Chapter four
There were few things Selene hated more than getting dressed before noon.
Unfortunately, being the beloved princess of Aetherra meant her schedule was almost entirely dictated by people who had no appreciation for sleeping in. And this morning, that person was her maid Mara, whose patience was thinner than spun glass by this point.
"I swear by all the stars in Elarion," Mara muttered, arms crossed as Selene hung half-off the velvet sofa, still in her nightgown, "if you don't get up in the next breath, I'll dump cold water on your head."
"You've threatened that for two years now, Mara," Selene mumbled into a cushion. "Be creative."
"I will get the garden hose."
"Now that's interesting."
"Selene!"
With an exaggerated groan, Selene rolled over and blinked up at the golden light spilling in from the tall windows. Her room smelled of lavender and books, the silk curtains fluttering softly in the warm breeze. Today was the first day of the Festival of Echoes a celebration held once every decade to honor the weaving of time, memory, and magic.
And yet, Selene had only one goal today: sneak out of the palace.
The upper festivities were dull banquets, speeches, and endless bows. But in the lower lands, the commoners lit lanterns, danced in the streets, and released fireflies made of magic into the skies.
She'd gone once before disguised, wild, and free and she still remembered the laughter and colors as if it were a dream.
But dreams clung to her more tightly these days.
Flashes of fire. Screams in a language she never learned. A voice whispering her name in a way no one else did.
She never told anyone about those.
By midday, she was dressed in a flowing lilac gown, hair braided with silver threads, and sitting stiffly beside her parents in the royal garden pavilion.
Her mother, Queen Elaria, looked radiant and serene, the crown of moonstone resting on her golden curls. Her father, King Thalen, was laughter wrapped in armor charming, bold, and so obviously besotted with his daughter it made court scribes write songs about it.
"You'll be giving the welcome speech this evening," Thalen said with a wink, reaching for a pastry.
Selene choked. "Absolutely not."
"It's tradition."
"It's torture."
Elaria chuckled. "You must take some responsibilities, darling."
"I will. Just not the boring ones."
A familiar voice cut in with a low laugh. "Some things never change."
Selene turned and groaned.
Lord Drian Velthorne, son of Duke Velthorne, stood at the edge of the pavilion, looking unfairly dashing in navy and gold. Tall, with tousled chestnut hair, sun-warmed skin, and eyes like amber, he carried the easy grace of someone who spent a lifetime training with blades and sparring with her in the palace courtyards.
"Drian," she said, narrowing her eyes. "Tell them I shouldn't have to give the speech."
He placed a hand over his heart, mock solemn. "I would, but I'm still recovering from the last time you tried to skip your duties. Remember the flying pie incident?"
"That was your fault," she huffed.
Her parents were laughing now. Mara, standing to the side, pinched the bridge of her nose.
Selene had known Drian since childhood he was one of the few nobles who never treated her like glass. They trained together, snuck into the kitchens at midnight, argued over sword techniques, and he always, always had her back.
He also, unfortunately, looked at her sometimes like she hung the stars herself.
She tried not to notice.
Later that afternoon, Selene sat at the edge of the palace balcony, swinging her legs, ignoring a court meeting she was supposed to attend. Mara had given up. Somewhere in the halls, Drian was probably charming every noble with his perfect sword form and too-charming smile.
She tugged at the bracelet on her wrist—an old gift from a child in the lower lands. It shimmered with spellthread and memory glass.
And then, a plan sparked.
She leapt to her feet.
Time to vanish.
By sunset, Selene had changed into a commoner's dress simple, light, and enchantingly dusty. She braided her silver hair up under a hood, smudged her cheeks with ash, and slipped out of the palace through the hidden servant tunnels Mara had once shown her "strictly for emergencies."
This counted.
The lower lands were already alive.
Music floated through the air fiddles, flutes, and drums. Market stalls overflowed with glowing fruit and skyfire candies. Children danced barefoot. Lanterns lit the streets like a golden river.
Selene slipped into the crowd, her heart soaring.
A masked couple twirled beside her. A painter offered her a wishstone. A fire juggler winked at her, recognizing the mischief in her eyes.
For the first time in weeks, she breathed.
No dreams.
No responsibilities.
Just magic and joy.
She bought candied pears, fed a floating fox-spirit, and let two little girls drag her into a dance circle until she collapsed laughing.
And then she saw it.
A giant lantern, shaped like a phoenix, being lifted by a dozen villagers. Spell-runes glowed at its wings. The crowd gathered around it, everyone whispering the same prayer:
"Let the lost be found. Let the forgotten return."
A chill danced down her spine.
And for a heartbeat, as the phoenix lantern rose, her vision blurred just a blink but in its place she saw fire, smoke, and a man standing in a storm, eyes like silver stars, calling her name.
But it wasn't her name.
Not Selene.
Something older.
Something buried.
She gasped, clutching her chest.
And the moment passed.
Back in the palace, Mara was panicking.
"She's gone. I knew it. I told her she'd get caught one day!"
Drian, hearing the fuss, was already summoning guards.
But none of them would find her.
Not yet.
Because Selene stood in the heart of a lantern-lit street, heart racing, face glowing with sweat and magic and for the first time in a long time, she felt like herself.
Whoever that truly was.