The palace had not glittered this brightly in years.
Hundreds of candles burned in crystal sconces, their flames mirrored endlessly in the ballroom's high arched windows. Strings of white roses hung from the chandeliers like frozen rain, perfuming the air with something fragile and bittersweet.
Tonight, the Valemont twins were no longer children of whispers and glass. They were women — eighteen now, and presented before the kingdom as the future of the royal line.
But not equals. Never equals.
Seraphina stood at the edge of the ballroom, her gown the color of midnight. The fabric shimmered when she moved, like starlight trapped in silk. Her sister, Selene, stood opposite her — radiant in pale gold, her hair crowned with delicate pearls that caught the candlelight like fireflies.
The guests flocked to Selene first. They always did.
"Your Highness," they murmured, bowing, smiling too long. Some dared to call her the golden twin, a title whispered like prophecy.
Seraphina smiled when courtesy required it, though she could feel the same chill in her bones she'd felt since childhood — the quiet knowledge that she was the shadow In her sister's light.
Then she saw him.
Across the room, near the string quartet, stood a young nobleman — tall, dark-haired, with a measured stillness that didn't quite fit the noise of the evening. His eyes were thoughtful, unreadable, yet when they flicked toward her, Seraphina felt her pulse falter.
He didn't look away.
Their gaze held for a single breath — just long enough for something unspoken to take root between them.
LADY MARROW (O.S.)
Your Highness, His Majesty requests your attendance.
Seraphina blinked and turned. Lady Marrow, older now but still severe, stood at her side, gesturing toward the dais where the King and Queen sat beneath banners of crimson and gold.
By the time Seraphina looked back, the young man was gone.
Music filled every corner of the palace that night — a waltz so sweet it could have disguised sorrow.
Silk and jewels shimmered in motion as nobles spun across the marble floor, their laughter ringing like crystal bells. The scent of lilacs and candle wax hung heavy in the air.
Seraphina stood at the edge of the crowd, her gloved fingers resting lightly on the stem of a crystal goblet. She had been trained to smile, to tilt her head just so, to move as gracefully as her sister. Yet no matter how still she stood, she felt as if she were shrinking inside her own skin.
Selene, meanwhile, glowed.
The gold of her gown caught every flicker of candlelight; even the chandeliers seemed to tilt toward her. When she laughed, the entire hall seemed to listen.
A pair of court ladies brushed past Seraphina, whispering behind their fans.
FIRST LADY
They say the King plans to announce Selene's betrothal before the summer.
SECOND LADY
To whom?
FIRST LADY
Who else but whoever can hold her gaze the longest?
They laughed softly and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Seraphina with the echo of their words.
She took a slow breath, smoothing the folds of her dark gown. The midnight silk shimmered faintly — elegant, but understated. The color had been chosen by her mother, "to complement your quiet nature."
It complemented her invisibility instead.
Then she saw him again.
The young man near the orchestra — tall, dark-haired, and quietly composed. There was a gravity to him that unsettled the glittering chaos around him, as though the music bent away from his presence.
His gaze found hers through the crowd. He didn't smile, but something in his eyes flickered — recognition, perhaps. Or curiosity.
Her pulse betrayed her, fluttering beneath her ribs.
But before she could move, a shadow slipped into his line of sight. Selene, radiant and smiling, approached him with effortless grace.
SELENE
I don't believe we've met, my lord.
He bowed slightly, murmured his name — too softly for Seraphina to hear. Then, at Selene's outstretched hand, he led her into the dance.
The music swelled. The crowd parted.
They looked almost divine together — Selene in gold, the young man in black, their movements precise and fluid. Even the King watched, pride glinting in his eyes.
Seraphina's glass trembled in her hand.
Lady Marrow, now grey and sharp as ever, appeared beside her like a ghost.
LADY MARROW
Your sister dances beautifully tonight.
SERAPHINA
She always does.
LADY MARROW
You should join her. The court would be pleased to see both heirs together.
SERAPHINA
(quietly)
Heirs? You mean her.
Lady Marrow's expression didn't change, but her gaze lingered with something almost pitying.
LADY MARROW
There are many kinds of inheritance, my dear. Some are less visible — but no less binding.
And then she drifted away, leaving Seraphina with a hundred eyes she could feel but not see.
The song ended with a flourish of violins. Applause followed, and the dancers bowed. Selene curtsied, cheeks flushed with triumph. The young man's hand remained at her back a moment too long.
When they straightened, Selene's gaze found Seraphina across the hall.
For a heartbeat, the world fell quiet. The sisters' eyes met — gold and shadow — and an entire childhood of unspoken resentment seemed to breathe between them.
Selene tilted her head, a smile curving her lips.
A silent victory.
Seraphina looked away first.
Later, the twins stood side by side near the dais, summoned by their parents.
Queen Isolde adjusted Selene's pearl crown with delicate fingers, murmuring something low and private. She didn't touch Seraphina at all.
QUEEN ISOLDE
(to Selene)
You must dance once more before the night ends. It is tradition.
SELENE
And Seraphina?
QUEEN ISOLDE
(smiling faintly)
Your sister prefers to observe.
Selene nodded, though her glance toward Seraphina was laced with something sharp — guilt, perhaps, or triumph.
Then she turned to rejoin the floor, where the young man waited, hand outstretched.
Seraphina remained still, the Queen's perfume — jasmine and frost — lingering in the air beside her.
KING ALDRIC
(to Seraphina)
You envy her, don't you?
His tone was almost gentle, which made it worse.
SERAPHINA
No, Father. I envy how easily you love her.
The King's expression hardened.
KING ALDRIC
Careful, child. Jealousy is unbecoming of our bloodline.
SERAPHINA
Then perhaps our blood is already spoiled.
The King said nothing more.
The next song began — a slow waltz, tender and haunting — and Seraphina slipped quietly from the ballroom before anyone could stop her.
She stepped into the cool garden air, her breath clouding in the moonlight.
Inside, music and laughter continued, muffled by distance.
But out here, where frost clung to the marble statues and the night smelled of iron and roses, she could almost breathe again.
Almost.