Eunice of the Silver Moon
Chapter Three
The palace felt heavier that morning, its walls murmuring secrets I could almost hear but could not understand. Word had spread quickly: Lady Mireya's daughter had arrived. My heart skipped a beat. I could hardly believe it—her daughter? My father had married a woman who already had a child? It seemed impossible. A man of his stature, of such wealth and influence, would not—could not—take such a risk. And yet, there she was.
I watched from the gallery as the carriage wound slowly through the palace gates, polished wheels gleaming, the horses stamping impatiently. The door opened, and the girl stepped down as if the world had paused for her. One delicate foot touched the stone steps, then the next, her posture flawless, chin raised, back straight. Golden hair braided with ribbons that shimmered in the sunlight framed her youthful face, and her gown, flowing and pale, brushed the steps with each measured movement. She moved like a princess born to command attention, exuding a quiet authority that made the palace seem smaller around her.
I blinked, unable to comprehend how someone so young could carry herself with such poise, and my mind raced. My father had married this woman, and she had brought this child into our home? Was it some strategic move, some political calculation I had yet to understand? The questions pressed in on me, leaving a knot of confusion and anger in my chest. I could hardly reconcile the idea that my father, who had always appeared so calculated and deliberate in every decision, would accept a stepchild into the palace as if she were already part of the lineage. How could someone of his stature risk such scandal, especially when the eyes of nobles and courtiers were ever-watchful?
Her gaze landed on me, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. The girl's eyes were sharp, intelligent, almost unnervingly aware. She offered a polite smile, one rehearsed and deliberate, yet beneath it I sensed a challenge. "You must be Princess Eunice," she said, voice calm, confident, echoing her mother's tone almost perfectly. She inclined her head in a perfect bow. The sight left me unsettled. Here was a child, yet she radiated the same cunning and precision I had seen in her mother, a miniature version of the woman who had already claimed so much space in our home.
Lady Mireya watched, satisfaction written across her features. "Observe carefully, Eunice," she said softly, though the warning in her tone was unmistakable. "One learns far more by watching than by speaking." Her daughter mirrored her, small nods and exact posture, like a reflection rehearsed countless times. My stomach twisted. The girl's presence alone was unnerving, and I felt a strange mix of jealousy, fear, and incredulity. My father had allowed this? My home was no longer mine alone, and it seemed the boundaries I had always known were slipping away.
I retreated into the corridors, seeking some semblance of quiet. Even here, the girl's gaze seemed to follow me, alert, measuring, studying. The palace felt smaller, tighter, as if her presence had contracted the space around me. Already, she moved and watched with the skill of someone far older, absorbing every detail as her mother undoubtedly had trained her. I could not help but be wary—how could someone so young already wield such subtle power?
That night, desperate to escape the suffocating presence of the mistress and her daughter, I wandered into the gardens. Moonlight poured over the fountains and roses, casting long, silvery shadows. The night air was fragrant with blooming jasmine, the petals glistening with dew like tiny stars scattered across the earth. My hands tingled once more, a warmth that had become nearly constant, pulsing in response to the unease I felt. I had not approached the witches, only observed them from afar as my mother had instructed. "Keep your distance. Whatever they seek is not meant for you." I obeyed, though the urge to reach for the edge of something unknown gnawed at me relentlessly.
From the shadows near the central fountain, a figure emerged. Tall, broad-shouldered, with dark tousled hair and storm-gray eyes, he stepped into the moonlight, and my heart caught. He was impossibly handsome, every line of his face perfectly sculpted, his gaze intense yet calm, measuring me with quiet authority. My breath faltered. Every instinct told me to be wary, yet I could not look away.
"You shouldn't be here," he said softly, urgency threading through his words. His voice carried a weight that made my chest tighten, yet he did not approach, maintaining a careful distance. He glanced toward the palace, then back at me, as if struggling to deliver a warning he could not finish. His expression flickered with hesitation, an almost imperceptible warning that made my stomach clench.
Before he could continue, the sound of clanging torches and hurried footsteps shattered the moment. Voices called urgently: "Princess Eunice! Princess Eunice, where are you?" My pulse jumped. The palace guards were moving quickly, searching the gardens for me. Panic twisted in my chest. The storm-eyed man's expression shifted instantly, frustration and apology mingling in his gaze. He opened his mouth to speak again, but the approaching guards forced him to retreat, dissolving into the shadows before I could even ask who he was.
I was left alone among the fountains and moonlit roses, my hands tingling violently, warmth and panic surging through me as the garden seemed suddenly larger and more threatening. The soft rustle of leaves, the gurgle of the fountain, even the silver light of the moon, seemed to pulse in rhythm with my racing heartbeat. Somewhere beyond the hedges, whispers stirred, faint and urgent, as though the palace itself had sensed the danger and was responding in ways I could not yet understand.
I did not know who he was, nor why he had appeared, nor what message he had tried to convey. But I understood this: the palace—with Lady Mireya, her daughter, the unseen watchers lurking in shadow, and now the storm-eyed stranger—had grown stranger and more dangerous than I could have imagined. The silver moon gleamed overhead, indifferent yet watchful, as I realized my life was no longer my own. The whispers, the shadows, and the mysterious stranger had all converged, and I knew—tonight had only been the beginning.
I lingered among the fountains, breathless, heart hammering, torn between curiosity and fear. I longed to follow the stranger, to uncover the truth he seemed poised to reveal, but the distant voices of the guards reminded me that every step I took could bring discovery, punishment, or worse. The palace was no longer merely a home; it was a living, breathing entity, full of secrets, schemes, and unseen eyes that tracked every movement. Somewhere in that labyrinth of shadow and stone, answers waited—and I had to find them.