastened the last clasp, Gianne glanced over her shoulder. "Have them prepare the carriage. I leave for the palace at first light."
Mira hesitated. "My lady… are you truly going to participate?"
Gianne's eyes narrowed slightly. "Why not?"
"They say the prince cursed the last palace witch himself. That he… he *drained* her. That her screams echoed through the palace for days before they fell silent."
Gianne smiled darkly. "Then I suppose I should keep mine quiet."
***
The palace was a towering structure of coral-stone and sapphire-tiled domes, its beauty both captivating and otherworldly. When Gianne's carriage rolled into the courtyard, she was not alone.
Four others had arrived before her.
Five candidates in total.
And all of them stared at each other with one emotion in common—*fear.*
The rumors were no longer whispers. They were facts wearing perfume. The prince had murdered the former witch, and now a replacement was being chosen through a mysterious challenge of "three trials." Few dared step forward.
The ones who had, were either brave… or mad.
Each girl stood adorned in her finest, yet none carried themselves quite like Gianne. Her chin was high, her eyes unreadable. She walked past them as if they were spectators, not contenders.
A steward bowed. "My lady, follow me."
They were ushered into a lavish hall where crystal chandeliers glowed with soft blue fire. Silver plates gleamed. Goblets shimmered with enchanted wine.
One of the girls—nervous, pale, and fiddling with her dress—leaned toward Gianne. "Why do you think the prince is doing this?"
Gianne didn't blink. "He's looking for something."
"Looking for what?"
"That," Gianne said, taking a sip of her wine, "is what we're about to find out."
Soon after, a high-ranking maid entered the hall. "Ladies, welcome. You are the only five who answered the Summoning. The trials begin tomorrow."
The girls exchanged glances.
"You'll each be escorted to your chamber. A scroll will arrive before dawn detailing your first task. Until then, rest well."
The palace felt colder the deeper they went. Gianne's chamber was vast and beautiful, but it hummed with magic. She ran her fingers along the wall—yes, wards. Spying ones.
She was being watched.
As she sat by the window, a soft knock startled her.
A scroll floated in—levitating mid-air.
It opened slowly, glowing with moonlight:
*"Trial One: The Mirror of Secrets."*
*"Reveal the truth you buried. Survive it… or be swallowed by it."*
Then it burst into golden flames, vanishing.
Gianne stood frozen.
From the far corner of the room, barely visible in the dim candlelight—*a figure watched her. Tall. Still. Black eyes gleaming like ice.*
Before she could speak, he was gone.
And so was her breath.