Preparing for festival
The air in the palace courtyard was thick with excitement. Bright banners of crimson and gold hung from the stone walls, fluttering gently in the warm breeze. From the kitchens came the scent of roasting meat and sweet pastries. Servants bustled past me, their arms laden with garlands and ribbons, their voices light with anticipation.
Everyone was preparing for the festival. Everyone except me.
I stood off to the side, my hands clasped together, watching as the courtyard transformed into a place I would never truly belong. No matter how much I wanted to join, I wasn’t allowed to leave my duties or mingle when the festival began. The king’s order was absolute.
They didn’t want me out there. Not during their celebrations. Not when my presence might “spoil” the joy of the day.
“Hey! Cursed girl! Don't block my way!”
I turned just in time to see Aliya, one of the kitchen girls, marching toward me with that familiar sneer curling her lips. She shoved me as she passed, and I stumbled, nearly losing my balance.
“You’re always standing around like some lost ghost,” she went on, eyeing the simple braid in my hair and the plain linen dress I wore. “Why are you even wearing those ribbons? Trying to look pretty? The festival isn’t for you.”
Her voice dripped with mockery, and her two friends flanked her, smirking.
“Do you even know what happens during the festival?” Aliya teased, leaning in as if to share some precious secret. “Music, games, dancing. Everyone laughing and drinking until the moon is high. But you—” She tilted her head, feigning pity. “You’ll be stuck here. Alone.”
The other girls giggled, covering their mouths.
“Oh, right,” Aliya added with false sweetness. “You can’t join, can you? You’re useless. Just a cursed girl who’s good for nothing.”
Her friends laughed harder, their cruel amusement echoing off the walls.
“Hey! What’s going on here?”
The voice cut through their jeers like a blade, firm and commanding. I turned to see Aeron striding toward us, his dark eyes sharp beneath the fall of his hair.
Aliya immediately straightened and lowered her head, all false obedience now. “Sir,” she said quickly, “this cursed girl was blocking the path.”
Aeron’s gaze shifted between us, unreadable. Then, in a tone that left no room for argument, he said, “Get back to work.”
The three girls muttered quick acknowledgments and hurried away, their laughter vanishing with them.
“Excuse me,” I murmured, ready to leave as well. I had no desire to linger and hear another lecture about where I should or shouldn’t be.
But before I could pass, his hand closed around mine.
The touch startled me—warm, firm, and steady. It sent a shiver down my arm, as if the heat of his skin had sparked something in mine.
“Wait,” Aeron said, his voice softer now.
I froze, glancing down at his fingers wrapped around mine. “Why?”
He blinked, as if realizing what he’d done, and released me quickly. “Ah—sorry. I just… I wanted to know if they hurt you.” His brows drew together, a flicker of worry in his eyes.
I shook my head faintly. “It’s nothing new. I’m used to their bullying.” My voice was low, meant for him alone.
“You shouldn’t let them treat you like that,” he said, the quiet intensity in his tone catching me off guard. “They don’t know who you really are.”
A short, humorless laugh escaped me. “Really? Are you sure they’re wrong? In their eyes, I’m disgusting. A useless creature. Are you different from them?”
“Yes,” he answered without hesitation, his voice steady. “You are not useless. I believe that.”
Something in his tone made me falter, but I hid it beneath a shake of my head. “Your words are nonsense. You don’t know the truth of my life.”
“I know enough.”
“No,” I said, my gaze drifting past him to the bright flags above the gate. “I have no right to be happy. Not here. Not ever. I’m only tolerated because of my blood. Every year, the festival comes and goes, and I’m reminded of my place—reminded that I’m nothing more than a shadow in this kingdom.”
He was silent. I could see the conflict in his expression, the pity he tried to mask.
I hated pity.
“If you have nothing else to say, I’ll leave,” I told him, stepping back.
But before I could turn away, his voice followed me, low and insistent. “Selene.”
I stopped.
“You’re wrong about yourself,” he said. “One day, you’ll see it. And when you do, it won’t matter what they’ve called you.”
For a heartbeat, neither of us moved. The festival preparations swirled around us, the chatter of the servants and the rustle of ribbons filling the air, but the space between us felt strangely still.
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer.
Instead, I walked away, my steps echoing faintly against the stone. But long after I had left him standing there, I could still feel the ghost of his touch on my hand—warm, steady, and stubbornly impossible to forget.