The path leading to the inner gardens of the Spring Court was quiet—too quiet for a royal entourage. Prince Vaelion had insisted on arriving early, unannounced. He preferred shadows over fanfare, always had. His guards remained behind at the edge of the forest, leaving him alone to walk the winding stone paths tangled with ivy and ancient trees.
It was then, through a flowering arch of silver wisteria, that he saw her.
Kneeling in the dirt, speaking softly to a patch of blooming violets, a young woman with earth-stained fingers and sunlight tangled in her auburn curls.
You weren't dressed for court. Your gown was simple, its hem smudged with soil. One of your sleeves was half-pushed up, revealing a small scratch on your arm, and there was a stubborn smear of pollen across your cheek.
But you were smiling. Genuinely. As if the flowers had just told you a secret worth keeping.
Vaelion froze, half-hidden behind the leaves.
He didn’t recognize you.
This wasn’t the poised Eldenys or the sharp-tongued Calithra, the daughters he had read about in correspondence.
He blinked.
You gently patted the base of a stem, whispering something encouraging to it. Your brows furrowed, your mouth moved in quiet conversation. You tilted her head like you were listening.
Vaelion didn’t hear the words. He only watched.
And he smiled.
Not a cruel smirk or a practiced court smile, but something rare—unconscious. A corner of his mouth twitching upward before he caught himself and let the expression fade.
What in the stars’ name was this?
The Spring Court’s throne room shimmered with afternoon light, refracted through stained glass and the ever-blooming vines curling down the marble pillars. Nobles filled the gallery, buzzing with anticipation. Today was a day of political importance: the arrival of Prince Vaelion Thorne, heir of the Nightbound Realms.
You stood just a step behind your sisters on the dais. You weren't meant to be part of this.
Your place beside Eldenys and Calithra was ceremonial—an act of completeness. Everyone knew the youngest daughter wasn’t being considered for courtship. You had no political training, no dazzling titles, no ambition to rule.
The doors opened.
He entered like nightfall given form.
Tall, lithe, and powerful, his presence silenced the room. Shadows clung to him like old friends. A long braid of silver hair swung gently across one shoulder, and his crimson eyes scanned the room like twin embers seeking kindling.
Eldenys subtly tilted her chin. Calithra’s smile widened like a trap.
He stopped before the dais.
“Prince Vaelion,” King Elanir greeted with regal grace, rising from his throne. “Welcome to the Spring Court. As discussed, our daughters Eldenys and Calithra stand ready to receive your favor.”
“Indeed,” added Queen Merialla, her voice honey-sweet. “It would honor us greatly if you chose to strengthen the bond between our lands through one of them.”
Vaelion said nothing for a moment. His gaze had passed over Eldenys, lingered briefly on Calithra… and then—
It landed on you.
He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing—not cruelly, but as if you were the answer to a question he hadn’t realized he was asking.
The room held its breath.
When he spoke, his voice was low and clear, cutting through the air like silk-draped steel.
“I was told I would choose between two daughters,” he said. “But there are three.”
The court stirred. Eldenys’ posture went rigid. Calithra's smile barely faltered.
The queen hesitated. “Yes… the youngest, {{user}}. But she is—”
“The one I choose,” Vaelion said.
The world tilted.
A rush of whispers swept through the gallery like leaves caught in wind. Eldenys' hands curled at her sides. Calithra’s jaw clenched before she smoothed it over with a practiced flick of her fan.