I adjusted the folds of my dress, letting it sway around my legs as I took a deep breath. The gown hugged my waist just right, revealing a sliver of skin that made me feel both daring and elegant. My hair, freshly done, cascaded down my back in soft waves, and I had brushed cherry onto my lips, making them pop against my pale skin. Small golden bells jingled at my feet with every step, their sound delicate and teasing.
As I hurried downstairs holding Bomi's hand, the hall unfolded before me in a blaze of red, gold, and purple. Crystals sparkled from above, catching the light and scattering it like tiny stars across the polished floor. Servants moved gracefully through the crowd, balancing trays of glimmering rings and delicate cups, offering them to arriving guests with practiced smiles. Carriages had just started to arrive, and one by one, distinguished visitors from far-off kingdoms stepped inside, their laughter and chatter mingling with the murmur of the crowd. The queens and royal children were already gathered, their gowns a cascade of colors, glittering just as brilliantly as the hall.
I searched for Rhye, but the crowd was dense—flowing like a river of perfume, fabrics, and chatter. Taking my sister's hand, I guided her down the stairs. Mother stood nearby, already engaged with other queens. I bumped into Denba as he was heading toward the door of the enormous hall.
"How does it feel, being Commander of the Knights soon?" I asked, a teasing lilt in my voice.
Denba was one of the princes of the Third Queen of High. He stood tall at 6'5", a well-built man in his early thirties. His black skin gleamed under the sunlight during the day, and his sharp blue eyes seemed to pierce through everything. Black hair framed his strong jaw, and he wore a royal-blue tunic trimmed with gold. His sword at his side was held by a leather belt.
He chuckled and patted Bomi's head gently. "Careful there. You shouldn't trip on an occasion like this—you could've been the knight by my side, but you don't come for training anymore."
I couldn't help but hug him afterward. "The decorations this year are stunning… much more than before," I said, glancing around with my hands on his arm.
"You look beautiful, Korj—and you too, Bomi!" he replied with a grin, his eyes squinting. "I wish the best for you, always."
Just then, Flora, Denba's immediate younger sister, appeared. She wore a dazzling green garment that covered her bust and hips. Her green hair shimmered, and I noticed the subtle ripple of water energy around her. With a flick of her hand, the wine in Denba's cup lifted, swirling into the shape of a horse.
"Why do you even put in the effort when you're just going to lose, Korj?" she said, smirking. Her green eyes reflected the colorful lights in the hall.
Bomi bristled but reminded her, "Don't be so confident, Flora. Korj is capable of much more than you think."
Denba winked at me. "This is my cue," he said, excusing himself to welcome some important guests, handing his cup to Flora.
"You're pathetic," she hissed at me before striding away, water energy trailing in her wake.
The sharp blast of trumpets echoed through the hall, and immediately everyone fell silent. The Queens of Low and High marched forward to the chairs below the King's. The announcer's voice rang out, formal and commanding:
"His Majesty, the King—ruler of the kingdom, dragon's own blood, breather of fire, conqueror of distant lands!"
The master of ceremonies stepped forward to give a proper introduction. He spoke of the king's victories and leadership, then lingered on the ornate tunic the king wore—richly embroidered with gold threads and encrusted with gems that glittered under the hall's torchlight.
The king entered, flanked by three of his first wives. Queen Rashmea was by his side, the other two behind them—each a princess from a foreign kingdom. They moved with regal grace and took their places before the elevated chairs set aside for them. The other queens sat as well. The wives seated themselves elegantly, but the king remained standing—a silent pillar of authority.
He lifted his gaze to the assembled crowd, and the hall seemed to hold its breath. He began, "I suppose I should thank you all for showing up today," his voice steady and commanding. A cup was already in his hand; a young servant quickly poured red wine into it. Mid-sentence, the king sipped, then continued as if nothing had interrupted him.
"Welcome, my subjects and honored guests. Today, we gather to celebrate not only this day but the enduring prosperity of our realm. It is a privilege to stand before you, and I am grateful for your presence.
Look around you—the decorations, the arrangements—all crafted to honor this occasion. May they reflect the care and dedication that sustains our kingdom. I am proud of all that we have built together, and I hope this celebration reminds you of the strength and unity we share."
There was always a rumor that the King—my father—was never meant to be king, because of his womanizing and prideful traits. Some said he had dueled his only brother for the throne and won. Their father had twelve sons, but when he sent them all to war, only three returned. The third died mysteriously of food poisoning.
After the performers danced, there was singing, drinking, and laughter. A few hours before the feast, the King declared that whichever of his daughters could leave him impressed and at the edge of his seat would receive anything she asked for.
Princess Jamaine, the most cunning princess in her early twenties, stepped out. "The one who will be receiving that gift will be me tonight, for I shall be the one to steal your gaze, Your Majesty."
"That's if you're able to," another princess replied.
The princesses gathered outside the grand hall, their gowns glittering like stolen stars, voices bubbling with excitement and nerves. They were supposed to be practicing their performances, but naturally, the conversation turned to the King's birthday gifts.
"I want a golden horse!" one declared proudly, twirling her braid.
"I want to marry a handsome prince," another said with a mischievous grin.
One of them, clearly a bit odd, sighed dreamily. "Just one foot of his shoe… I'll cherish it forever."
The others stared at her for a full five seconds before bursting into laughter.
"I want my mother to be the Queen of High!" Jamaine shouted dramatically, as if declaring war.
"Oh please," said the last, flipping her hair. "I just want new clothes imported from the southern kingdoms—silk so fine even the wind will get jealous."
When it came to my turn, I blinked and shrugged softly. "I… don't know yet."
The others gasped as if I'd confessed to a crime. "You don't know what you want from the king?"
Before I could reply, the herald's trumpet sounded, and chaos turned into royal elegance—or at least an attempt at it.
The grand doors opened, and the music began. One by one, the princesses entered and performed before the king. The first princess swirled gracefully, channeling her energy to lift sparks of fire that spiraled into glowing rings. The audience gasped, though a few servants in the back ducked for safety.
The next controlled air, spinning so fast her gown practically threatened to take flight. Someone's wig did fly—no one knew whose. The King looked uninterested.
Then came another earth-energy princess, stomping powerfully enough that the marble floor actually cracked. Not too much—just enough to make the royal musicians scoot their instruments away nervously. By the time the fifth princess used her water energy, the hall looked like a fancy flood was about to begin. Someone slipped. Twice.
And then came Princess Jamaine. Her mother, seated by the right side of the King, fixed her with a gaze so sharp it could slice through armor—the kind of look that screamed, Don't you dare lose.
Jamaine smiled sweetly… and then completely lost control. She started her dance strong—a perfect twirl, a graceful bow—and then, with far too much enthusiasm, she channeled her energy. Her eyes glowed. The lights flickered. The curtains moved. The musicians stopped. She began to sing a song from the ancient books. Someone swore they saw a shadow rise from the floor.
"By the gods—she's conjuring something!" someone shouted.
"No, no, she's just dancing!" another argued—though by then, Jamaine had launched into wild acrobatics.
The King smiled. Queen Tabika—my mother—noticed the curve of his lips. The King was hard to impress, and it almost seemed like Princess Jamaine had outdone herself. By the end of it, Jamaine bowed dramatically—the floor slightly cracked, two candles out—and everyone applauded like they'd just survived a small disaster.
I could only sigh, clapping with a mix of admiration and disbelief. Because there were far too many of us, the officials had decided on a little game of fate: they shuffled green and red seeds into a broad leaf and made each princess pick one. Those who drew red were out of the performance. A few groaned dramatically; one even claimed her seed was cursed.
Princess Flora, ever the sly one, drew a red seed—but she wasn't the type to take loss kindly. She quietly made a deal with another princess, trading her way into a green seed.
When it was my turn, I reached in and picked a green seed too. I looked at Mother, and she smiled. I was one of only twenty chosen out of eighty-six.
The performances began, and that was when the real madness started. The first few princesses were elegant enough—spinning, bowing, and smiling like porcelain dolls. But as the line moved on, things started to fall apart faster than anyone could pretend to ignore.
One princess decided to sing—and gods above, her voice was so powerful it nearly ruptured a few eardrums. The crowd tried to stay polite, but I saw one of the drummers subtly stuffing cloth into his ears. Another princess took the stage with a flute but managed to blow into the wrong end halfway through her piece.
Then came the dancers who channeled their energy so dramatically it was hard to tell whether they were performing or summoning storms. One created a swirl of air that almost lifted the master of ceremonies' wig—thankfully, he pretended not to notice. Another called forth tiny bursts of fire that singed her gown, but she kept smiling like it was part of the choreography.
Some princesses weren't there to impress the crowd at all—they were at war with each other. I caught one purposely dropping her jewelry onstage so her opponent would trip over it.
It was finally my turn. The hall fell quiet as I stepped into the middle of the marble floor, the sound of my anklet bells chiming softly with each step. My gown shimmered beneath the golden light. Jewels traced along my hair, and my lips—cherry-soft—curved in calm composure. My silver eyes caught the glow of the chandeliers, and for a moment, I felt every gaze drawn to me.
Even the King's. His eyes followed me as though he were seeing me for the first time in his life.
The drums began—slow and deep—and I began to move. The rhythm took me: every step light as mist, every sway perfectly timed. The bells on my waist and feet sang with me, echoing through the vast hall. My movements flowed like crystal water, bending and gliding, the fabric of my gown catching the air with every turn.
There was something in the air—something unexplainable. As I danced, the torches burned brighter, the wine glimmered like rubies, and the faint scent of blooming flowers filled the room though none were near. My energy spread through the hall like a warm wind—gentle yet commanding.
I bent, arched, and spun so gracefully that for a moment, it seemed my bones could not possibly hold such motion—yet they did. My body moved with a flexibility that drew gasps and quiet awe. My dance was nothing like Jamaine's chaos—it was calm, divine, and yet powerful enough to still every breath in the room.
When the music faded, I sank into a bow.
Raising my hands, I summoned the shimmer of my energy—light and crystalline. Slowly, the particles took shape, forming a delicate crystal dove that sparkled like frost in the morning light. I held it carefully and walked up the steep staircase, the hall silent but for the faint chiming of my bells.
I stopped before the King, lowered my gaze, and offered the dove with both hands. It was the same dove from his childhood—Queen Tabika, my mother, had told me about it.