The carriage wheels hummed against the cobblestone, each turn carrying Solara farther from the familiar scent of roses and fresh bread — and closer to destiny.
Or, as she currently preferred to think of it: closer to a three-day anxiety attack in a tiara.
Outside her window, the world shifted from rolling countryside to polished stone roads. The capital of Esther rose in the distance like something out of a dream — tall marble spires glinting beneath a silver-blue sky, banners fluttering in the crisp wind. Every inch of it screamed wealth and majesty, the kind of perfection that came from people who'd never once done their own laundry.
She leaned out a little, eyes wide. "Wow," she murmured. "So this is the kingdom that ends in fire and betrayal. Nice architecture, though."
Across from her, her mother gave her a puzzled look. "What was that, dear?"
"Nothing! Just… admiring the view."
And silently praying not to meet her fictional doom before dessert.
The carriage rattled over the bridge that crossed into the royal city. The streets were alive with carriages, merchants, and nobles in rich silks. Children laughed near the fountains, tossing petals into the air. It was beautiful — painfully so, because she knew this beauty wouldn't last.
Still, she couldn't help but fall in love with it a little. The music drifting from the plazas, the smell of roasted almonds, the sparkle of the palace in the distance — it felt like stepping into a painting.
As they entered the palace gates, Solara felt her stomach twist. The massive iron doors opened with a low groan, revealing the Imperial Gardens — a labyrinth of flowers, fountains, and sculptures so perfect it looked illegal.
Her mother squeezed her hand gently. "You'll do wonderfully, my darling. Just remember your manners and your smile."
"Yes, Mother," Solara said with a tiny, brittle smile.
And remember not to faint, fall, or offend anyone carrying a title longer than my grocery list.
The palace attendants ushered them inside the ballroom. It was like stepping into another world — chandeliers dripping with crystal, walls painted in gold leaf, the air thick with perfume and pride.
Solara felt out of place instantly.
"Maybe I should've brought a manual," she whispered under her breath. "'How to Not Embarrass Yourself in Front of Royalty, Volume I.'"
"Did you say something, Lady Arden?" a nearby noblewoman asked, eyebrows arched.
Solara smiled sweetly. "Just admiring how… luminous everything is."
(And how everyone's probably judging my shoes.)
Then, a voice carried across the hall — deep, calm, and commanding enough to hush the music.
"The Crown Prince, His Highness Aurelius Detrich Valen, has arrived."
The crowd parted like silk.
Solara's breath caught as he stepped into view.
He was exactly as the novel had described — and somehow more. Platinum-blonde hair gleamed beneath the chandelier light, catching faint silver tones, and his eyes… his eyes were a molten gold, steady and unreadable. His presence felt like sunlight that could burn if you stared too long.
He carried himself with quiet authority, his expression unreadable but not cold — the kind of man who could silence a room without raising his voice.
Solara tried not to stare. Tried. Failed spectacularly.
Okay, she thought, that's not fair. No one told me fictional princes were allowed to look like heartbreak with good posture.
As if fate enjoyed her misery, his gaze suddenly flicked toward her.
For a moment — barely a breath — their eyes met.
Something shifted in the air. A small, almost invisible spark.
Then he looked away, the moment gone, leaving Solara's pulse in shambles.
Her mother leaned close, whispering, "You're blushing."
"I'm overheated," Solara muttered. "Palaces have too much lighting."
The introductions began — noble daughters curtsying one by one before the Crown Prince. When it was finally her turn, she stepped forward, every nerve in her body screaming don't trip, don't trip, don't trip.
She bowed gracefully — or so she hoped — and said, "Lady Solara Elara Arden, Your Highness."
Aurelius's eyes met hers again. This time, he studied her — calmly, curiously — as if trying to place a memory that didn't belong.
"You are from the western province, are you not?" His voice was smooth, low, but somehow gentle.
"Yes, Your Highness," she replied, managing not to squeak. "My family oversees the lands near Rivelle."
"A peaceful region," he said. "The gardens there are said to rival the Imperial ones."
Solara blinked. "That's… very kind of you to say, Your Highness. Though ours are less 'rival' and more 'survive despite Piro digging holes in them.'"
A pause.
Then — a quiet laugh.
Soft. Surprised.
Around them, a few nobles glanced up in shock. The Crown Prince laughing? Unheard of.
Solara felt her face go crimson. "Ah—I mean, gardening mishaps happen everywhere, don't they?"
Aurelius's golden eyes gleamed with faint amusement. "Indeed. Even palaces have their imperfections, Lady Arden."
He inclined his head slightly — a gesture of polite dismissal — yet his gaze lingered a second longer than it should have before he moved on.
When Solara returned to her place in line, her heart was doing gymnastics.
Her mother whispered, "What did you say to him?"
"I… might've bonded over dog-related horticultural disasters."
"…You what?"
Solara buried her face in her fan. "We're fine. Everything's fine."
But inside, a strange feeling had bloomed — the faint, impossible warmth of connection.
A prince she was supposed to save.
A story she was meant to rewrite.
And now, a spark she hadn't planned for.
As music swelled again, Solara glanced at the Crown Prince across the ballroom — his expression serene, his gaze occasionally flicking back toward her.
Maybe this time, things really could change.
Maybe fate could be rewritten.
"Well," she murmured under her breath, lips curving, "if this is chapter three… then I guess the plot just thickened."