The moonlight had long retreated behind the castle walls by the time Princess Kylie returned to her chambers, yet the fire in her chest refused to dim. She crossed the room in restless strides, each step echoing against the polished marble as the scene on the balcony replayed again and again in her mind.
Lyra—smiling softly, speaking in that quiet voice she reserved only for those she cared for.
And Selene—pale, trembling, clutching the railing as if the world pressed too close.
What struck Kylie deepest wasn't their words.
It was the closeness.
The way Lyra leaned toward her.
The way Selene instinctively gravitated to Lyra's side.
The way the general's voice softened—softened—for someone who was essentially a stranger to the court.
For a heartbeat, Kylie had believed Lyra's refusal of her hand was political—born from duty or humility. She had even admired the choice.
But now she knew better.
The truth was personal.
Dangerous.
New.
Kylie's hands curled into fists, nails biting into her palms as jealousy—sharp and unfamiliar—coiled in her chest. She had never felt threatened by anyone in her life. Not by nobles. Not by foreign princesses. Never by a trembling slip of a girl with frightened eyes.
But Selene…
Selene had rattled her.
After asking around the hall, she finally learned the girl's name—a soft, unremarkable thing on the tongue.
Yet somehow, this fragile, uncertain stranger had managed to command Lyra's focus.
Lyra's warmth.
Lyra's attention.
The realization made Kylie grit her teeth.
Who is she? Kylie paced again. And why is Lyra so drawn to her?
She replayed the balcony scene in ruthless detail: Selene's trembling breaths, her shy glances, the way her body instinctively shifted closer to Lyra at every sound. There was a connection there—a bond Kylie had never seen before.
And she would not ignore it.
Kylie understood court politics better than most. Influence, appearance, and strategy shaped destinies far more than swords or armor. She knew Lyra's reputation—steadfast, loyal, fiercely protective.
But this was no mere loyalty.
This was something deeper.
Something Kylie had never been offered.
Something she suddenly, painfully wanted.
A plan began to take shape—slow, precise, like the honing of a blade. She would learn who Selene was, what shadows clung to her past, and how she had slipped so easily into Lyra's guarded heart. She would watch her, study her, and if necessary, reshape the board so Selene could never stand in her way.
Even as strategy threaded through her thoughts, vulnerability pierced the center of her chest. Lyra had never leaned toward her for comfort. Had never looked at her with that silent, aching tenderness.
Kylie paused before her mirror.
Her reflection stared back—composed, regal, perfectly poised. The model princess.
But beneath that polished surface was something raw. Jealousy. Desire. Fear.
And a dawning certainty.
She would not lose Lyra.
Not to a stranger.
Not without a fight.
The room was quiet save for the rustle of her skirts and the rhythmic tapping of her boots on marble. Each step fed her growing resolve, sharpening it.
She would uncover Selene's secrets.
She would learn her weaknesses.
She would understand every corner of her until she held all the leverage she needed.
But not yet.
Patience, Kylie reminded herself, was a weapon. And she wielded it well.
Outside, the castle settled into a deceptive calm. Inside her, a storm gathered—jealousy, ambition, and an emotion she did not yet have a name for.
Kylie pressed a hand to her chest, drew a steadying breath, and let her eyes harden with newfound purpose.
The game of hearts, she realized, was more treacherous than any battlefield.
And in this new war, she would not lose.
Not to Selene.
Not to anyone.
Not ever.