The palace glowed in golden light as dusk settled over Zambura. Tonight, a grand banquet was held in honor of Prince Rafael and the alliance he offered. The halls echoed with music and laughter, but underneath the glamour, tension pulsed like a storm waiting to break.
Zaria stood at the balcony before entering, her eyes scanning the horizon. She wore a crimson dress woven with golden threads—symbols of fire and royalty. Around her neck hung a gold necklace in the shape of the sun, gifted by her mother. Her hair was braided into a crown, and her gaze was sharper than ever.
Inside, nobles from across the land filled the long feasting table. Her brothers sat near the head, whispering quietly as they watched the Valroyan prince from afar. Her father, King Jalil, smiled, though Zaria knew it was a mask.
As she entered the hall, all eyes turned to her—including Rafael's.
He stood, offering a slight bow. "Zaria, you honor us with your presence."
"You're easy to impress," she replied, lips curling into a smirk.
The prince chuckled, offering his arm. "Sit beside me. Let us speak of peace, not war."
She took her seat warily.
The food was rich, the music hypnotic, and the wine plentiful. Dancers twirled across marble floors, and the drummers beat in rhythm with the heartbeat of the land.
But beneath the smiles, Zaria noticed whispers—between nobles, between warriors. Some eyed Rafael with suspicion, others with admiration.
Suddenly, a voice rose over the music. "And what of love?"
The hall went quiet.
It was one of the older councilmen, his tone more mocking than curious. "Will this new alliance bring more than swords? Perhaps a wedding?"
Laughter followed, but Zaria's eyes stayed locked on Rafael.
He didn't flinch. "Love is not forged in politics, but in fire. And Zaria," he glanced at her, "burns brighter than any I've seen."
Zaria raised her cup in mock salute. "Careful, prince. Fire also consumes."
The hall erupted in polite laughter, but the prince didn't look away. His eyes remained on hers, steady, full of something unspoken.
Later that night, as Zaria walked through the torchlit corridors of the palace, she heard footsteps behind her.
Rafael.
"You were trained well in words and war," he said, voice low.
"And you in charm and games," she replied, not slowing.
"I meant what I said," he added. "I've seen many lands. None like yours. None like you."
Zaria turned. "You say that now. But when war truly comes, will you still stand beside me? Will your kingdom?"
He stepped closer. "If war comes, I'll stand where I've already chosen—next to you."
For the first time, she didn't have a sharp reply. Her silence was answer enough.
But inside, a storm was brewing. For alliances made under moonlight were often the first to be tested in blood.
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