Laughter echoed through the eastern gallery.
Princess Iris paused at the entrance, her fingers curling slightly at her sides. The sound was unfamiliar in her world—light, careless, unburdened.
It did not belong to her.
Inside, the queen's children were gathered around a low table strewn with sweets, ribbons, and polished toys imported from across the sea.
Princess Elowen, the eldest stepsister, lounged comfortably on a velvet chaise, examining a jeweled comb with bored interest. Beside her, Rosaline and Mireya whispered and giggled, their voices sharp and mocking even when hushed.
At the center sat Prince Lucien, legs stretched out, a half-eaten pastry in his hand.
Their mother watched them fondly.
"My darlings," Queen Maribel said warmly, "do be careful. Those were made especially for you."
"For us," Lucien corrected smugly. "Not her."
His eyes flicked toward Iris.
All four turned at once.
"Oh," Elowen said slowly, her lips curling. "You're still here."
Rosaline laughed. "I thought forgotten things were kept in storage."
Mireya tilted her head, pretending to study Iris. "She does look rather plain today, doesn't she?"
Iris said nothing. She had learned long ago that silence hurt less than protest.
Prince Lucien smirked and stood. "Mother," he said loudly, "Father promised to watch me train this afternoon."
Maribel's face lit up. "Of course he did. Your father is very proud of you."
The king, who had just entered the gallery, placed a hand on Lucien's shoulder.
"You grow stronger every day," he said. "That is what a prince should be."
Iris stood just a few steps away.
He did not look at her.
"Elowen," the king continued, "your mother tells me you've impressed the court tutors."
Elowen smiled sweetly. "I do my best."
"You always do," he replied.
Iris lowered her gaze.
No one asked about her studies. No one mentioned her presence. She might as well have been part of the wall.
As she turned to leave, Mireya spoke again.
"Careful," she said lightly. "Wouldn't want you tripping. Father hates embarrassment."
The others laughed.
Queen Maribel did not stop them.
Iris walked away with steady steps, though her chest felt tight, heavy, hollow all at once. Behind her, the laughter resumed, warm and effortless.
That night, as the palace lights dimmed, four royal children slept adored and secure.
And one princess lay awake, wondering how a kingdom could be so full—and still have no room for her.