Luna was the third princess of the radiant kingdom of Eclipsara, daughter of King Raymond and the late Queen Dazel.
To the people of the realm, Eclipsara shone as the kingdom of light and peace. But to Luna, the castle walls hid shadows far darker than the moonless nights that covered its towers.
She lost her mother at the tender age of five. The tragedy shattered the king's heart—and with it, any warmth he had left for his youngest daughter. Though Queen Dazel had been his favorite wife, he blamed Luna for her death, whispering—sometimes drunkenly, sometimes in silence—that she was the reason his joy had vanished from the world.
From that day, Luna became the forgotten child of the palace.
While her sisters paraded in silk and silver, she grew up in quiet corners—raised not by the king or queens, but by her nanny, an elderly woman named Madam Elora, and a handful of loyal servants who treated her not as a princess, but as family. Her nanny was the mother she'd lost, her comfort in storms, her laughter in loneliness. The maids were her playmates, her secret keepers, her only source of joy.
And her guards—Simeon, Collins, and Mark—were her knights in shining armor, sworn to protect her even when the rest of the court pretended she did not exist. They loved her innocence, her kindness, and her rare smile that could light up even the darkest corridor of the castle.
The king, however, was rarely home in spirit. He spent his days buried in scrolls and councils, ruled as much by his own grief as by his two wives: Queen Rachel, the cunning first wife, and Queen Hazel, the quiet and graceful second.
Queen Rachel had long learned how to twist the king's sorrow to her advantage. With her honeyed words and venomous smile, she turned his heart toward her and her two daughters, Mary and Martha. They became the jewels of the kingdom, dressed in gold and praised by all, while Luna faded into the background—unwanted, unseen.
Queen Hazel was gentler, and though she sometimes comforted Luna, her love came with limits. She wished her own daughters to shine brighter than Luna, and in her silence, she allowed injustice to grow.
But Luna never complained. She loved who she could love, and she cherished what she had. She preferred the garden to the throne room, laughter to jewels, and kindness to titles. Though she was a princess by birth, her heart was humble and pure—a rarity in Eclipsara's palace of pride.
---
It was a golden afternoon when Luna wandered to the back of the castle. The Royal Garden—her favorite place in the world—was a paradise untouched by cruelty. The air shimmered with the warmth of the sun, wrapping her in a gentle glow. Vibrant flowers swayed in the light breeze, their petals bursting with colors—crimson roses, golden lilies, and violets so deep they looked like pieces of the night sky.
In the center stood a marble fountain shaped like a pair of angels, wings outstretched as crystal-clear water trickled from their hands. Birds chirped from the tall trees, their leaves whispering songs of peace.
Here, Luna could breathe. Here, she wasn't a forgotten daughter or a reminder of pain—she was simply Luna, a girl who dreamed of love and belonging.
The castle behind her was alive with excitement. Servants rushed about with trays of fruit and goblets of wine. The Grand Summer Ball was to be held that evening—a royal gathering for administrators, nobles, and guests from neighboring kingdoms.
Whispers filled the air that night would be magical, that destinies would intertwine. Many young women, dressed in silk and hope, dreamed of meeting their future husbands beneath the glittering chandeliers. But for Luna, the thought brought only indifference. She knew her presence was unwanted. Still, curiosity lingered.
She sat beneath the shade of a willow tree, plucking petals from a flower, lost in thought.
Her maids were busy preparing the halls. Her guards were stationed at the gates. Her nanny, no doubt, was running about to ensure everything was perfect for the guests. So, for once, Luna found herself truly alone.
After a while, she rose, brushing the grass off her simple gown, and decided to return inside. The soft melody of flutes drifted from the ballroom, mingling with laughter and the faint clatter of crystal glasses.
But as Luna stepped through the palace doors, she froze.
---
The castle she knew had vanished. In its place stood a wonderland of light and luxury. Twinkling lanterns floated along the marble halls, and shimmering banners hung from the high ceilings. The grand staircase was wrapped in velvet and blooming flowers, each petal glistening like jewels under the chandeliers.
Every corner gleamed as if touched by starlight. The ballroom, wide and majestic, had been polished to perfection. Mirrors lined the walls, multiplying the glow of golden candles, and the crystal chandeliers above glittered like constellations. The marble floor sparkled so brightly it seemed to reflect the heavens themselves.
It was breathtaking—too beautiful, almost unreal.
Luna's lips parted in awe. For a moment, she could imagine her mother's laughter echoing through these halls, her gentle hand leading her down the grand staircase. For a heartbeat, she could imagine belonging.
But the illusion shattered when familiar voices pierced the air.
---
"Look who finally decided to come out of hiding," said Mary, her voice dripping with mockery.
Luna turned slowly, her heart sinking. Mary and Martha, her half-sisters, stood by the stairway in gowns of silver and sapphire. Their hair glittered with jewels, and their smirks were sharper than daggers.
Luna's first instinct was to walk away. "I don't have time for your drama," she said softly. "I'm just looking for someone."
Martha laughed. "Someone? How cute. Maybe she's finally found a friend who isn't a servant."
Luna clenched her fists but kept her voice calm. "It's none of your business."
Mary's smile vanished. With a swift motion, she struck Luna across the face. The sound echoed in the hall.
"Watch your tongue!" Mary hissed. "You forget your place, little orphan."
Luna's cheek burned, her eyes stinging with tears she refused to shed. "You shouldn't have done that," she whispered.
Before Mary could respond, another voice rang out—cold and commanding.
"What is the meaning of this commotion?"
It was Queen Rachel. Her gown shimmered like black silk against firelight, and her eyes glinted with cruelty.
Mary immediately rushed to her side. "Mother, Luna was being disrespectful again. She spoke to us like an equal."
Luna opened her mouth to protest, but Rachel raised a hand. "Enough. I've heard quite enough from you. Always causing trouble, aren't you? You should be grateful you're even allowed in these halls."
"Mother, I—"
"Do not call me that!" Queen Rachel snapped, her voice sharp as ice. "Now leave. You have no place here tonight."
Mary and Martha exchanged triumphant looks as Luna, humiliated, turned and fled up the grand staircase, her heart pounding like thunder in her chest.
---
She didn't stop until she reached her room—a quiet chamber tucked away in the far corner of the palace, far from laughter and light. She slammed the door shut and sank onto her bed, tears spilling freely now.
It wasn't the slap that hurt the most—it was the reminder that she was alone, that she had no one who would defend her. The memory of her mother's soft voice echoed faintly in her mind, and the ache in her chest deepened.
"Mother," she whispered through her tears. "Why did you have to leave me?"
The door creaked open. Her nanny, Madam Elora, entered quietly, her kind eyes filled with concern.
"My little moon," she murmured, using the nickname she'd given Luna as a child. "What's wrong?"
Luna stood and ran into her arms, sobbing uncontrollably. "It's them again—Mary, Martha, their mother. I didn't even do anything, Nanny. I just wanted to look for you."
Elora stroked her hair gently, holding her close as if she could shield her from the whole cruel world. "Hush now, my princess. You're stronger than they think. You have something they'll never possess—a kind heart. And one day, it will make all the difference."
Luna looked up at her, eyes red but glimmering with hope. "Do you really think so?"
"I know so," Elora said softly. "And until that day, you'll always have me. I may not be your mother, but my heart beats for you all the same."
A tear slipped down Luna's cheek as she smiled faintly. "Thank you, Nanny."
"Now dry those tears," Elora said, brushing her face. "The guests are nearly at the gates. We can't have the Princess of Eclipsara looking like she's been in a storm, can we?"
Luna laughed quietly, the sound light and fragile. Together, they moved to the vanity. Elora brushed her long blonde hair until it shone, then helped her into a gown that shimmered faintly in the candlelight.
When Luna looked into the mirror, she hardly recognized herself.
"You look just like your mother," Elora whispered.
And for the first time in years, Luna believed it.
Outside, the music began to swell—the grand ball had begun.
Luna took a deep breath, her heart trembling with fear and curiosity.
Little did she know, the night waiting beyond that door would change her destiny forever.