The palace halls glittered with gold — chandeliers flickering, floors polished like mirrors. But behind the beauty was rot. And Princess Selene carried it in her smile.
She watched from the marble balcony as Ariana entered the ballroom — unguarded, unclaimed, and breathtaking.
She doesn't belong here.
She was never supposed to be his.
Selene's fists clenched around the jeweled glass she held, wine threatening to spill.
"She's just a servant," she hissed to the court lady beside her. "A nobody dressed like royalty."
The lady gave a nervous laugh. "But His Highness—"
"His Highness is confused," Selene snapped, eyes locked on Damian, who stood at the far end of the hall, watching Ariana like the room had gone silent.
Like nothing else existed.
Selene had loved him since they were children — when he still smiled, before the blood, before the throne. She had planned everything: the marriage, the crown, the empire.
Then she appeared.
Soft eyes. Stubborn mouth. A fire that Damian couldn't stop circling.
But Selene didn't share.
She destroyed.
Across the ballroom, Ariana felt the weight of a thousand stares. But none more cutting than the one from the royal balcony.
Selene's gaze burned through her like acid.
"She's going to come for me," Ariana murmured.
"Let her," came a voice at her side.
She turned. Damian stood beside her — not touching her, but close enough that she could smell the spice on his breath and the leather of his gloves.
"I'll burn anyone who lays a hand on you."
"Even a princess?" Ariana asked, testing him.
"Especially her."
But his promise came too late.
Suddenly, the lights dimmed. A scream shattered the music.
All heads turned — to the balcony. And the body lying at its foot.
A court girl. Pale. Unmoving. Blood spilling from a goblet.
Poison.
Gasps echoed.
Selene stood above the chaos, hands raised in mock horror.
"Who would do such a thing?" she said sweetly. Then her eyes found Ariana's.
"How clumsy of you… to leave your drink unattended."
Ariana's breath caught. The crowd looked at her.
Damian's jaw
locked.
And the ballroom, once golden, turned cold.