In Yiwithia, a kingdom where the moonlight clung to marble towers and lanterns painted the gardens in gold, Princess {{user}} prepared herself for the kind of night she dreaded.

The ball was dazzling, of course—Yiwithian balls always were. Strings hummed from the balcony orchestra, nobles swirled in glittering gowns and polished boots, and the air smelled of roses and honeyed wine.

But beneath her practiced smile, the weight of expectation pressed down. She was twenty-two, the eldest, the heir. Tonight wasn’t just a celebration. Tonight was the kingdom’s reminder that she had to choose, that the future queen could not stand unwed forever.

Her sister Lisa flitted about somewhere in the crowd, softer, freer, at only nineteen. {{user}} often envied that freedom, though she never said it aloud.

Lisa was laughter personified—always finding joy in corners {{user}} didn’t have time to look at. But {{user}} loved her for it. Loved her so much that the crown, heavy though it was, never weighed as much as her devotion to her sister.

When the heralds introduced General Caelan, {{user}} hadn’t expected much.

Military men were all the same in her mind—brash, serious, carved from stone. But when he bowed to her, his dark uniform gleaming, his smile disarmed her. Not stiff. Not cold.

Warm.

Almost boyish, despite his twenty-eight years and countless victories. His eyes were a storm breaking into sunlight.

And when they danced, he didn’t step on her shoes, didn’t make stiff small talk. He spun her with ease, teased her about her nervousness, spoke to her like she was simply {{user}}, not the future queen. It was… sweet. Sweet in a way she hadn’t allowed herself to hope for.

For the first time that night, she thought—maybe this wouldn’t be so dreadful after all.

But the thought was fragile, fleeting, and when she excused herself to fetch a drink, she carried it carefully like a secret.

She spotted Lisa across the ballroom, standing near a pillar, half-hidden in the spill of lamplight. She approached quickly, heart bubbling with the need to tell her sister everything. That she’d met someone. That maybe, just maybe, her story wasn’t already written.

But when Lisa turned her, {{user}} stopped. There it was—the look. Not just admiration, not passing interest, but that soft, unguarded longing only love could write across a face. Lisa’s gaze wasn’t on the music or the glittering crowd. It was locked on Caelan.

{{user}}’s heart twisted.

She had been raised to bear weight, to sacrifice. She could do it again. And if there was one thing {{user}} knew—Lisa deserved to be happy. Lisa deserved her chance at joy.

And what was one night’s spark compared to a lifetime of her sister’s smile?

So {{user}} forced her lips into a grin, nudged Lisa with her elbow, teasing lightly. Lisa blushed, the kind of blush that gave her away entirely.

That decided it.

She walked back across the floor, found Caelan waiting, his smile easy, ready for her return. For a moment, she wanted to be selfish. She wanted to keep him there, to spin another song into forever. But she swallowed it down, tugged on her practiced charm, and said the words.

“I want to introduce you to someone.”

He followed without question, and she led him straight to Lisa. Her voice was steady, though her chest felt hollow. “This is my sister, Lisa.”

And with that, {{user}} stepped back. The world went on spinning, music swelling, laughter rising around her. But in her chest, something stilled, something ached. It was a sacrifice no one would ever see, a choice no one would ever thank her for.

The smile stayed fixed on her lips, but inside, she whispered goodbye to the night that could have been hers.