- Aveline Ravelynn:
The silk hem of my gown fluttered behind me like wings as I raced barefoot down the marble corridor, laughing so hard I could barely breathe.
"Princess!" Lira's voice rang out behind me, scandalized and breathless. "Your Highness, please, you mustn't run—your hair isn't even pinned yet!"
I tossed a glance over my shoulder, grinning. "Stop calling me your Highness, Lira, and you'd better catch me."
Her laughter echoed through the halls as she chased after me, trying not to trip over her skirts. My golden-white dress—far too rich and formal for this game—whipped against my legs as I turned a corner sharply, nearly colliding with one of the castle's stone columns.
I didn't care. The sun streamed through the high-arched windows, painting my world in gold. The scent of spring flowers from the palace gardens mixed with the polish on the floors. For a moment, I was just a girl—not a princess. Not a symbol. Just me. Just Aveline and Lira. Running and laughing together.
I let out a shriek of laughter as Lira's fingers brushed the back of my gown. "Too slow!"
"You're impossible, Aveline!" she called, still giggling. "Your dress alone weighs more than I do! I don't understand how you can run this fast with it on."
"It's not even the one they want me to wear," I said between laughs. "The other one has four layers and sleeves like a tent. I'll suffocate before the guests get here."
We were just children in that moment, breathless and lighthearted.
Until we weren't.
The corridor came to an abrupt end—and so did our game—when I rounded the final corner and nearly ran straight into a wall of royal velvet and steel.
Three men stood between me and freedom. Towering. Silent. Unspeakably regal.
My brothers.
Thorian, the Crown Prince, stood in the center. He looked like he had been carved from marble—broad-shouldered, dark-haired, and perpetually frowning. His hand rested lazily on the hilt of his ceremonial sword, but his eyes were sharp, calculating, and fixed squarely on me.
Caelum was to his right—cool, aloof, and always watching. His robes were dark blue, his expression unreadable, but there was a flicker of amusement in the arch of his brow. He was the coldest of the three, but not unkind.
And Emric… sweet, quiet Emric. My closest sibling. He stood just behind the others, his honey-brown hair tucked behind his ears, his face softer than the others. But even he looked at me now with exasperation and something close to panic.
Because behind them, walking slowly toward us with the weight of the kingdom in his step… was our father.
King Alaric of Elaria.
His crown caught the light like fire. His white beard was trimmed with precision, and though his robes were opulent, he moved with the ease of a man who had worn armor longer than silk. His eyes—so like mine—landed on me, and for a brief moment, I thought I saw a flicker of amusement behind them.
Lira dropped into a panicked curtsy so quickly that she nearly toppled over. "Y-Your Majesty, forgive us—"
"Lira, it's fine," I said quickly, stepping forward and smoothing my dress. "We were just… playing."
Thorian's voice cut in, cold and clipped. "Running through the corridors like a servant child?"
"We weren't doing any harm," I said, though my cheeks burned. "We were just laughing."
Caelum narrowed his eyes at me. "You're to be twenty-four today, Aveline. Not seven."
"I know that," I muttered, brushing a curl from my cheek. "I just didn't want to wear the gold gown yet. It's heavy, and Lira was trying to—"
King Alaric held up a hand, and the hallway fell quiet.
He looked at me for a long moment. Not angry. Not cruel. But with the kind of patience that only fathers of princesses must learn.
"Aveline," he said finally, his voice deep and warm, "you are a princess of Elaria. A future queen. Not a woodland creature to be darting through the halls like a deer. You are to be bathrobe soon"
Emric immediately widened his eyes and looked at our father, objecting " Your majesty, please she's still too young for marriage."
Emric has always been protective of me since we were kids, he has always been against the idea of marrying me off to some king. He wanted to be happy, to be in love and marry the person I wanted not the person my father chose for me.
The king glared at Emric, shutting him up immediately " Princesses get married off at ripe age of fifteen. Emeric, on every birthday of your sister you object to any proposals. Soon, she will be too old to be chosen by any king."
Emric couldn't say anything more, because he could get in trouble with our father.l
I lowered my gaze, nodding. "Yes, Father."
"I know it's your birthday," he continued, softer now. "And I know you would rather be free. But we do not live lives of freedom. We live lives of duty."
"I just wanted a moment," I whispered.
He stepped forward, his calloused hand lifting to touch my chin gently. "And you shall have many. But not today. Today, you must be the jewel the world expects and choose one of the kings who will seek your hand for marriage."
I nodded again, blinking fast.
"Now," he said, with a gentle pat on my shoulder, "to your chambers. The first of the guests will arrive within the hour."
"Of course, Father."
He turned to leave, his cloak trailing behind him like shadow and silk. My brothers followed, though Emric paused just long enough to glance back and mouth, Happy birthday.
I gave him a small smile before turning to Lira, who was still frozen in place.
"You may rise, Lira," I said with a huff. "Come. Let's go get me stuffed into that ridiculous golden gown."
She stood and straightened, sighing dramatically. "You know, Your Highne… Aveline, sometimes I forget you're royal."
"Sometimes," I said, linking arms with her as we walked, "I want to forget too."