The palace was transformed.
Silken banners fluttered from gold-laced columns, and lanterns shaped like lotus petals swayed above the grand ballroom. Perfume of jasmine, sandalwood, and burning incense curled through the air. From the towering windows, the moon spilled its light like silver wine, blessing the evening with grace and mystery.
Tonight was no ordinary celebration—it was Zaria's first appearance as a ruler among rulers. And across the floor waited Prince Rafael of Valroya, the man whose presence had stirred every table of the council since he arrived.
Zaria stepped into the ballroom wrapped in emerald silk, trimmed in gold thread that shimmered like flames. Her hair was crowned in golden chains and amulets, her arms adorned with bangles that whispered secrets with every step.
The room fell into a hush.
She didn't walk. She commanded.
Every noble, every warrior, every foreign emissary turned to her. Some in awe, others in calculation.
Rafael approached her with a confident, regal air. He extended his hand, eyes never leaving hers.
"Zambura's moon rises with unmatched beauty tonight," he said.
Zaria raised a brow. "Then you should fear what it means.