The next morning, I wake up early, long before the Queen can arrive in my room. Although I spent last night lost in thought, getting up proves surprisingly easy. The sun shines through my window, and there is no trace of the storm from the night before – at least visually. As I open the windows and take a deep breath, the earthy scent of petrichor fills the air. I exhale contentedly and enjoy the refreshing clarity of the morning.

  But my thoughts immediately return to the figure I saw in the midst of the storm. Has she disappeared with the wind and the lightning? How I would have loved to see her face! If my father hadn’t been in the room at that moment, I might have been able to find out more. Was the figure a woman? If so, could she have been the one who spoke to me through that mysterious voice in my head yesterday? It pains me that I had the answers to all these riddles almost within reach, and yet they slipped away.

  Perhaps my father has answers? If people with such abilities exist in Velarion – our kingdom – he must know about it. I wonder if I can bring it up tonight at the celebration? After his behavior yesterday, I actually feel a quiet sense of anticipation for our next meeting. However, the day until then will be dominated by Queen Mayyira and her attendants, who will prepare me for the celebration. Since this is my first event of this kind, I feel uncertain and completely inexperienced.

  “How beautiful the weather is today,” I whisper quietly as the sun falls on my skin. The warmth I feel could be from the radiant weather – or from my own emotional state. Strange how my heart suddenly feels lighter. Has my father really spent all these years working to make this day a glorious highlight? Was the isolation part of a plan to shape me into a perfect princess? Could he actually love me?

  My thoughts are interrupted when the door to my room swings open. Smiling, I glance over my shoulder, but my smile fades instantly. Four women enter, all with their heads lowered, each carrying a dress dummy with a magnificent gown. The dresses are breathtaking – each seems more beautiful than the last.

  I remember a time before Queen Mayyira, when the castle was filled with laughter. But with her arrival, everything changed. Joy became forbidden, laughter severely punished. Those who did not follow her rules were immediately dismissed. Many of the servants from those days I have never seen again, and I wonder if they ever found new employment. Under the Queen’s direct influence, the servants live in constant fear, especially those responsible for me. Her strictness is unbearable for me – it almost seems as though she has perfected her cruelty solely for me.

  Still, just for today, I decide to ignore her cruelty. It’s my first celebration, and I want to enjoy it as best as I can. For years, I tried to convince my father to send me to relatives, anywhere I could be free – out into the fresh air, far from this oppressive environment. But my pleas went unheard. My father, who must have once been loving, has changed. I remember a painting that shows both of us, me as a child on his lap, our faces radiating joy. But that painting disappeared, and with it, the hope of ever getting that version of my father back. Although I am not entirely sure if he was ever such a good person, or if I just imagine this beautiful past.

  “You must choose one of these dresses,” Queen Mayyira’s cold voice suddenly sounds, pulling me back to reality. She stands in the doorway, her eyes full of arrogance as she looks down at me. “You should be grateful that these gowns were specially made for you by the best tailors in Silberhain. Your father had Duke Aldric commission them.”

  Silberhain. Duke Aldric. His name is familiar to me, although I’ve never seen the man himself. He is a former merchant, elevated to nobility for his extraordinary skills in trade. Part of me admires this rise – the other wonders what stories are hidden behind this title.

  “I thank you for this generosity,” I finally murmur, my gaze fixed on the dresses. But my thoughts are far away, on the figure from last night and the mysterious change in my father’s eyes.

  My eyes stop at a particular masterpiece. A burgundy ball gown, its sleeves elegantly hanging from the shoulders. I stand in front of the mirror, imagining how this dress would look on me.

  The Queen surveys me with a mocking smile that accentuates her flawless features. “Whether you will do justice to any of these dresses is, of course, not to be expected,” she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “After all, you do not have the figure of a woman. Your body is too curvy, too soft – too much flesh on the bones.” Her words hit like needles, but she laughs amusedly as if it were only a game.

  The Queen herself is a woman of imposing appearance. Her upright posture, slender figure, and always perfectly styled hair make her an impressive figure. I have never seen her in a careless outfit – her pride and discipline would not allow such a thing. But what really stands out is the cool dominance she exudes. Her crossed arms and piercing gaze say more than words. There is a heavy silence in the room; the servants barely dare to breathe, afraid to draw the Queen’s attention to themselves.

  “I choose the red dress,” I finally say, not paying attention to the other options. My gaze remains fixed on the only dress that caught my eye. It feels like a challenge, yet also a moment of rebellion. What do the other colors matter if I never had a real choice anyway? “I like it,” I add coldly, though my voice shakes slightly.

  The Queen raises an eyebrow, and a strange smile plays at her lips, as if she expected this. “Of course. I knew you would choose this one,” she says with a voice as smooth as it is deceptive. “Servants, prepare her for the evening. Leave no effort out. The princess must shine.” Her words are an order, not a request. With a brief gesture, she leaves the room, and I involuntarily breathe a sigh of relief. The servants’ relief is palpable as they straighten up after bowing.

  The next few hours blur in a mix of preparations and emotions. The women wash and comb my hair with a care that almost feels affectionate. The scent of soap and the rhythmic motion of their hands calm me, and I nod off briefly. It’s a moment of peace, but it does not last.

  Putting on the dress turns out to be a laborious act. The tight corset forces my body into an unfamiliar shape, and I struggle with every movement. Nevertheless, the servants are patient and supportive, even though they do not show their feelings openly. In their eyes, however, I still read a hint of compassion – or am I just imagining it?

  As my hair dries in the towel, I glance at the mirror. What I see makes me stop. The girl there – could that really be me? For a moment, I lose myself in thought: Will I step out among people again today? How should I behave? What is the proper form of conduct in our time? Uncertainty spreads within me, and I take a deep breath to suppress my growing nervousness.

  The women continue with stoic precision to transform me. While two of them dry and skillfully style my hair, the others apply my makeup. The deep red lipstick stands out, perfectly complementing the dress. I have no idea about the other cosmetics, but the result is breathtaking: A stranger gazes at me from the mirror, a woman with lively, shiny curls, accented by an elegant hairpin that completes the look.

  “Beautiful,” I whisper almost reverently, smiling for the first time in a long while. In that moment, I feel a little more human again—and that is priceless.

  The women escort me silently to the grand doors of the ballroom. Their footsteps echo softly on the smooth marble floor as my thoughts return again and again to the last few hours, which had felt like an eternity. In reality, it had only been six hours—six hours to transform me from my reclusiveness into this form that looked so foreign and yet fascinating in the mirror.

  The castle has changed, I see it with every step. The corridors I once knew now carry new colors and decorations that seem unfamiliar to me. And the ballroom... I haven’t been allowed to enter it in the last ten years. Instead, I spent my days among the high shelves of the library and in the silence of my room. My room, my sanctuary—and my loneliness. But today, everything is different.

  Through the heavy doors, I can hear the music. It’s lively, a waltz accompanied by cheerful chatter. People, I think, people I don’t know, but who are all here to celebrate. It’s a strange feeling, knowing such vibrancy exists out there when I’ve so often felt alone.

  The doors open slowly, and I squint against the dazzling light that greets me. The hall is a world of its own—spacious, radiant, and alive. The high, gilded walls are adorned with frescoes, and countless crystal chandeliers bathe the room in a warm, sparkling light. The air is filled with the scent of fresh flowers and the sweet aroma of pastries and spices. I stop for a moment, overwhelmed by the sight.

  Then I step into the room, and for a moment, everything seems to freeze. Conversations hush, gazes turn toward me. Not because they know who I am—no one here knows that the princess of the house is present. No, they see me only as a stranger, a young woman in a beautiful dress, with unnaturally white hair and sparkling jewels framing my face.

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  Their gazes are curious, benevolent—perhaps a little in awe. Some of the gentlemen cast me assessing, interested looks, while the ladies glance up from their conversations and smile politely before returning to their own circles. I can almost feel the warmth of the room and the attention wrapping around me.

  An older lord, his uniform gleaming with golden embroidery, raises a glass toward me, a silent gesture of courtesy. A lady in a shimmering silk gown briefly studies me, her lips curling into a friendly smile before she turns to her dance partner. They all see me, but no one knows who I truly am.

  Slowly, I continue forward, the long, flowing fabric of my gown whispering over the floor. The music carries me forward, and the voices blend into a background of melody and movement. To them, I’m no more than a beautiful sight amidst this glittering evening. But for me... for me, this moment is a liberation. Today, I am not a princess. Today, I am just a girl who has the freedom to move among people for one evening.

  “Stunning,” a deep, melodious male voice comes from behind me, and I startle. Instinctively, I turn and look in the direction from which the words came.

  Before me stands a young man, whose presence immediately impresses. His long, blonde hair falls softly over his shoulders, though part of it is loosely tied back, giving him both a wild and elegant look. His face is harmoniously shaped, almost flawless, but it’s his eyes that hold me, almost magically, in place. Two different colors—clear, bright blue and deep, intense green—contrast sharply with one another. It’s as if each eye tells a story of its own, and I find myself breathless, captivated by this unusual and fascinating sight.

  A person of extraordinary beauty and presence, as though sprung from a painting.

  I stare at him, confused, unable to immediately respond to his words. My mind desperately tries to make sense of his sudden remark. What did he mean by “stunning”?

  “Apologies,” he says gently, his voice full of regretful politeness, as he extends his hand toward me. “That was rude of me. I haven’t introduced myself yet.”

  A smile, polite and charming, plays on his lips as he continues: “My name is Sylas Velqorin, son of Lord Zyar Velqorin.”

  His name echoes in my mind. Zyar Velqorin—the legend, the warrior. And now his son stands before me, so casual yet as if from another world. I once read an entry about him in the library, which had been recently added to the archives. According to the documents, he single-handedly defeated 100 men during the battle against the enemies from Tarnvelde. The Tarnvelders are people who live in the southern kingdom.

  According to the history books, there are four kingdoms, each with its own history, culture, and characteristics. The four continents are ruled by these four kingdoms.

  Velarion, the northern kingdom, is often referred to as the Kingdom of Stars. It is known for its breathtaking glacier landscapes and endless forests. The Velarians are considered proud and resilient, shaped by the harsh conditions of their land. Their ruling dynasty, House Valdyris, has thrived for generations through wisdom and military strength. Stories of heroes like Zyar Velqorin, who defended the land from enemies, are deeply embedded in Velarion’s legends.

  Tarnvelde, in the south, is its exact opposite. It is a fertile land with endless stretches of golden fields, vineyards, and lush forests. The Tarnvelders are known for their wealth and love of art and culture. But behind this apparent idyll lies a military strength they’ve proven in numerous conflicts. Their warriors are famous for their skill and speed, and their leaders are as charming as they are dangerous. Tarnvelde is a land of contradictions—beauty and death often go hand in hand here.

  The western coasts are ruled by the Kingdom of Caldoria, a land of merchants and explorers. Caldoria is known for its magnificent port cities, where people from all the kingdoms mingle. The Caldorians are a pragmatic people who live in harmony with the sea and the winds. Their fleet is legendary, and their ships dominate the trade routes between the kingdoms. Yet, despite their wealth, there is an unspoken rivalry between the old merchant families and the growing power of the crown.

  To the east lies the mysterious realm of Lunareth, situated on the edge of a vast mountain range. Lunareth is a land of alchemy and ancient secrets, its people both feared and admired. The kingdom is known for its enigmatic scholars and alchemists, who preserve the knowledge of past ages in vast libraries and remote academies. But Lunareth is also a place of intrigue, and its rulers are as unpredictable as they are wise. The kingdom’s borders are difficult to cross, making it one of the most isolated and mysterious realms.

  The four kingdoms exist in a fragile balance, always teetering between peace and conflict.

  I return Lord Sylas’s polite gesture, and he gently takes my hand to raise it to his lips in a light kiss. My heart leaps unexpectedly, and a pleasant warmth spreads across my face as I realize my cheeks are beginning to flush.

  “Pleased to meet you, Mylord,” I say, struggling to keep my voice steady as my eyes instinctively linger on him. “My name is Vespera…”

  But the next thought almost chokes me. Should I really tell him my full name? Would he look at me differently once he finds out I’m the princess of the kingdom? I need to come up with something quickly— a name that sounds harmless enough not to raise further questions.

  “A beautiful name,” Sylas replies with a charming smile that’s almost disarming. His eyes—those mismatched colors—radiate a warmth that nearly makes me forget this is a tricky situation. “Your hair is truly admirable, and your gray eyes! Forgive me, I lost my manners when I saw you, Lady Vespera. Which family do you come from?”

  Damn. This is exactly what I wanted to avoid. My mind races as I desperately search for a plausible answer. Finally, I say the first thing that comes to mind: “I am the daughter of Lord Kaelen Darynith.”

  “Lord Kaelen Darynith?” he repeats, visibly puzzled. “Forgive me, I’ve never heard of this Lord.”

  “Oh, that’s not unusual!” I answer hastily, letting out a nervous laugh. My heart beats faster as I improvise: “We come from the West. My father worked as a spy for King Mukuta, gathering information. I don’t know much myself, as he keeps me out of such matters. He was recently elevated to the nobility, and this is my first ball.” At least there’s a tiny kernel of truth in this web of lies.

  “I see,” Sylas responds with a thoughtful nod, seemingly impressed. “It’s common for daughters to be kept out of such affairs.”

  At that moment, the music changes, and a gentle, slow melody fills the room. Sylas leans slightly forward and extends his hand toward me again. “Mylady, would you honor me with a dance?”

  Dance? Now? My heart stops for a moment before pounding heavily against my ribs. I have no sense of rhythm, I know that all too well, but even more unsettling is the thought of dancing with someone like Sylas—so close, so present. My body feels as if it’s on fire, and my cheeks feel like they could outshine the sun. Is this... what people call love? Or am I just fascinated by the new experience of talking to a young man? So far, my father has been the only man I’ve ever spoken to for any length of time. And now Sylas stands before me, radiant and expectant, asking me for a dance.

  A brief moment of uncertainty overtakes me, but in the end, I nod shyly. Sylas smiles and leads me with gentle elegance to the center of the room, where other couples are already dancing to the slow music.

  As we move, I direct my gaze uncertainly to the back of Lord Sylas’s head, trying to match his movements. However, my ears pick up the conversations of the guests around us. A man is telling another, laughing, a story about his wife, who supposedly bought two golden bracelets recently—even though she just acquired two new diamond rings last week.

  The story itself may be trivial, but the warm smile on the man’s face as he talks about his wife causes me to smile involuntarily. For a moment, I feel as if I’ve caught a tiny glimpse of a life that’s been denied to me for so long—a life full of people, conversations, and shared happiness. And in that moment, guided by Sylas’s steady hands, I wonder: could such a life be possible for me too?

  “You seem to be enjoying yourself, Princess Vespera,” Queen Mayyira’s voice rings out, and in that instant, the rosy world around me crumbles, and the colorless reality takes its place.

  Lord Sylas and I come to an abrupt halt, and he immediately releases my hand. His eyes widen as he realizes the truth. Without another word, he bows deeply before me and straightens up.

  “Princess Vespera…” he stammers, clearly perplexed. “Forgive me, I didn’t know you were the princess of the kingdom. My apologies, Queen Mayyira!”

  “Lord Sylas,” the queen says in a tone devoid of any warmth, her smile remaining cool. “Your father has been looking for you. I suggest you meet him immediately.”

  “Of course, Your Majesty!” Lord Sylas responds without hesitation before turning to me. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Princess Vespera.”

  He walks away, and I can’t help but watch him go with a pained look. Once again, a moment that could have been beautiful is shattered by this cruel woman. Why does she hate me so? Why can’t she even grant me a moment of happiness?

  “An important guest is awaiting you, Princess,” the queen speaks, particularly emphasizing the word “Princess” with a mocking tone. “This servant will take you to him.”

  The queen gestures toward a small man in a plain suit, with white gloves, which are a symbol of servitude in the kingdom. Without another word, she directs him to escort me to the said guest. I have no choice but to follow him. If my father were to find out that I defied the queen, my chance for freedom would be gone forever.

  The servant leads me away from the guests to a door at the edge of the ballroom, hidden in a dark corner. An uneasy feeling spreads through me, but my feet move almost of their own accord, as if they cannot do otherwise. The man remains still by the door, eyes lowered. Then, he opens it for me, and I step through. No sooner have I crossed the threshold than the door slams shut behind me with a loud bang, and I jump in surprise.

  “Princess Vespera,” an older, almost sickly male voice calls out. “At last, we meet.”

  Before me sits a man who appears older than my father, casually resting on a leather sofa with his legs spread as if enjoying the comfort. Who is this man? Why has he summoned me here? Is he part of the royal family? An uncle? A close relative I’ve never seen before? I’ve never met any of my father’s relatives. I don’t even know if he has siblings.

  “Who are you?” I ask, confused, trying to maintain my politeness. “I’m pleased to meet you, sir.”

  “How respectful you are,” he says, rising and slowly walking toward me. “Your father has raised you to be a remarkable woman.”

  He brushes his hand over my cheek, and a chill runs down my spine. I want to step back, but my body refuses. “You smell wonderful. Did you make yourself so pretty just for me, my dear?”

  “For you?” I ask in a trembling voice, barely controlling my fear. “What do you mean by that?”

  “For our marriage,” he declares with a disgusting smile, his gaze filled with greed. “My name is Lord Elowirn Louweris. And from today, you will be my wife. You will be Lady Louweris.”