The ballroom shimmered with golden light, the chandeliers casting flickering patterns against the polished marble floors.
Prince Asharion Vaelarys had long perfected the art of invisibility, despite being the very reason for the evening’s grandeur. Draped in his customary dark green and gold, he maneuvered through the crowd like a shadow, avoiding lingering gazes and the suffocating presence of those who sought his hand—not for love, but for power.
His mother sat upon her throne-like chair, smiling as she whispered to his father, likely discussing which lady might make the best queen. His father’s gaze flicked toward him with a silent command: Choose.
Asharion sighed. He could already predict the night—empty conversations, vacant smiles, and carefully rehearsed flirtations. A tiresome masquerade.
Turning on his heel, he slipped through the gilded doors leading to the balcony.
Cool night air met him like a long-lost friend. The noise from the ballroom softened to a distant murmur, replaced by the gentle rustling of trees beyond the palace walls. And then he saw her.
A woman stood at the edge of the balcony, bathed in silver moonlight.
She was unlike anyone in the ballroom. Her long, dark hair cascaded down her back like strands of midnight. Her pale complexion seemed almost otherworldly beneath the starlit sky, but it was her eyes—an unnatural shade of blue, cold yet burning—that held him captive. They were striking against the darkness of her attire, a black garment adorned with delicate embroidery.
But it was not just her presence that unsettled him.
A raven was perched upon her shoulder, its glossy wings draped over her form like an extension of her own silhouette. Its beady eyes glinted as if aware of his scrutiny, its sharp beak a stark contrast against the smoothness of her skin. She did not startle at his approach. Instead, she turned her head slowly, those piercing blue eyes locking onto his.