The palace had never felt so alive.
Music spilled through the high corridors like sunlight made audible — violins tuning in rising notes, flutes testing their breath, the steady hum of preparation vibrating beneath marble and stone. Servants hurried past with garlands of jasmine and silver-laced ivy. Lanterns filled with captured moth-light flickered along the archways, casting the walls in honeyed gold.
Aurèlle stood before the towering carved doors of the grand hall, her reflection wavering faintly in the polished surface.
Behind those doors, the kingdom waited.
Dahlia's Blooming would be announced.
Dahlia's magic would be witnessed.
Dahlia's future would be celebrated.
"You're quiet," Dahlia said softly beside her.
Aurèlle smoothed invisible creases from her gloves. "I'm composed."
"That's worse."
Despite herself, Aurèlle smiled.
Dahlia looked luminous. Her gown shimmered in layered ivory and pale gold, threaded with living vines that subtly shifted and curled along the fabric. It wasn't illusion — they truly moved, responding to her pulse, her joy. Since her Blooming began days ago, nature had leaned toward her. Flowers opened as she passed. Leaves turned to follow her footsteps.
It was undeniable.
It was beautiful.
Aurèlle felt pride — fierce and protective.
But beneath it lay something colder.
When her own fifteenth year had come, the court had waited.
They had expected spectacle.
Instead, there had been silence.
No eruption of visible power. No dramatic display. Only the faintest stirring — a breath of something unfinished. The court had called it delayed. Some had called it weak.
And some had called it nothing at all.
The doors opened.
The music swelled into fullness.
The grand hall unfolded in brilliance — chandeliers refracting light like fractured stars, columns wrapped in flowering vines, petals scattered across polished floors like a trail of constellations. Nobles filled the space in jewel-toned silks and sharp-cut velvet, their whispers rising and falling like tides.
As Dahlia stepped forward, the reaction was immediate.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Even before she spoke, the vines along the columns seemed to tremble in recognition.
Aurèlle followed half a step behind.
She felt it — the shift in gaze. Admiration turned to comparison. Curiosity sharpened.
There she is.
The elder sister.
The one who did not bloom.
She lifted her chin slightly, spine straight and regal. If they would look, she would give them something to see.
Guests continued to arrive — emissaries from coastal cities, high-ranking ministers, distant cousins draped in gemstones. And then Aurèlle spotted a familiar figure slipping quietly through the entrance.
Isidale Fern.
She wore deep forest green embroidered with delicate silver fronds. Unlike others, her dress did not compete for attention. It harmonised. Her dark hair flowed loosely, unrestrained by excessive ornament, and her expression carried the same gentle composure it always had.
She moved with the calm of someone who observed more than she spoke.
When her eyes met Aurèlle's, warmth passed between them instantly.
"You survived the procession," Isidale murmured as she reached them.
"Barely," Dahlia replied, grinning.
Isidale turned to Aurèlle. "You look like winter dressed as royalty."
"That sounds ominous."
"It means no one will dare underestimate you twice."
Aurèlle studied her. "You always say things as if you know something we don't."
Isidale's smile was small and knowing. "I listen."
Their friendship had begun years ago at seasonal gatherings — awkward introductions turned effortless conversations. Isidale had never grown up inside palace walls, yet she had woven herself naturally into their lives. She was quieter than Dahlia, softer than Aurèlle, but there was strength beneath her gentleness.
The ceremony began.
Dahlia stepped into the centre of the hall.
The musicians lowered their instruments.
A hush fell like snowfall.
Then Dahlia inhaled.
The air warmed.
Vines spiralled higher along the columns, blossoms unfurling in radiant waves of gold and ivory. Petals drifted upward instead of down. The chandeliers shimmered brighter, refracting light in prismatic arcs.
Nature answered her.
Applause erupted — thunderous, reverent.
Aurèlle clapped, pride filling her chest.
And then—
A flicker.
Just for a moment.
The lantern flames nearest Aurèlle bent toward her instead of Dahlia. The air shifted, cool and sharp, brushing against her cheek like a whispered secret.
She stilled.
Had anyone noticed?
She glanced around — but attention remained fixed on her sister.
Perhaps it had been imagination.
"She is extraordinary," someone murmured nearby.
"And the elder?" another voice asked quietly.
"A disappointment, perhaps."
Aurèlle's jaw tightened.
The air stirred again — subtle, restless — tugging at the loose strands of her hair.
Isidale's gaze flicked toward her.
"You felt that?," Aurèlle asked under her breath.
Isidale did not respond.
Aurèlle's pulse quickened.
The applause slowly settled into music once more. The Blooming was official. Dahlia's place secured.
Yet Aurèlle felt something unfamiliar coil beneath her ribs — not envy.
Not resentment.
Something waking