- Aveline Ravelynn, Elaria:
The mirrors caught the light and scattered it in soft, golden shards across the pale walls of my chamber.
Sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains, warm against the ivory floors, glinting off the silver-gilded combs and the trays of perfume bottles arranged like little soldiers on my vanity. The scent of rosewater clung to the air, delicate and faint, almost as if it were trying not to disturb me.
Lira was humming—some old lullaby from the lowlands, her voice as gentle as her fingers while she fastened the final clasp behind my neck.
"This one sparkles more than the others," she said quietly, admiring her work. "Are you sure it's not too much for morning court?"
I glanced at my reflection.
The necklace shimmered with pale blue stones that caught the light like morning frost. It matched the silk of my dress exactly—an accident, I thought. Or maybe not. These things were always laid out for me before I woke.
I reached up and brushed my fingertips over the stones.
"No," I said, softly. "It's perfect."
The door burst open a moment later.
"Aveline!"
I flinched as the voice shot through the calm like an arrow.
Isolde stood in the doorway, cheeks flushed, her arms crossed tight over her chest. She was twenty-one now, only three years younger than me, but when she was angry, she looked like the child she used to be—blazing eyes, trembling lips, fire lit right under her skin.
I blinked at her in the mirror.
"Isolde?"
She stormed in, her boots scuffing over the marble, her finger pointing squarely at my chest. "That necklace. And those earrings. They're mine."
I stared at her, stunned. "I—I didn't know."
"They were in my box," she snapped. "The one beside my vanity. Someone must've taken them by mistake—"
"I'm sorry," I said at once, rising from the stool. "I didn't know they were yours. They were set out with my dress, I thought they were—"
"They weren't." Her voice was sharp, but not cruel. Not really. "Those were the sapphires Father gave me for my name day."
My stomach twisted. I reached for the clasp behind my neck. "I'll take them off. Right now. I'll give them back."
She hesitated.
Her eyes dropped to the necklace again—saw it glittering against my skin, how it lay perfectly over the bodice of my gown. Something flickered in her face. Not quite jealous. Not hatred. Just… the quiet ache of being overshadowed.
Her arms dropped to her sides.
"I don't want them anymore," she muttered. "You've already put them on."
"Isolde—"
But she had already turned, storming toward the door again, her braid whipping behind her like a banner of war.
It swung open before she could grab the handle.
Our mother entered, pausing in surprise as Isolde nearly collided with her.
"Gods," Queen Seraphina murmured, laughing under her breath. "What now?"
"She wore my jewels," Isolde muttered, brushing past her.
"They were left out with my dress," I said, still standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, hands frozen near my throat. "I didn't know. I didn't mean to—"
But Isolde was already gone, the door clicking shut behind her in one final exhale of irritation.
Queen Seraphina's eyes lingered on the door for a moment, then softened as she turned to me. Her gown was seafoam silk trimmed with gold, her dark hair swept into an elaborate coil. She looked like an empress from one of the old songs—beautiful, cold, timeless.
Her smile was warmer than it had any right to be.
"Sisters," she said simply, approaching me. "I had six of them. We stole each other's dresses, tiaras, and perfumes… and cursed one another for years. I'd say you got off lightly."
A weak laugh escaped my lips, but it didn't quite reach my chest.
"She's not wrong, though," I said. "They suit her better."
"No," the queen said, brushing a hand over my shoulder as she studied my reflection beside hers. "They suit you. That's why she's upset."
I lowered my eyes.
Silence passed for a beat. Then, casually—as if she were talking about the weather—she said:
"We'll find her something better. Something for tonight. But for now… you look exactly as you should."
Her fingers fixed a curl behind my ear. She did it like a mother, but also like a queen adjusting a painting on the wall.
I swallowed hard.
She didn't sit. She never sat. But she leaned against the vanity as if allowing herself the illusion of rest.
"You know what tonight means," she said at last.
I nodded. My throat was dry. "My twenty-fourth."
"And?"
"And… the start of my presentation."
Seraphina's expression didn't change. "Yes. And the first wave of proposals that will be accepted. The king gave you enough time to grow up."
The word tasted bitter. I tried not to let it show.
"You'll dance with a dozen kings," she went on. "Smile at half the court. Pretend to consider men who bore you. And one of them—perhaps—will offer something of worth."
I looked away. Out the window. To the courtyard gardens, where the roses bloomed in organized, perfect lines. No wildflowers. No weeds. Just controlled beauty.
"What if I don't like any of them?"
"You won't," she said, not unkindly.
My eyes shot back to hers.
"But it won't matter," she added.
Silence swelled.
The truth pressed down on my chest like heavy velvet. I already knew the rest of it. She didn't need to say it.
"You'll give your opinion," she said gently. "Your father will make the final choice. That's how it's always been."
"I know," I whispered.
And I hated that I meant it. Hated that I did know. I had known it since I was twelve when they first told me how princesses were chosen, not chosen.
My mother moved closer. She placed her fingers under my chin and lifted my face. I looked up at her—at the queen who had done everything she was told and carved power from the pieces she was given.
"Make them fall in love with you, Aveline," she said. "That is the only power you're allowed to wield."
Her voice was soft. And sad. And real.
Then she kissed my forehead, turned, and left the room with a swirl of silk and unspoken warnings.
I stood alone again.
The sunlight had shifted. The room felt warmer. But the cold inside me hadn't moved.
The sapphires still clung to my throat.
And I wondered as I touched them one last time—if they would feel heavier with every proposal I wore them through.