The golden morning light spilled through the tall stained-glass windows of the eastern chamber, casting flecks of amber and crimson across the marble floor. The scent of lavender and rosewater lingered faintly in the air, a forced sweetness meant to mask the bitterness Elise had grown so used to.
She sat still, stiff-backed on the velvet-cushioned stool, as the maids brushed through the long strands of her snow-white hair. Their hands were efficient, practiced, but cold—never once lingering in kindness. They said nothing, but silence spoke volumes. Elise could feel their judgment in the way their eyes flicked toward her reflection, then quickly away. She could sense the scorn in their every movement, even when they pretended to be indifferent.
She was used to this. This had always been her life.
"Sit properly," one maid said curtly, not bothering to mask the disdain in her tone.
There was no "Your Highness." No trace of reverence for her royal blood. Only orders. Commands.
And Elise, because of her gift, straightened her back without hesitation. Her hands folded delicately in her lap, her chin lifted just so, her posture perfect. Not because she chose to obey, but because she had to.
The maid smirked, clearly satisfied with the automatic submission. Elise caught the look in the mirror and bit the inside of her cheek, hard, forcing back the sting behind her eyes. She wouldn't cry. Not in front of them. Not again.
She was Elise—middle child of Queen Zorala and King Mathew of Silleon. A princess by birth. Yet treated like a servant within her own palace.
She had three siblings by her parents: her elder brother Axel, her younger sister Mira. Then, from her mother's earlier marriage, two older half-sisters. And from her father's various unions, three half-brothers—loud, entitled, and reckless. All of them held their place in the palace hierarchy. All of them were seen, respected, praised.
And Elise?
Forgotten.
Invisible.
In Elmore, each generation of royal-born children was granted a gift—not flashy elemental powers or grand displays of sorcery, but rare, subtle blessings bestowed by the ancient spirits of the land. These gifts were a mark of true royal blood.
Her step-siblings, born outside the true line, had no gifts. And so, they were still respected, but not revered.
Her elder brother, Axel, had the ability to read minds. He could tell when someone was lying, could sense deceit as clearly as hearing a bell toll. A useful trait in court. He quickly became their father's favorite—sharp, unflinching, feared.
Mira, her younger sister, was gifted with the ability to read any written language, even the most ancient, long-dead tongues. She could decipher forgotten scrolls, maps, and relics. She was already being trained as a royal historian and envoy. Her gift made her valuable to the kingdom's ambitions of conquest and exploration.
Then there was Elise.
Her gift?
Obedience.
She would obey any command—any—spoken by anyone. It didn't matter if it was a whisper, a joke, a cruel dare, or a passing suggestion. If she heard it as a command, her body moved on its own. She would carry it out flawlessly, without pause, without will. Her voice, her mind, her agency—stripped away by the very gift meant to honor her blood.
And she hated it.
Despised it.
Her parents, of course, had found a use for it. They used her like a doll to parade in front of noble guests. They commanded her to learn languages she'd never use, to master musical instruments she didn't enjoy, to sit for hours at court without moving. They told her to smile, and she smiled. They told her to be silent, and she was. They told her to obey, and she did—always.
To the world, Elise was the only royal child without a gift.
Because King Mathew and Queen Zorala had hidden it. They couldn't let the world know their daughter could be controlled by a mere sentence. So they spread the lie that she was the useless one, the unblessed, the flawed daughter of a glorious line.
Only a few within the palace knew the truth.
And among them, only Emily had ever shown her kindness.
Emily was the eldest of all the siblings combined. She had brown hair like fine mahogany and deep green eyes filled with understanding. Wise beyond her years, beautiful in a quiet, graceful way, she carried herself like a queen long before any crown would ever touch her head. To Elise, she was not a half-sister.
She was the closest thing she'd ever had to a mother.
When Elise was young and confused about her gift, it was Emily who held her while she cried. When the commands became too cruel and the isolation too deep, it was Emily who found her in the corridors and whispered stories to distract her. When Elise's hands trembled from another day of forced perfection, it was Emily who stilled them.
Without her, Elise knew she would've lost herself long ago.
Now, at twenty years old, Elise found herself shackled again—this time not by a command, but by a future.
She was to marry Prince Harrison of the Kingdom of Marlison, a smaller yet wealthy nation from beyond Elmore's mighty seas. The arrangement had been announced with false smiles and empty toasts, her parents claiming it was a "gift" to unite kingdoms and ensure peace.
But Elise saw the truth.
It was a convenient exile.
A way to get rid of her.
There had been no proposal. No conversation. Only a command: You are to marry Harrison of Marlison.
And so she would.
Because she had no choice.
Her body ached with quiet resistance. Her heart thundered with the need to run, to scream, to say no. But her lips were sealed by the invisible chains of her gift.
Worse still was Harrison himself.
Charming in appearance—blonde hair like sunlight, blue eyes like clear skies. He looked like prince charming, but with the personality of a troll.
He walked with arrogance, treated servants like dirt, and laughed at their pain. Once, Elise had seen him trip a young maid, then scream at her for falling.
Worse still… he had tried to force himself on Elise one night after a royal banquet.
Drunk and entitled, he'd cornered her in the corridor, hands grabbing without respect, lips curled in a sneer, but Emily had arrived just in time.
She'd pulled him off with a fury Elise had never seen in her before. And though no one had spoken of it since, Elise could still feel the shame, the helplessness, clinging to her skin.
Now, his entire wretched family had arrived to stay at the palace until the engagement ceremony. Every corridor felt heavier with their presence, their arrogance tainting the air. And still, Elise played her role. A princess. A silent doll. A pawn to be traded for alliances.
She looked out the window at the distant hills, where the forests began and the world widened into places unknown.
If only she could run.
If only she could escape.
If only she were free.