The following evening unfolded beneath a velvet sky, heavy with the scent of rain and roses. In the royal gardens, lanterns swayed gently from iron hooks, their golden light trembling against the leaves. A masquerade of shadows lingered among the hedges, where secrets could bloom as easily as flowers.
Queen Selene Valaris walked alone between the winding paths, her white cloak trailing softly over dew-wet grass. The celebrations of the night before had left her restless. Music and laughter had filled the palace halls, but behind every smile she sensed calculation. Even her own reflection, earlier that day, had seemed to judge her.
She needed air—quiet, clarity, escape.
Her footsteps slowed when she reached the marble fountain of the Moon Goddess. The water shimmered like liquid glass, rippling faintly in the wind. Selene gazed into it, her reflection twisting with each movement, and for a fleeting moment she imagined the woman looking back was not a queen, but a girl again—one who had dreamed of peace, not ruled it.
"Your Majesty?" a voice came softly from the darkness.
Selene turned sharply. Darian emerged from behind the rose archway, still wearing his guard's uniform though the hour was late. His armor glinted with faint moonlight; his eyes, warm and uncertain, sought hers.
"You shouldn't be here," she whispered.
He stopped a few steps away, the distance between them charged with unspoken longing. "Forgive me, but I could not rest. Not while knowing you wander alone in the dark."
"You forget yourself," Selene said, though her tone lacked conviction. "A queen needs no guard in her own gardens."
"Then perhaps I came not as a guard," Darian said quietly, "but as the man who loves you."
The wind stirred the fountain's surface. Selene's heart beat faster, an unwelcome reminder of how fragile her control could be. She took a slow breath, steadying herself.
"You risk everything with such words," she said.
"I risk nothing I wouldn't gladly lose for you."
For a moment, silence claimed them. The sound of dripping water filled the space where words had failed. He took one step closer, and she didn't move away. Then, just as his hand brushed her fingers, a faint laugh floated through the night—light, melodic, familiar.
Selene stiffened. "Someone's here."
Darian withdrew immediately, vanishing into the shadows as a figure appeared at the garden's edge.
It was Lyra.
She wore a pale green gown that caught the lantern light like seafoam, her hair pinned with gold filigree leaves. A faint smile curved her lips, though her eyes held curiosity sharpened by suspicion.
"Sister," Lyra said, her tone soft but edged. "I didn't mean to intrude."
Selene gathered her composure, turning back toward the fountain. "The gardens belong to us both."
"Then perhaps we should share them more often," Lyra said, stepping closer. "It's been years since we walked together beneath the same moon."
The words carried a strange warmth, but Selene sensed another meaning beneath them—an unspoken question about what, or whom, she had been meeting. She chose not to answer it.
"Tell me," Lyra continued, "did you speak with Lord Kael before he left for the north?"
Selene's eyes flicked toward her sister. "Briefly. Why?"
"Oh, nothing." Lyra traced a finger along the fountain's rim. "He's a fascinating man, isn't he? Sharp-minded. Dangerous, perhaps. I can see why the council fears him."
Selene's voice stayed calm. "And why you find him intriguing."
Lyra laughed lightly. "Do I? You always did read too deeply into my expressions."
"Or perhaps not deeply enough."
Their gazes met, holding a long, wordless tension. The sound of distant thunder rolled over the hills; lightning briefly painted their faces silver. Lyra's smile faded into something gentler—sad, even.
"I missed you," she said finally. "Despite everything, I truly did."
Selene softened. "And I you."
They stood together for a while in silence. The moment might have mended something between them, had fate not already begun to weave its darker threads.
---
Two days later, the morning sky hung low and gray. Kael's absence had left a subtle void in the court's rhythm. Selene attended her duties in the council chamber, her composure perfect but her thoughts elsewhere. Reports from the north had yet to arrive, and the uncertainty pressed against her like a storm about to break.
When the session ended, she dismissed the lords and turned toward the balcony. From there, she could see the gardens far below, their pathways glistening from last night's rain.
A movement caught her eye—someone walking along the central path. The lavender of the gown was unmistakable.
Lyra.
And beside her… Lord Kael Draven.
Selene's breath caught. He had returned sooner than expected.
From above, she watched as Kael leaned close to her sister, speaking low, his expression unreadable. Lyra laughed, her hand brushing his arm. To an observer it might have looked harmless, but Selene saw too much in that simple gesture—curiosity, admiration, danger.
When Kael looked up suddenly, his gaze met hers across the distance, as if he had known all along that she was watching. He bowed slightly, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips, before turning back to Lyra.
Selene stepped away from the railing, her pulse quickening. The storm she had sensed was no longer distant—it was already here.
---
That afternoon, Kael appeared in her study. He bowed as though nothing had passed between them in the garden or at council. "My Queen," he said, "the northern matter has been resolved."
Selene regarded him carefully. "So soon?"
He nodded. "Bandits, as expected. They've been dealt with."
"And the rebellion rumors?"
"False, for now. But rest assured—they will not remain so unless your nobles are reminded who commands them."
There was something in his tone that grated, an arrogance too close to truth. Selene rose from her chair, moving toward the window. "You speak as though fear is the foundation of loyalty."
"Not fear," Kael said, stepping closer. "Respect. And respect, Majesty, is rarely won with kindness."
She turned then, her eyes sharp. "You forget your place."
"Do I?" His voice dropped, low and steady. "Or have I found the one place no man dares stand—between your command and your heart?"
Selene's breath stilled. "You presume too much."
"Only what others refuse to say." His gaze flickered to her lips, then back to her eyes. "Power isolates. Desire connects. You rule them all, yet who rules you?"
Before she could answer, he bowed once more, the spell broken. "Forgive me, Majesty. I speak out of turn."
He left her standing in silence, the echo of his words lingering like perfume after a flame.
---
That night, Lyra visited Selene's chambers unannounced. She looked flushed, restless. "I heard Kael returned," she said. "He spoke highly of your leadership."
Selene met her gaze. "And of yours?
Lyra's eyes flickered. "He told me the north is secure. He says the people still love you."
"And what do you think?" Selene asked quietly.
Lyra hesitated. "I think love can turn quickly to envy. Even between sisters."
The honesty in her tone caught Selene off guard. For a moment, she wanted to reach for Lyra's hand, to bridge the growing distance between them. But the words froze before they could form.
"Be careful whom you trust," Selene said instead.
"I could say the same," Lyra replied, then turned and left.
---
When the door closed, Selene moved to the window once more. The moonlight lay pale upon the marble floor, tracing patterns that looked almost like chains. She thought of Darian's devotion, Kael's arrogance, and Lyra's gaze in the garden.
All of them pulled at her in different directions—love, power, loyalty, envy. Each demanded a piece of her, and each threatened to break her if she gave too much.
Somewhere deep within the palace, a bell tolled. The sound was slow, mournful, as though the kingdom itself sensed what was coming.
Selene closed her eyes.
The queen would endure. But the woman beneath the crown—she was beginning to unravel.