In the heart of our hidden realm lies my kingdom, Crystansia, with its shimmering spires and crystalline towers. This place is home. I walk along glittering pathways, admiring the crystal structures that reflect sunlight, exploring hidden nooks, and cherishing every moment in this magical world. My hair shimmers in silver-white strands, catching the light as if spun from moonbeams. My skin is pale and smooth—fragile-looking yet soft to the touch. My eyes are silver and bright. I'm not that tall, just around five foot four, with full thighs and a waist that narrows sharply. My lips are small, tinted with a soft peach hue that barely stands out against my pale face. Though still in my early teens, whenever I look at myself, I feel a strange, otherworldly pull—as if I was never meant to blend in.
My name is Korj Li. I was born the 80th child of my father, King Wsalf Li Kum, and my mother, Tabika. My father had countless wives and children—so many that the entire castle felt like a small village.
My mother, Tabika, was once a slave to the king. But when she became pregnant with his child, he took her in as one of his wives—not merely because of the pregnancy, but because the shaman had foretold that the son she would bear was destined to save Crystansia from the dead. The king didn't understand what that meant, but he obeyed the shaman and made her a Queen of Low.
After me came my little sister, Bomi, with golden hair and yellow eyes that gleamed brighter than the Meka Crystals—sparkling amber stones unique to our land. Her skin was slightly darker than mine; mine was as pale as coconut milk.
Crystansia was a prosperous kingdom—the land of fertility, stones, and spices. My mother named me Korj, meaning Crystaljh, because of my ability to manipulate crystals and form them from my energy. I always felt different from my siblings; they could conjure fire, move water, or shake the earth. But me? I could only create long, narrow, colorful crystals out of nothing—beautiful yet strange. I was the only one who could.
The firstborn prince died in battle, leading our soldiers against an enemy from the Land of Bones, a desert where men's remains never turn to dust. He was the only one Father truly trusted to rule after him. Though my siblings and I tried hard to earn his favor, there were too many of us for him to even remember all our names.
In our kingdom, any small victory or occasion was reason for celebration. We danced and feasted endlessly. The women moved their hips and waists in mesmerizing rhythms, draped in sultry garments. It was improper for men to dance—they only cheered and laughed. I was a very good dancer, not just because of my thin waist and wide hips, but because I was flexible and graceful.
I was raised by my mother and my stepmothers. The king was always busy—ruling, hosting councils, and satisfying his endless desires. No queen dared cheat; the punishment was exile or worse. Among all my stepmothers, I liked Kabini the most. I had never met a woman so kind. She was married off to the king at a young age because her poor parents wanted wealth. Though the king slept with her on their wedding night, people whispered that she was never truly happy in the marriage.
The evening air was cool against my skin as the mathematics master concluded his lesson. The princes and princesses walked slowly, weary from the day. The palace halls glowed in the fading light; torches flickered to life, casting soft shadows across the marble.
Ahead of Bomi and me were the inseparable twins, Momo and Miki, spinning about in matching garments that shimmered in the torchlight. I couldn't help but smile at their joy. Momo adored dresses and jewels, while Miki preferred horse riding with his brothers.
Around us, the other royals dispersed—some to their chambers, others lingering to whisper and laugh. A few tried sneaking past guards toward the outer courts, while others leaned lazily against pillars, unwilling to sleep. It was always like this at the end of lessons—restless energy filling the castle like a heartbeat.
As Bomi and I walked down the dim corridor toward our chambers, she tugged at my sleeve when a muffled moan slipped from our 34th stepsister's room. Wide-eyed, she whispered, "What was that sound?"
I forced a stiff smile. "Just… a cat," I muttered awkwardly—knowing full well it wasn't a cat, but a kitty—if you know what I mean.
I returned to our chamber—each one as large as a small garden, for the castle was truly colossal. I dropped Bomi on the soft mattress and laid beside her, drifting quickly to sleep. Soon, I heard footsteps; Mother entered, cloaked in purple embroidered with phoenix feathers.
She gently woke me. "My little crystal, I'm sorry I took too long."
I turned and kissed her cheek, curling close against her side. "I missed you so much," I whispered, clinging to her gown as if she might vanish again. "Will you tell me a story, Mother?"
She smiled softly and began. Her stories were always the best—warm, enchanting, and full of wonder. I was sinking into the rhythm of her voice when a noise outside pulled me back.
Curious, I crept to the window. Torches flickered across the courtyard where servants bustled with bright fabrics, banners, and ornaments. My heart jumped. Tomorrow was Father's birthday—the grandest celebration in all of Crystansia.
Mother glanced at me. "There's going to be a celebration today, have you forgotten?"
I slapped my forehead lightly. "Of course! Father's birthday! How could I forget?"
Every year, I danced for Father. Whoever pleased him most received any gift they wished. The birthday celebration wasn't just a party—it was a fierce competition. The hall became a grand stage, with blazing torches and anxious performers. Princes flipped and tumbled in risky acrobatics, while others danced with such chaotic energy it looked like they were fighting invisible spirits. The singers were no better—some sounded heavenly, others made the hounds howl.
No one ever forgot last year—when one princess recited a story so painfully long that time itself seemed to freeze. Even the king, famed for patience, slouched on his throne as if dying. The applause at the end sounded more like prisoners celebrating their release. The lesson was clear: on the king's birthday, dullness was treason.
Mother rose gracefully, moving to the carved chest near the wall. From it, she drew a glittering orange fabric that shimmered like fire trapped in silk. Draped over her arm were anklets with tiny bells that chimed as she turned.
"Wear this," she said, handing me the cloth. "Make sure you win the king's attention this time. Get the gift he promised."
I hesitated, brushing the fabric's edge. "What should I ask for this time?"
"The same as every year," she said firmly. Her green eyes gleamed with quiet authority. "And this time, you must win. If you don't…"—her tone sharpened—"…I will punish you, as I always do."
I swallowed hard. "No," I whispered.
"Good." She smiled faintly. "It's a good thing your scars heal so fast. Now go to sleep, my dearest."
She patted my head and walked back to her chamber across the hall. The creak of the closing door was the last thing I heard.
I woke in the stillness of night, remembering the flower petals I had forgotten to pluck earlier. Wrapping a shawl around me, I slipped into the moonlit garden. My skin glowed softly, every inch smooth and radiant. The blossoms shimmered faintly in the silver light. From the far corner of the garden came a rustle—low and deliberate—as though someone moved among the bushes. I gathered a handful of flowers, their fragrance clinging to my fingers, and hurried back inside. I planned to steep them in water till dawn—to keep my skin glowing for the event tomorrow.
On my way back, I ran into one of Prince Sahir's guards. He said I was summoned by him.
Sahir, the first son of Mila, the Fourth Queen of High, was the 32nd prince and in his late forties. He was like an uncle to me—charming yet unsettling. He loved torturing animals on hunts and wore kajal around his eyes.
I hesitated before his chamber door. "Are you sure it's me?" I asked. The guard nodded.
Gathering my courage, I walked down the corridor and pushed the door open.
The chamber was luxurious—walls draped in deep red and gold. Sahir stood in a corner pouring wine into two glasses. When he turned, he smiled. His long red hair was loose, his robe slightly open, revealing part of his well-built chest.
He approached me with both glasses, offering one. I took it, though his gaze lingered too long—tracing every inch of me. "Close the doors," he told the guard without breaking eye contact.
I felt uneasy when his thumb brushed my lips and his fingers trailed down my arm. "I… I have to go," I murmured, setting the glass down and turning toward the door.
Before I could reach it, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me back, pinning me against the wall. Panic shot through me. I struggled, my breath trembling—then found my voice and let out a small scream.
His hand clamped over my mouth as he threw me onto the bed.