The palace of Eryndor shimmered like a dream of gold and fire.
At dusk, when the last sunlight fell across the marble towers, every window caught the glow and cast it into the halls — the kingdom's own reflection of its queen.
Queen Selene Valaris stood before her mirror, the faint hum of servants bustling in the next room fading to silence. Her reflection gazed back — regal, perfect, untouchable — yet beneath that veneer of control, her eyes betrayed her exhaustion. The crown upon her head, an intricate weave of silver and emerald, gleamed like captured starlight. Beautiful, yes… but heavier than any chain.
Tonight marked three years since she ascended the throne.
Three years since the whispers, betrayals, and bloodshed that followed her father's death had quieted under her steady rule. Three years of peace — and loneliness.
"Your Majesty," said Mira, her handmaiden, stepping softly into the chamber. "The council and nobles are gathered. The ball is ready to begin."
Selene nodded, her voice calm. "Has my sister arrived?"
Mira hesitated. "Yes, my Queen. Princess Lyra entered the palace an hour ago. She's… radiant, as always.
A flicker crossed Selene's face — the kind that might be mistaken for pride, though it was something more complicated. "Very well," she said, smoothing a hand over her gown. The fabric was moon-white silk, embroidered with threads of silver that shimmered when she moved. "Tell the herald to announce her first. It's been too long since Eryndor saw its second jewel."
When Mira curtsied and left, Selene allowed herself a single deep breath. Lyra's return meant old emotions would resurface — love, guilt, and the delicate envy that had always existed between them.
---
The grand ballroom blazed with light and laughter. Crystal chandeliers floated above, suspended by threads of enchanted gold, and a thousand candles burned within mirrored walls, reflecting the beauty of everyone present — nobles, merchants, courtiers — all hungry for proximity to power.
The herald's voice thundered:
"Her Royal Highness, Princess Lyra Valaris of Eryndor!"
The room hushed.
Lyra entered in a gown of midnight blue, her dark curls tumbling over bare shoulders, her smile sweet but deliberate. She had her mother's grace — and her father's fire. Where Selene was calm and composed, Lyra glowed with movement and warmth. Applause rippled through the crowd as she crossed the marble floor, her gaze finding her sister's at the end of the throne dais.
"Selene," she said softly when she reached her. "Or should I say, Your Majesty?"
Selene rose, her expression unreadable. "You may call me whatever name reminds you we are sisters before all else."
The crowd exhaled as the two women embraced — a beautiful image of royal unity. But to those who looked closer, their eyes did not close.
---
As the ball resumed, Lyra drifted through the sea of guests, accepting compliments with easy charm. Selene watched her from the throne, her smile steady but her mind elsewhere. She had not seen Lyra in nearly four years — not since the younger princess left for diplomatic tutelage in Varyn, a distant allied kingdom.
Now she was back, and Selene couldn't decide whether she felt comforted or threatened.
"Your Majesty," said a deep voice beside her.
She turned. It was Lord Kael Draven, the new High Chancellor, recently appointed by the council. He bowed low, his eyes dark and sharp as onyx. "May I offer my congratulations on three years of peace under your rule."
Selene studied him. "Peace, yes," she said, her voice cool but measured. "Though peace, I find, is the most fragile crown of all."
His lips curved faintly. "Then may it sit gently upon your head."
She smiled politely, but something about his tone unsettled her — not threatening, precisely, but knowing. He spoke like a man who understood more than he revealed
"Tell me, my lord," she said, "how fares the council's investigation into the northern trade routes?"
He leaned closer, lowering his voice just enough that only she could hear. "They fare as well as your secrets, my Queen — hidden where only the brave dare look."
Before she could respond, he bowed again and vanished into the crowd.
Selene's pulse quickened. Her secrets — was he hinting at what she thought he was?
---
As the evening wore on, she excused herself from the throne and slipped through a side door, the murmurs of celebration fading behind her. She walked down a long corridor of portraits, each depicting a Valaris ruler — their gazes solemn, accusing. She stopped before the last one: her father.
"You would have hated this crown, Father," she whispered. "But I wear it for you."
Behind her, a quiet voice answered, "And for yourself, perhaps?"
Selene turned sharply. A man stood half in shadow — the forbidden knight. Darian, her personal guard once, her lover now. His armor gleamed faintly in the moonlight spilling through the tall windows.
"You shouldn't be here," she said softly.
"I shouldn't breathe, then," he murmured, stepping closer. "Because every breath draws me nearer to you."
Her defenses faltered. "If anyone sees—"
"They won't." His hand brushed her arm, lingering, reverent. "Not while I stand guard.
For a moment, she let herself feel it — the comfort, the danger, the raw pulse of wanting something forbidden. But the sound of distant footsteps snapped her back to reality.
"Go," she whispered. "Before someone—"
Too late. Lyra's voice floated from the hall. "Sister? Are you here?"
Selene froze. Darian stepped into a dark alcove just as Lyra entered, her eyes bright with mischief.
"There you are," Lyra said, looking around. "Hiding already? I thought queens were meant to be seen."
Selene forced a smile. "Even queens need air."
Lyra approached, her gaze flicking briefly to the shadows where Darian hid. "Air," she repeated softly. "Or something else?"
Selene ignored the question. "You've grown bold, sister."
Lyra's lips curved. "And you've grown careful." She touched Selene's crown lightly, almost teasing. "But even gold can melt."
Their eyes met — warmth layered over tension, like silk over steel.
---
Later that night, long after the music died, Selene stood at her balcony overlooking Eryndor. The moon hung heavy above the city, and the wind carried the distant laughter of nobles returning home.
Below, the gardens shimmered silver, petals glistening under moonlight. Somewhere in that quiet, she heard a faint sound — the echo of a wolf's howl. It was said that the Valaris bloodline once carried the blessing of the Moon Goddess herself, that their spirits were bound to the night.
Selene wondered if the goddess still watched her — and if she approved of what she'd become.
"Your Majesty," said a voice behind her.
She turned, startled. It was Kael again, his cloak fluttering in the wind. "Forgive the intrusion," he said, "but I find the night better company than crowds."
Selene regarded him carefully. "And you think a queen welcomes company at her solitude?"
"Not a queen," he said softly. "A woman.
For a moment, silence hung between them — heavy, intimate. He bowed and turned to leave, but his words lingered long after he vanished into the dark.
---
Far below, Lyra stood in the garden, looking up at the same balcony, her heart burning with something she couldn't name — envy, love, or maybe destiny.
"The crown suits you, sister," she whispered into the night. "But for how long?"
The moon glowed brighter, as if it, too, waited for the answer.