Memories of the Girl Whose Kindness Lived Behind Expressionless Eyes
The great hall remained alive with voices.
Orders.
Footsteps.
Chains scraping across the floor as traitors were dragged away.
But Estela no longer heard any of it.
Because her mind... cruel as ever... chose that moment to remember.
The first time she met Elizabeth.
Years ago.
Long before this chaos.
Long before she loved the girl as though she had come from her own womb.
Moonmount was still buried beneath snow back then.
Silent.
Elegant.
Cold in the way only ancient kingdoms know how to be.
She remembered the road leading to the Lycan Palace.
The black towers cutting through the mist.
The guards standing as motionless as statues.
And Samael welcoming her and Benedicth with that expression impossible to decipher.
Far too handsome to seem trustworthy.
Far too dangerous to seem civilized.
The journey had been diplomatic.
Formal.
Its purpose was simple:
To discuss the future stay of Theodor's betrothed in Solari.
The future Luna learning the customs of the kingdom she would one day rule.
At the time...
Elizabeth was still very young.
Yet the whispers had already begun.
There were always whispers.
"The Moon's Daughter."
"The Marked Heiress."
"The Half-Moon Maiden."
People love turning children into prophecies.
Then they act surprised when those children grow up broken.
Estela expected to find a spoiled princess.
Or worse...
an heiress trained too well to smile.
But then she saw her.
In the western corridor of the palace.
Sitting on the floor.
On the floor.
While an elderly maid struggled to gather shattered porcelain with trembling hands.
Elizabeth could not have been more than... fifteen, perhaps.
Already too tall for her age.
Her black hair spilled down to her lower back, streaked with white strands that looked like threads of moonlight woven into the night itself.
The silver half-moon upon the center of her forehead glowed softly beneath the candlelight.
And her eyes...
Gods.
Those eyes.
Silver intertwined with gold.
Not radiant.
Deep.
The eyes of someone who watched before speaking.
Someone who saw beyond the surface.
The maid was on the verge of tears.
— Forgive me, Princess... I never meant to...
— It's only a plate.
Her voice was calm.
Strangely calm for someone raised among power.
Elizabeth carefully picked up one of the broken shards before the woman could touch it.
— If you cut your hand, Leonia will be angry with me for letting you clean this up by yourself.
The old woman looked horrified.
— No, no, Your Highness, this is beneath your dignity...
Elizabeth frowned ever so slightly.
Not in irritation.
In confusion.
As though she genuinely failed to understand.
— The floor isn't going to clean itself.
As simple as that.
No arrogance.
No performance.
Estela watched in silence.
Then Elizabeth lifted her head.
Their eyes met immediately.
There was no surprise.
No flattering display.
Only quiet attention.
The princess rose gracefully to her feet.
Effortlessly elegant.
— Queen Estela of Solari, she said, inclining her head ever so slightly. — Welcome to Moonmount.
Perfect.
But not artificial.
That caught Estela's attention at once.
Many people learn etiquette.
Very few ever learn presence.
Elizabeth already possessed both.
— You help servants gather broken porcelain? — Estela asked, more curious than she intended to sound.
Elizabeth glanced down at the shards still resting in her hand.
Then toward the elderly woman behind her.
— She has cared for my home since before I was born.
The answer came simply.
Honestly.
— I see no reason to leave her kneeling there alone.
The maid quietly began to cry.
Embarrassed.
Elizabeth merely handed the remaining shards to another servant.
As naturally as breathing.
As though none of it were remarkable.
But it was.
Because those raised at the summit of power usually forget how to look downward without contempt.
And Elizabeth...
looked at everyone as though she could see something beyond their usefulness.
It was in that moment Estela understood the true danger the girl represented.
Not political.
Emotional.
Because people like her inspire unwavering loyalty without ever meaning to.
She remembered the rest of the visit.
Elizabeth guiding her through the frozen gardens.
Speaking about Solari's history because she had studied it before the journey.
Asking sincere questions about its people.
Its customs.
Its climate.
Its harvests.
Not out of obligation.
Out of genuine curiosity.
And at some point...
Estela noticed something strange.
The princess always surveyed her surroundings before answering.
Always.
Like someone accustomed to measuring emotions.
Tension.
The slightest shift in the air.
Eyes trained far too well for someone so young.
That night, before the diplomatic banquet, Estela asked Samael:
— Is she always that observant?
The king remained silent for a moment.
Then he answered:
— Elizabeth was born knowing that love and danger often walk through the same door.
The words lingered.
Years later...
they still burned.
Now, standing in the ruined hall of Solari, Estela closed her eyes for a single moment.
And remembered something else.
Their farewell after that first visit.
Elizabeth gently holding both of her hands as she said:
— I hope Solari will like me.
Estela's chest tightened with unbearable force.
Because the kingdom had not merely liked her.
It had loved her.
And perhaps...
perhaps that was exactly why they had tried to destroy her.