The moonlight spilled like silver over the grand palace of Velmora, casting a glow on the towering marble pillars and crystal windows. Within the great hall, music soared—violins, lutes, and harps weaving melodies that floated through the air like enchantments. Chandeliers shimmered with golden fire, and nobles from across the land filled the room in layers of silk, velvet, and perfume.
It was the royal ball—an annual celebration, but this year, it felt different. There was a hum beneath the elegance. Whispers. Glances. A sense of something blooming.
At the far end of the ballroom, Queen Virelda stood with her head held high, dressed in a deep violet gown that clung to her figure. Her black hair was woven with glittering stones, her lips painted a deep plum. She scanned the room like a hawk, her eyes always drifting toward the entrance.
"She has not arrived," she said under her breath.
Beside her, Queen Selene swirled the wine in her glass. Her golden gown shimmered like fire.
"Naturally," Selene muttered, eyes thin with irritation. "She wants to be watched. She will come last. The moment she steps in, every head will turn."
Virelda leaned slightly forward, voice a shade quieter. "And His Majesty?"
Selene did not answer. Her eyes were already searching for him.
King Aldric stood beside Queen Ava on the dais, tall in black and gold, the crown resting lightly on his dark hair. He nodded politely at nobles who approached but barely engaged—his mind, clearly, was elsewhere.
Suddenly, the guards at the door shifted.
"Her Royal Highness, Queen Aurora of Velmora," the herald announced.
Heads turned.
Silence seemed to sweep through the music for a breathless moment.
Aurora stepped in.
Her gown was unlike anything the court had witnessed. It cinched at her waist and flowed like water. A silver diadem crowned her loose white hair. Her skin glowed. She looked like a vision. Like something out of a legend.
"She is beautiful," one noble whispered.
"She is ... otherworldly," murmured another.
But Aldric? He smiled.
Not the cold, diplomatic smile he gave the court—but the soft, rare smile he reserved for one person only. His eyes met hers, and everything around them faded.
Aurora approached the dais. She curtsied deeply to Queen Ava and King Aldric.
"Mother," she said gently to Ava, who took her hand warmly.
Then to Aldric, she smiled, her voice soft but clear."Your Majesty."
He offered his hand. "Will you dance with me?"
A murmur ran through the crowd—Aldric had never danced, not once.
Aurora placed her hand in his, and Aldric led her to the center of the ballroom. The musicians paused, then began again—soft and slow.
They danced.
Not stiffly. Not with practiced etiquette. But with grace and knowing—like they were alone in the world. Aldric's hand rested lightly on her waist; her fingers brushed the back of his neck.
"You are stunning," he whispered.
"You sent the dress," she murmured.
His lips twitched. "You shine like stars I wish I could catch."
Aurora blushed.
Above them, the chandeliers spun, casting golden sparks around them. And though the entire court watched, though envy and curiosity buzzed in the shadows, the two of them remained in a world of their own—dancing slowly, quietly, as if no one else existed.
Virelda sipped her wine, hard, tears threatening to fall. Selene's fingers clenched her fan, eyes burning with fury.
Across the ballroom, Aurora's maids watched, beaming with pride.
"She deserves this," Lira whispered.
"She deserves everything," Faye added.
And still, the king and his queen danced, their love glowing in every glance. All of Velmora watched.
-
The grand halls of the palace were slowly emptying, the music now a memory, the golden chandeliers dimming one by one. The floor, once alive with footsteps and laughter, now gleamed under flickering light as servants moved quietly, gathering trays and sweeping petals.
Aurora returned to her chamber in silence, her maids, still giddy from the evening, followed behind her, whispering about how the entire court had stared at their lady all night. But Aurora said little—her heart was full, her chest tight with something too deep for words.
As soon as they reached her chamber, she dismissed them with a soft smile.
"Sleep well," she said, her voice gentle. "You all deserve it."
Lira hesitated, "You were beautiful tonight, my lady."
Aurora smiled faintly. "Thank you."
The moment the doors shut behind them, Aurora leaned against the edge of her bed, her fingers grazing the embroidered fabric of her gown—his gift. She closed her eyes.
Then came a knock.
Before she could answer, the door creaked open, and Aldric stepped in, still dressed in his royal black and gold. His crown was gone. His hair slightly tousled. His eyes fixed on her.
"You left so quickly," he said softly.
Aurora straightened. "I did not want to cause more talk."
Aldric stepped closer, his hands tucked behind him. "Let them talk."
She laughed under her breath. "Easy for you to say. You do not have two queens glaring at you in every hallway."
He grinned.
Aurora arched a brow, walking toward him. "You came in without your guards."
"I told them I wanted air," he said, then pulled his hands from behind his back. In them, he held a small, silk-wrapped box.
Aurora blinked. "Another one?"
"For you," Aldric murmured, placing the box in her hand.
She sat on the edge of the bed and slowly unwrapped it. Inside was a necklace—delicate, silver, and shaped like a single blooming flower with a white jewel in the center. Her breath caught.
"I saw it and thought of you," he said quietly. "It reminded me of you."
Aurora looked up at him, eyes wide. "It is beautiful."
He knelt in front of her, took the necklace, and gently clasped it around her neck. His fingers brushed against her skin, sending shivers down her spine. When he looked up, their eyes met, and for a moment, the world outside faded.
"Do you know what you are to me?" he whispered.
Aurora's heart thudded. "Tell me."
He touched her cheek. "You are the only thing in this palace that feels real."
Aurora leaned in, kissing him—slow, certain, full of quiet fire. He pulled her into his arms, holding her.
"I do not want to go," he murmured.
"Then stay," she smiled. "I have much to show you in my folio."
Aldric chuckled. "Do not tell me it is those skeleton-like drawings."
Aurora laughed, tugging him toward her table.
-
The sun barely pierced through the drawn curtains when Virelda flung her diamond comb across the chamber. It clattered against the floor as her maid froze mid-step.
"She wore ivory," Virelda hissed, pacing before her long mirror. "Who allowed her that color? Ivory belongs to queens. To me!"
Her maid, timid, nodded weakly.
"And His Majesty… he looked at her as if she fell from the stars," Virelda continued, bitterness curling her words. "He did not glance my way. Not once!"
She sank before her vanity, staring at her untouched reflection. "She is not even of royal blood. A slave girl. And yet…"
Her words faltered. Then, letting rage break free, she yelled, "This lowly-born slave makes me forget my etiquette! I… I am losing myself because of her!"
Even her maids knew it was true. Virelda never shouted. And here she was, yelling.
Selene's Chamber…
Selene tugged roughly at her gown as her two servants struggled to unlace it.
"I should not have danced with Lord Riven," she muttered. "It was His Majesty I wanted beside me. And that little witch—did you see the way he watched her?"
She sat down, fuming. "I should have known. She did not want to be part of the court. She wanted to own it."
One of her servants whispered, "I heard His Majesty sent the gown himself."
Selene snapped her head up. "What did you say?"
"The ivory gown," the servant answered. "It came as a royal delivery. His seal marked it."
Selene went still. Even her sharp tongue failed her—silent, stunned, dark.
At last, she whispered, "I will make her regret stepping into this world. Velmora has no place for a girl like her."
-
The following morning, Queen Ava sat in the sunroom overlooking the gardens, a steaming cup of tea in her hand. Her attendants moved around her in silence—none brave enough to interrupt her thoughts.
She had seen everything the night before. Aurora's entrance in the ivory gown. The way the entire court stilled when they danced together. And the quiet yet unbreakable bond between them as they danced. She tapped her fingers slowly on the teacup.
"Mother," came a voice from the doorway.
She turned.
Aurora stood there, in soft white, her head slightly bowed. "You asked to see me."
"Yes" she gestured to the chair across from her. "Sit."
Aurora did.
Ava studied her closely, eyes catching the necklace at her throat.
"You look happy," Ava said finally.
Aurora met her gaze. "I am."
Another pause.
"I once told you," Ava murmured, "that your life in this palace would not be simple. And yet, here you are—finding something simple with my son."
Aurora's lips parted. "Do you disapprove?"
"I disapprove of recklessness," Ava answered calmly. "But I have lived long enough to know when love is real."
She leaned forward.
"Listen, child. If this is the path you choose, be prepared. You are not his only queen, and jealousy can be more dangerous than you imagine. Speak less, watch more—especially your handmaidens. I hear things that should remain behind closed doors."
Aurora blinked. "Thank you… Mother."
Ava nodded. "Also, do not make a fool of him—or yourself."
"I will not."
As Aurora rose to leave, Ava added softly, "And… thank you. I see a side of my son I never thought I would."
Aurora smiled faintly and left, heart heavy. What Ava said about her maids lingered, troubling her.
-
Aldric sat alone in his study, papers spread before him—reports, letters, decisions waiting for his seal. He arched his back and stretched, closing his eyes. Sleep was elusive. He thought of going to Aurora's chamber but decided against it. Perhaps she needed quiet.
He went to his bed, not expecting rest. No, he could not sleep without her—but he needed to stretch, to let his body loosen.
He closed his eyes. And nothing came. No sounds, no wails, no pressure behind his eyes. Only quiet.
He told himself it would pass, that the screams would return soon enough. But they did not. Instead, he slept—deeply, fully.
When dawn lit the edges of his chamber, Aldric blinked awake, disoriented. For a moment, he simply sat, staring at the ceiling.
And then it struck him. Aurora had not been with him. Yet he had slept.
His fingers tightened around the edge of the blanket. It was no coincidence. He knew better than to ignore patterns—especially ones tied to magic, or fate.
Then he remembered the change had been subtle at first: the quieting of the halls when Aurora was near, the weight in his chest easing when she stayed by his side. He had convinced himself it was comfort. Affection. Love.
Aurora's presence always stopped his curse—but now… erasing it completely?
"I knew there is more to Aurora. But what is it?" he whispered to himself.
Should he ask? He ran his hands through his hair. So many questions, but what if knowing changed everything between them? He sighed, confusion etched across his face.
-
The cottage deep in the woods was lit only by firelight. Shadows danced along the crooked walls, twisting and swaying like spirits caught mid-wail. A pot simmered over the flames, thick with herbs and something darker. The air was heavy—scented with ash, decay, and the faint metallic trace of blood.
Four women stood in a loose circle, cloaked in black. Their faces were half-hidden by hoods, but their eyes gleamed—some with fire, others with frost.
"She loves him," one of them hissed. Her voice was like rusted metal—grating and bitter. "The king of Velmora."
"She has fallen for him," murmured the woman in the crimson-lined cloak. She was tall, commanding, her face obscured beneath layers of shadow. "And that, sisters, is our way in. If we strike him down, she will fall to her knees. In grief. In rage. In desperation."
Zyra let out a soft laugh—low and dry like a dying breeze. "She will come crawling. And once she does, we take her. Bind her. Break her. Turn her against the world that spat her out."
But then, a voice broke through—soft, steady.
"She is not so easily broken."
It was Elisa. Silent until now, her hood pushed back to reveal a face beautiful.
"She is stronger than any of you expected," Elisa continued. "Stronger than I even hoped. Her refusal at the cottage was no whim. She did not fear us. She chose to walk away."
"And that is exactly why we must act," spat Zyra. "She is becoming dangerous. That power—uncontrolled, wild—it will turn against us."
Elisa shook her head. "No," she said, firmer. "A reckless move would only fortify her resolve. She would turn her power against us. Against me. We must wait. Watch. Time it right."
The fire crackled between them, sparks snapping in the air like warnings.
Elisa clasped her hands beneath her cloak, fingers curled into her palms. Her heartbeat pulsed there — slow, aching, heavy.
"We do not attack him yet," she said. "Let her feel safe. Let her grow close to him. The deeper she falls, the more precise our blade becomes. When the hour comes, we strike. Not before."
The witches exchanged looks. Silence settled.
She rose, face steeled, voice emptied of doubt.
"We wait. And when she is weakest… we move. But until then," she added, meeting every eye,
"no one strikes."
Zyra inhaled, anger flickering — then silence.
-
The trees whispered.
Aurora stood in the middle of a forest that did not feel like any she had ever walked through. The air was thick and still, as though even the leaves were holding their breath. Moonlight filtered weakly through tangled branches overhead, casting silver ribbons across the mossy floor. Fog clung to her ankles like a warning.
She turned slowly. The forest was empty.
Then came the soft crunch of footsteps behind her.
Aurora spun—and saw Elisa.
The woman emerged from the mist like a ghost. Cloaked in shadow, her long white hair falling over her shoulders, her eyes shining not with cruelty, but with some complicated sorrow that Aurora could not name.
"You again," Aurora said, voice low, tense. "I told you to let me be."
Elisa did not respond. She stepped forward slowly, expression unreadable.
"I am your mother. You are my blood," she said quietly. "You are power. Witch-born, whether you deny it or not."
"I do not care," Aurora snapped. "Whatever runs through me, I do not want it."
Elisa's gaze did not waver. "And you think that will protect you?"
"I will protect myself," Aurora replied. "I always have."
Elisa exhaled slowly. Her voice darkened.
"Be with us or prepare for the worst. The one you love… he will be the first to bleed."
Aurora's heart stopped.
Her mouth opened, but before a word could form, the world cracked. The forest dissolved. Mist swallowed Elisa whole.
Aurora jolted upright in bed.
The chamber was silent. The lantern long burned out. Her breath caught. Her nightgown clung with sweat.
The words echoed in her mind: The one you love?
Her heart pounded. Aldric.
Sleep abandoned her. She did not even try. She sat by the window, staring at the pale edges of dawn.
As soon as the halls stirred, Aurora left her chambers. She went straight to the king's wing, heart thudding, fingers cold.
The guards let her through without a word.
She pushed the door open.
There he was. By the window, shirt half-buttoned, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Alive. Breathing.
Aldric's brow furrowed at her sudden presence, but before he could speak, Aurora crossed the chamber in two strides and wrapped her arms around him.
She buried her face against his chest. He froze, then slowly brought his arms around her.
"Aurora…?" he murmured, voice rough with sleep. "What is wrong?"
She did not answer. She could not.
But inside, a quiet vow burned: she would protect him. No matter the witches. No matter the cost.
From that morning, she rarely left his side. If her power was real, she would master it—for him, for the man she had chosen.