CHAPTER FOUR
Eunice of the Silver Moon
The next morning, the palace awoke slowly, as though it, too, had lingered too long in the events of the previous night. The corridors, once familiar, felt foreign, shadowed by the arrival of Lady Mireya's daughter and the storm-eyed stranger who had vanished before I could ask a single question. Every footstep I took echoed louder than usual, every whisper seemed amplified. Even the sunlight streaming through the tall windows could not erase the unease curling in my stomach.
I wandered toward the east wing, a place I rarely visited. Its long galleries were lined with portraits of ancestors I had never truly known, and the air carried the faint scent of lavender and old parchment. I hoped the quiet might allow me to think, to untangle the knots of confusion and fear that had tangled in my mind. Yet, even here, I could feel eyes—real or imagined—watching me, measuring my every movement. The palace was never silent; even when empty, it breathed secrets in hushed tones.
A soft rustle drew my attention to the balcony overlooking the inner courtyard. The wind carried petals from the flowering trees below, and in that suspended moment, I thought I saw the storm-eyed stranger leaning against the balustrade. His gray eyes caught mine, sharp and unreadable, but before I could speak or descend the stairs, he was gone, leaving only the faint echo of his presence. My pulse quickened. Was he real, or had the palace itself conjured him as a warning?
I sighed and sank onto a marble bench. My hands, still tingling from last night, itched as if urging me to act. Something in me—something that had always been dormant—stirred at the edges of consciousness. I had always felt a strange connection to the night, to silver light and shadows, but I had never understood it. Now, with the palace restless and Lady Mireya's daughter subtly asserting herself, the pull grew stronger. I closed my eyes, willing the warmth in my palms to spread, to reveal something, anything, I could understand.
But nothing came. Just the flutter of unease and the memory of the stranger's warning. My frustration mounted, sharp as the edge of a dagger. Why now? Why am I unable to reach it when it matters most? I whispered the questions into the empty gallery, but the silence offered no answer. I could almost feel the palace leaning closer, listening, waiting for me to make a mistake.
A sudden voice broke the silence. "Eunice?" I turned sharply to see my mother, her expression soft yet tinged with worry. "Are you wandering again? You shouldn't be alone in these halls." She stepped closer, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder. Her touch grounded me, yet her eyes mirrored the tension I felt, the concern that had been building since Lady Mireya's arrival.
"I just needed to think," I murmured, brushing her hand away gently. "There's so much happening… I don't understand any of it."
Before she could respond, the heavy doors of the gallery swung open. My father, the king, strode in, his presence commanding attention. His gaze swept over me, sharp and assessing, then lingered on my mother. "Eunice, your mother and I have been discussing the matter of Lady Mireya's daughter," he said, his deep voice resonating in the hall. "You must remember that she is part of this household now. Tensions will arise, but we are all bound by duty, not emotion."
I felt a pang in my chest, resentment and confusion mixing. "Duty?" I whispered. "How can this feel like duty when everything is changing around me?"
The king's eyes softened just slightly. "I know it is difficult. I only ask that you trust us—and yourself. The palace is more than walls and servants; it is a web of influence and power. You will need to understand it before it understands you."
My mother's voice broke the silence, gentle yet firm. "Eunice, your father is right. We are on your side. But beware of Lady Mireya. She is clever, patient, and her daughter mirrors her. Watch, listen, and learn before you act. The palace is not kind to those who act impulsively."
Their words did not comfort me. Instead, they reminded me that even my own family, those I had always trusted, were tangled in the intricate threads of palace intrigue. Lady Mireya had arrived, her daughter in tow, and suddenly the palace felt smaller, heavier, and impossibly tense.
By evening, my curiosity outweighed my fear. I returned to the gardens, the same path where I had first encountered the stranger. The moon hung low, bathing the fountains and hedges in silver light, the jasmine scent stronger now in the cool night air. My hands tingled more insistently, and I allowed myself a moment to focus, to try again. I traced my fingers over the smooth marble edge of the fountain, imagining the warmth of my magic flowing outward, trying to shape it, guide it. Yet it remained elusive, like a shadow slipping through my grasp.
A shadow moved near the central fountain. My pulse skipped. "You again," I whispered, half in relief, half in suspicion.
He stepped into the moonlight, the storm-gray of his eyes sharper than ever. "You shouldn't be here alone," he said, voice low, urgent, carrying the weight of secrets he was unwilling to fully reveal.
"Why are you following me?" I asked, frustration and curiosity warring in my tone. "What do you want?"
He shook his head, as though struggling with words. "I am not following. I am warning. There are forces in this palace, Princess Eunice, that will not forgive curiosity." His eyes, intense and unreadable, searched mine. "The girl—Lady Mireya's daughter—is not what she seems. Her presence changes more than the court's politics; it changes the balance here. She will not reveal her intentions until it is too late."
I swallowed, feeling both fear and fascination. "What balance? What are you talking about?"
Before he could answer, torches and footsteps again clattered in the garden. "Princess Eunice! Step away from the fountain!" The guards' voices were closer this time, urgent and insistent. He stepped back into the shadows, disappearing before my eyes, leaving only his warning lingering in the night air.
I stood frozen for a moment, the gardens suddenly silent but for the murmur of the fountain. My hands blazed with warmth, and I felt a strange clarity: the palace itself was a puzzle, and every person, every shadow, every whispered warning was a piece I had yet to understand. The stranger, the daughter, Lady Mireya—each moved with purpose, as if guided by unseen threads I had only begun to glimpse.
That night, I could not sleep. I paced my room, replaying the stranger's words over and over, trying to make sense of the warnings, the eyes that seemed to follow me in every corridor, the growing tension with Lady Mireya's daughter. I realized that understanding my own abilities, whatever they were, was no longer a curiosity—it was survival. The silver warmth that had once been a simple tingling now seemed like a signal, a call to awaken something within me I had only glimpsed in fleeting moments.
As I gazed out the window, the palace lights flickering against the dark sky, I felt the stirrings of a plan. I would need allies, knowledge, and courage I did not yet know I possessed. Perhaps the stranger would appear again to guide me, though his cryptic warnings both intrigued and terrified me. And Lady Mireya's daughter—the young, cunning shadow of her mother—would not stop until she tested every limit of my patience and resolve.
The night deepened, and with it, my resolve. The palace had revealed its first layer of danger and deceit, and I knew there were many more to come. I would need to be ready, to watch and wait, to act when the moment presented itself. And in the quiet moonlight, I whispered to the shadows, to the silver moon above, and perhaps to myself: I will understand. I will endure. And I will not be forgotten.
The palace, for all its grandeur and treachery, had only begun to show me its secrets. And I, Eunice of the Silver Moon, would meet them head-on. The tingling in my hands grew stronger, as if acknowledging my promise, a reminder that power waited within me, patient but insistent. Tonight, I was not just a princess wandering empty corridors—I was a force waking, a mind sharpening, a heart steeling itself for the storm to come.