Prince Nodran leaned over the balcony, the cold stone biting into his palms as he gripped the balustrade. Below, the ballroom blazed with splendor. Floating lanterns drifted like embers, silk gowns shimmered like river light, and laughter rippled beneath the strings of a weeping quartet.
It should have felt like celebration.
Instead, it felt like mourning.
King Dallan had traveled for three weeks on horseback to attend, his entourage trailing in a column of banners and pageantry. Nobles gathered like crows in velvet, circling with smiles too sharp and eyes too knowing. From above, they looked like insects flitting across a gameboard. Nodran watched them with a dragon's patience and a boy's weariness.
The guests danced across the black-and-white marble, weaving like currents in a river split by hidden undertow. Painted cherubs gazed down from the aged ceiling, their faces worn with shadow. The fire in the hearth roared like it had a secret it was dying to tell but could not.
Nodran's fingers clenched tighter. His knuckles went pale; his body still locked in human form though the fire beneath his skin stirred with unrest. His thirteenth aging event, the First Shift, and with it, the shedding of childhood. But tonight... he stood still.
He knew he was going to get into trouble. But who would he be defying?
His father?
Or the figure beside him?
Nodran's gaze locked on the man who stood like a phantom beside King Galendor. Renaldo. The adviser.
No one knew where he came from. No birthright. No history. And yet, the king yielded to him in every matter without question. He was a constant in every chamber, every war council—silent, unreadable, dangerous.
Now, Renaldo's piercing blue eyes turned upward.
The gaze struck Nodran like a blade of ice. There was something about it that made the young boy feel exposed, dissected, stripped to the core of his flame. His breath caught in his throat and shattered like frozen glass.
His hand drifted to the note hidden in the lining of his jacket. He didn't need to read it again. The words were carved into his ribs.
'Deny her.'
That was all it said.
It was all it needed to say.
His heart thudded louder beneath his ribs.
A hand on his shoulder startled him.
"Nodran, Father sent me to come up here and get you. Are you okay?"
Duval's voice was soft, concerned. The warmth of his touch should have soothed Nodran. It used to, once. But tonight, Nodran did not turn. Not at first.
For a moment, Nodran hesitated. The warmth of Duval's hand was a faint echo of all the years they'd confided under starlit rafters, whispered secrets between brothers as familiar as their own heartbeats.
But something had shifted. The chasm between them widened with every passing day, filled with unspoken words, concealed fears, and the heavy burden of courtly expectations.
When Nodran finally looked at him, the smile he offered was hollow and tight. "I'm fine… just needed a moment to breathe."
His eyes flicked away, unwilling to let his brother see the storm inside him.
Duval's brow furrowed, concern darkening his expression. He stood close, but with a new caution between them, a hesitation that never used to be there.
"You've been distant," Duval said, barely louder than the music drifting up from below. "Whatever it is… you can talk to me, you know."
Nodran wanted to. Gods, he wanted to. But the secrets around his heart were brambles—tangled and barbed. He feared that if he let even one slip free, it would tear everything open.
"I know," he whispered, the words brittle and trembling.
For a heartbeat, something old shimmered between them. The bond of brothers forged in childhood games and midnight promises.
But as Nodran straightened, the barrier returned. Invisible. Unyielding. They stood side by side but separated by something heavier than stone.
Below them, the ballroom shimmered with light and illusion.
Nodran stiffed. "Alright. Let's go." Without a word the two boys descended the stairs. Harolds trumpeted their arrival. A smile tugged on the corner of his lips when he saw her.
Her long black hair flowed to her waist. His heart fluttered for a moment. He took her hand and walked her up to his father. Nodran's sapphire eyes glowed with defiance.
"Father, I take Mori as my mate."
Renaldo raised a brow but said nothing. Nodran felt the familiar sting of his ring tightening on his finger, heat blooming beneath the silver band. He reached as if to slip it off. His heart hammering as the metal refused to budge. For a breathless moment, his fingers worked at it, a smile steady on his lips.
Then, smoothly, he turned to Mori, bowing his head with practiced grace. "Mori, tradition would have me offer you this now, but it seems our family's rings are stubborn as their wearers," he said, voice touched with humor that drew a ripple of laughter from those nearby. "Let me grant it to you during the feast, when the blessings have been spoken and all eyes are truly upon us. It will be all the more meaningful."
His father nodded, appeased by the deft words and the lack of spectacle. Behind the mask of ceremony, Nodran's hand curled into his palm, concealing both the ring and the secret that clung to him, unyielding as ever.
The music swelled, strings and flutes spinning gold into the air. Nodran led Mori out onto the marble floor, his hand gentle yet unyielding at her waist. The hall blurred into a whirl of light and color as they moved together in orbit, his sapphire eyes fixed on her, searching for a trace of forgiveness, a flicker of trust.
Mori's steps matched his perfectly, her gown sweeping behind her like a shadow. She leaned in, her lips grazing the shell of his ear. Her breath was cool, dangerous. "Have you betrayed me, Nodran? Do you wish not to give me your ring?"
He stiffened, the accusation cutting deeper than any blade. His jaw tensed, but he kept his smile for the watching crowd. "No," he murmured, voice low for her alone. "It's not by my will. Please—try, now. Discreetly."
Without breaking the rhythm of their dance, she reached for his hand, her slender fingers deftly working at the stubborn band. The ring refused her, clinging fast despite her efforts. A flicker of frustration crossed her features, then faded as she looked up at him, searching, questioning.
Her voice softened, quiet as a secret shared beneath the music. "Alright. I believe you. But the others—our nobles, my father—they will demand a proper explanation." Her eyes lingered on his, trust tentative but present, as the world spun golden around them.
The music faded, leaving threads of anticipation weaving through the crowd. As the final note trembled in the air, Nodran and Mori released each other only to join hands, their steps measured and united as they approached King Dallen.
The king's gaze seared through the dancers. A fierce, fiery judgment that brooked no resistance. "What is the meaning of this, boy?" he demanded, his voice echoing like thunder beneath the vaulted ceiling.
A rumble, dark and instinctive, rose in Nodran's chest. The sound almost animal in its warning, startling even King Dallen into a heartbeat's hesitation.
"It is not my fault, sir," Nodran replied, steadying himself, though the muscles in his jaw trembled.
Dallen's face darkened with unresolved anger, but he wasted no more words. With a swift gesture, he herded Nodran and Mori across the marble expanse toward the other side of the great hall, where King Galendor awaited. A monarch no less formidable, his eyes the green of storm-tossed seas and just as tempestuous.
Without a word, Galendor took the lead, his grip iron as he guided them out of the swirling illumination and into the shadowed corridors beyond. The revelry and laughter receded, replaced by the clipped echo of footsteps and the unspoken questions that pressed close as breath. Whatever waited beyond the ballroom, it would demand every ounce of truth and courage they possessed.
Galendor strode ahead, his cloak slicing through the shadowed corridor, with King Dallen close behind. His steps clipped, his displeasure sharp. Mori moved in their wake, her posture regal despite the tension, while Nodran, jaw set, trailed at her side. Renaldo brought up the rear, his wicked grin flickering in the torchlight, a silent promise of chaos.
They swept into the conference hall. Stone walls soaring overhead, banners trembling with a draft none could quite attribute to the weather. Galendor spun, his stormy composure crumbling into raw ire. Without warning, he raised his hand to punish Nodran, the gesture swift and merciless.
But before the blow could land, Renaldo's hand shot out, catching Galendor's wrist in a vice grip.
"Don't," Renaldo said, his voice barely above a whisper. Yet it resonated with a force that made the air shake, his eyes burning with a fury so fierce that even Galendor's wrath paled beside it. For a suspended moment, the room held its breath, waiting to see which storm would break first.
Renaldo released the king's wrist and stepped between Nodran and Galendor, his silhouette imposing as he folded his arms across his chest. The temperature in the room seemed to drop, a slick tension coiling in the air as threads of unseen magic began to hum along the flagstones.
With a voice that rumbled like thunder behind distant mountains, he declared, "You will not touch what I deem as mine."
He leaned in, so close that only Galendor could catch the words, his breath cold and edged with threat. "Or I will send you to Lilith." The threat lingered, icy and absolute. For a heartbeat, Galendor's fury flared, but then he stepped back, something wary shading his tempest eyes.
Suppressing a scowl, Galendor straightened his cloak and redirected his attention to Nodran. "Tell me, boy. What happened out there?"
Renaldo's mouth curled in a quiet, knowing smirk as he withdrew, his presence lingering like a shadow at Nodran's back. Nodran shifted uncomfortably, eyes darting from Renaldo to his father. He drew a trembling breath, squared his shoulders, and met Galendor's piercing gaze.
"I want Mori," he said, voice steady despite the quiver in his hands. "But I couldn't take off the ring. It wouldn't budge."
Galendor's eyes narrowed, suspicion flaring anew. He turned sharply to Renaldo, the unspoken accusation palpable. "Is that your doing?"
The question hung in the charged stillness. Renaldo's smirk deepened, but he offered no immediate answer, letting the tension wind tighter and the truth, whatever it was, shimmer just out of reach.