"He came for diplomacy. What he found was a girl who didn't flinch in the face of fire,or crowns."
Elara had seen the prince arrive, watched his gaze slide past Isla's practised perfection, past the Empress's silver smile, past the golden archways and the cloaked stares until it landed on her.
He had smiled.
Not at a throne. Not at a title.
At her.
And something inside her had stirred not flattery, not fear. Recognition.
She sat now in the royal greenhouse, where moonflowers only bloomed beneath starlight. The petals glowed faintly, pulsing in rhythm with her heartbeat. Her hand hovered just above them, never touching, only feeling.
There was something alive in everything now.
And she wasn't alone.
M's voice drifted from the shadows, half a whisper between ivy and stone.
"He rides with a thousand. Prince Kael. Eldoria's only heir. Forged in fire. Schooled in war. Not known for diplomacy."
Elara didn't look up. "So he's not here for peace."
"He's here for what the Stone chose."
M stepped closer, eyes unreadable. "And now the world believes that choice was you."
She exhaled slowly, fingers trembling near the moonflowers. "Then let him see me clearly."
The red-and-silver banners of the arrival of the prince of Eldoria still hang at the palace gates. The sigil—a crowned wolf—gleamed beneath twilight. News spread faster than fire.
Drums had boomed. Horns had called.
And the court whispered: He looked past Isla.
In Isla's chambers, a goblet of wine shattered against the wall.
"They all stared at her." she hissed, pacing like a caged thing. "He barely looked at me."
Lady Marellia stood by the mirror, unmoved. "Tantrums won't win you heirs."
"I'm the Empress's daughter!" Isla snapped.
"And she is the one the Stone whispered to."
Isla's glare hardened. "She's no one."
"Then show them that," Marellia said softly. "Make them remember."
That night, the grand banquet unfolded like a performance.
Candlelight floated midair, casting golden halos above platters of roasted pheasant, jewelled fruits, and rose-colored wine.
Elara didn't sit at the royal table.
Wrapped in black and gold she stood near the hearth, the fire beast coiled at her side like a legend summoned from smoke and ash. She wore no jewels. No crown.
Just silence, and presence.
Across the hall, Prince Kael watched her.
Isla sat beside him, dressed in emeralds, laughter light and practised. Her perfume filled the air. Her voice sparkled.
Kael didn't respond.
Eventually, he stood.
Walked the hall.
And stopped before Elara.
He said,with his voice lowered ."They say fire bows to you"
Elara met his eyes, steady. "And yet you wear steel. What are you afraid I'll burn?"
He blinked, then chuckled. "Maybe myself. Maybe my kingdom."
"Then you'd better watch closely," she said.
He extended his hand.
She took it.
The room went silent.
They danced not like nobles, but like rivals circling something sacred. Each step is precise. Each breath is deliberate. The fire behind them surged as if it too had been holding back.
And the court forgot how to breathe.
Sitting in the sun, the King poured a glass of black wine, staring into the earth.
"The match from Eldoria moved quicker than I expected," he muttered.
The Empress leaned against the mantel. "He didn't come for Isla."
"No," the King said. "And now the same girl chosen by the stone at the centre of a flame we can't control."
She turned, voice low. "Then we shape it. Or we burn with it."
Later, in a guest chamber lit by moonlight, Kael stood at the window.
He should've been resting. But the image of Elara wouldn't leave his mind.
She didn't bow.
And something in his chest, some quiet place dulled by duty and years of war, stirred with heat.
Not lust.
Not strategy.
Something far more dangerous.
Hope.