The moon hung low in the night sky, a silent witness to the secrets whispered beneath its light. Its silver glow spilled across the palace garden, kissing each leaf and petal with a soft, ethereal shimmer. The scent of jasmine hung heavy in the air—sweet, heady—and underneath it, something else lingered. Something wilder. Like the scent of change.
Word had just spread: a storm was coming in from the north.
Murmurs had swept through the ballroom like ripples in water. Guests exchanged wary glances, their expressions caught somewhere between concern and curiosity. No one dared leave—not with the weather turning. And so, the Queen had insisted they all stay the night. Thankfully, the palace was vast, its guest quarters opulent and abundant. Every contestant was given a lavish room, the kind fit for nobility, not girls who only recently arrived from their distant provinces.
The herald had delivered the news in his usual pomp, his voice slicing through the tension like a blade. "But in the meantime..." he'd said, pausing for effect, his eyes scanning the room of watching faces, "...let the party continue!"
His voice echoed through the marble hall, a forced cheerfulness in its tone. Glasses clinked. Laughter followed, too loud to be sincere. And yet, the party went on.
Elira slipped out quietly.
She hugged her arms around herself as she made her way down the garden path, slippers soundless against the damp cobblestones. The night air cooled her flushed skin. Still, her heart pounded, too fast to be calm. She couldn't believe she was actually doing this—sneaking out after curfew to meet him.
Prince Ardyn.
What did he want from her? Of all people?
She wasn't like the others. She wasn't Lady Seraphine in moonlit silk, or Kaelith with her sharp tongue and sharper smile. Elira was... simple. Kind. Honest. Unremarkable, some might say.
And yet, he had asked her to come.
She reached the maze of rosebushes, their blooms curled like secrets in the moonlight. Then, she saw it—a flicker of lantern light beneath the trellis. He was already there.
Ardyn stood beneath the archway, a shadow touched by silver. Gone was the formal regalia. He wore only a white shirt, open at the collar, and dark trousers that clung to long legs. For once, he didn't look like a prince. He looked like a man.
"Elira," he said when he saw her, her name a soft breath between them, barely louder than the rustle of the leaves.
"My lord," she replied, dipping into an awkward curtsy. It felt silly the moment she did it.
He smiled—that uneven, lopsided kind that tugged at something deep inside her. "No titles. Just Ardyn."
Just Ardyn? Her lips parted, but she said nothing.
He reached out his hand. "Walk with me?"
She nodded and slipped her hand into his. His touch was warm and steady, grounding. Her pulse skipped.
They moved together through the garden, neither speaking at first. The silence wasn't uncomfortable. It was full, like the hush before a song begins. Crickets chirped, and somewhere nearby, a fountain murmured to itself.
"You're different," he said suddenly.
She turned to him. "Different how?"
"You don't look at me the way they do."
Elira gave a soft laugh, more out of nerves than amusement. "That's probably because I don't belong here."
He stopped and faced her, his eyes catching the moonlight. "That's where you're wrong."
His gaze didn't waver. There was something open in it—unguarded, even fragile.
"You see me," he said. "Not a title. Not a crown. Just... me."
"I see someone trying hard not to feel alone," she said, her voice low.
He blinked. Not hurt—surprised. As if she'd peeled back something he hadn't expected to show.
"You always speak your truth, don't you?" he asked.
"I try," she whispered. "Even when I probably shouldn't."
He took a step closer. She felt the shift in the air—thick, heavy, charged.
His hand rose, brushing a stray curl from her cheek. Her breath caught. The touch burned, even in the chill of the night.
"Don't stop," he said, voice a low hum. "It's the bravest thing I've seen since all this began."
They stood in that moment, wordless. Not awkward—electric. Then, gently, he guided her toward a stone bench beneath a flowering tree. The petals drooped overhead like guardians of their secret.
"You grew up by the sea, didn't you?" he asked as they sat, his gaze flicking to her mouth, then away.
She nodded. "Yes. I miss the wind, the salt, the sound of waves. Everything here feels... too still."
"Too controlled," he said.
She smiled. "Exactly."
He leaned back, thoughtful. "Sometimes I dream of riding off. Just taking a horse, leaving everything behind."
"Then why don't you?" she asked, genuinely curious.
His jaw clenched. "Because duty doesn't let go. Even when the cage is made of gold."
Their eyes met again, and this time, neither looked away.
A breeze stirred the petals above them. One drifted down, soft as a sigh, landing in her lap. Ardyn reached out and tucked it behind her ear.
"You look like spring," he said, voice raw.
Her breath caught again, but she didn't pull away.
Elira's throat tightened. She could feel it again—that pull, the gravity between them that had been growing since the moment their eyes first locked in the ballroom. But this was different. Quieter. Deeper. Not just curiosity or excitement… it was need. Recognition.
She looked away first, focusing on her hands resting in her lap. "You shouldn't say things like that."
"Why not?" he asked softly.
"Because it makes it hard to breathe."
There. She said it. Her truth, again. And he didn't laugh, didn't mock her for it. Instead, he leaned in, elbows resting on his knees, watching her like she was the most fascinating thing in the world.
"You make it hard to think," he said after a pause, his voice so low it felt like a confession. "From the moment I saw you, I haven't been able to shake you from my thoughts."
Elira felt the sting of tears in her eyes—not from sadness, but from the overwhelming weight of it all. This was too much. Too fast. And yet… it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
"I don't know what this is," she said, her voice trembling, "or what you're looking for, Ardyn. But I'm not someone you can keep in a glass case, only to admire when no one's looking."
He flinched, just barely. "I don't want a glass case. I want someone real."
Their eyes locked again, the space between them shrinking by the second.
"Then look at me," she said, barely a whisper. "Really look."
He did.
And then, he kissed her.
Not with hesitation, but with intent. With hunger. With the kind of longing that comes from waiting too long, from holding back too much.
His lips claimed hers in one fluid motion, and she melted into it, into him. His hand cupped her cheek, tilting her face gently as he deepened the kiss. The world tilted. Time stilled.
Elira's hands moved instinctively, gripping the fabric of his shirt as though to steady herself, as though afraid he'd disappear if she let go. He tasted like wine and something darker—something she couldn't name but never wanted to forget.
The kiss grew bolder. His other hand slid to her waist, pulling her closer. She gasped into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound like it belonged to him.
When they broke apart, their breaths were ragged, mingling in the charged space between them. Neither spoke.
It was Ardyn who finally broke the silence. "Tell me to stop," he said, his forehead pressed against hers. "Tell me, and I will."
But she couldn't. Because she didn't want him to.
Instead, she leaned in again—this time slower, her lips brushing his with deliberate tenderness. The second kiss was different. Less frantic. More intimate. It was a promise, a question, a secret exchanged without words.
His arms wrapped around her, strong and sure, and she let herself be held, even as part of her mind screamed that this was reckless, dangerous, foolish.
But her heart… her heart had never felt more alive.
Eventually, she pulled back, just enough to meet his eyes.
"This doesn't change anything," she whispered.
"It changes everything," he countered.
"We're still from different worlds."
"So let's make a new one."
She looked at him, really looked, and for the first time, she didn't see a prince. She saw a man standing on the edge of something vast, terrified and brave and willing to jump if she would jump with him.
A sudden gust of wind swept through the garden, scattering petals like confetti around them. The storm wasn't here yet, but it was coming.
And somehow, that felt right.
"I'm scared," she admitted.
"So am I," he said. "But I'm more scared of never knowing what this could be."
She stood slowly, smoothing her skirt. "We should go. If someone sees us…"
"I don't care."
"I do." Her voice was soft, but firm.
He nodded, understanding. "Then I'll walk you back."
They didn't hold hands this time, but the space between them buzzed with electricity all the same.
When they reached her door, he paused. "Elira…"
"Don't say it," she said gently. "Not yet."
He hesitated, then smiled. "Alright."
She slipped inside, closing the door softly behind her. She leaned against it, hand pressed to her chest, trying to calm the wild rhythm of her heartbeat.
Outside, the wind howled softly. The storm was near.
But in her chest bloomed something warmer than fear. A spark. A beginning.
Elira didn't sleep that night.
She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, tracing the memory of his kiss over and over again like it was etched on her skin. Every time she closed her eyes, she could feel him—his breath, the weight of his touch, the way he'd said her name like it mattered.
She turned over with a groan, burying her face in her pillow. What was she thinking?
There were rules. Expectations. Lines she couldn't afford to blur. And yet she had, and not by accident. She let it happen. Wanted it.
But what now?
What did it mean for them? For her?
He was a prince. The future king. And she… she was a lady-in-waiting with no claim to anything but borrowed titles and a fragile place in a palace that didn't belong to her.
Still, the way he looked at her—like she was the only thing in the world he could see—made it impossible to pretend nothing had changed.
Because everything had.
The next morning, she rose before the sun, dressing quietly in the gray light of dawn. Her hands shook as she pinned her hair back, though she tried to ignore the fluttering in her chest.
She wasn't sure what scared her more—that he would avoid her, or that he wouldn't.
When she stepped into the corridor, the palace felt unusually still. The usual hum of activity hadn't started yet. Maybe it was a blessing. Or maybe it was just time holding its breath, waiting to see what she would do next.
Elira walked toward the east wing, where the royal gardens cast long shadows across the stone paths. The place still smelled like roses from the night before, though the bloom was fading.
A soft sound made her pause.
She turned—and there he was.
Ardyn stood under the same arch where they had kissed, dressed in a simple tunic and cloak, hair tousled like he hadn't slept either. His eyes met hers, and for a moment, neither of them moved.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asked.
She shook her head, folding her arms. "You?"
He smiled, tired and honest. "Didn't even try."
There was a long pause between them—comfortable, but full of things unsaid.
"I thought maybe you'd regret it," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I don't," he answered immediately. "Do you?"
She hesitated, then said, "No. But I don't know what to do with it."
"Let it be real," he said. "For once, let something be real."
Elira looked away, torn between caution and the wild hope curling in her chest.
"You make it sound so easy," she said.
"It's not," he admitted. "But it's worth it."
They sat on the low stone wall that bordered the garden, shoulders nearly touching but not quite. The silence between them stretched, but it wasn't awkward—it was full, like the space after a song ends but still echoes in the air.
"I don't want to be a secret," Elira said quietly.
"You won't be."
"You say that now, but—"
"I mean it."
She turned to him. "You have no idea what kind of risk that is."
"I do," he said, meeting her gaze. "I've lived under expectations my entire life. Every move I make is watched. Every word judged. But this—us—it's the only thing that's mine."
He reached out then, not with a grand gesture, but gently, like he was afraid she might disappear if he moved too fast.
His fingers brushed hers.
And she didn't pull away.
The sun was beginning to rise, casting gold light over the garden walls. A new day, a new weight pressing down on them—but also, a new kind of courage.
"I'm not asking for promises," he said. "Not yet. Just… don't shut me out."
Elira nodded slowly. "Okay."
It wasn't everything. But it was something.
Maybe that was enough—for now.
Elira lingered a moment longer in the garden after Ardyn had gone. He'd left with a reluctant glance, duty calling him back into the palace halls. But she remained, needing a few breaths more of stillness.
She traced the edge of a rose petal, soft beneath her fingertips, and for the first time in a long while, she let herself feel everything. The fear. The wonder. The weight of the unknown.
Love—if that's what this was—wasn't the fairy tale she once believed in. It was raw and real and terrifying. It came with consequences, whispered doubts, and a hundred reasons to run. But also, it brought light. Warmth. The possibility of something more.
She closed her eyes, standing alone beneath the morning sun, and let that possibility bloom inside her like the roses around her.
Later that day, as she moved through her duties, nothing had changed outwardly. She curtsied, smiled, listened. But inside, a shift had occurred. The world looked a little different—sharper, more vivid. Every corner of the palace now held echoes of something new. A glance. A brush of hands. A memory that refused to fade.
And she knew it wouldn't be easy. That love, especially in a place like this, came at a cost.
But as she caught a glimpse of Ardyn across the great hall—his gaze finding hers for the briefest, burning second—Elira realized something:
For the first time, she was willing to pay it. To her, if there was ever any time in her life that she had to feel such emotion, it was worth going for it.