The palace bells rang not to wake the kingdom… but to wake her.
Elara opened her eyes to sunlight filtered through silk curtains the color of dawn. The fabric glowed softly, turning the room golden as if morning itself had come to greet her.
A maid stood at the foot of the bed.
"My lady, it is time to rise."
Elara did not move immediately.
She never did.
Because the moment she opened her eyes each day, she remembered the same truth.
This life was not truly hers.
She finally sat up, her silver hair spilling down her shoulders like water. The maids often whispered that it looked like moonlight, but Elara knew beauty could feel like a cage.
Especially when the cage was made of gold.
Her chamber was larger than most homes in the kingdom. Marble floors. Crystal mirrors. Paintings worth more than entire villages.
Luxury surrounded her.
Yet silence lived here.
"Your mother requests your presence at breakfast," the maid continued.
Elara nodded, already slipping into the role she played every day.
Lady Elara Valmont.
Daughter of Duke Valmont.
Future noble bride.
A girl who belonged to the kingdom.
Not to herself.
Breakfast in the Valmont estate was never warm.
The table was long enough to seat twenty guests, yet only two chairs were occupied.
Elara sat opposite her mother.
The Duchess did not look up from her tea.
"You will attend the royal festival tomorrow."
It was not a question.
"Yes, Mother."
"The prince returns. The kingdom must see you."
Elara's stomach tightened.
The kingdom must see you.
The phrase echoed like a sentence she had heard her entire life.
Elara was not a daughter.
She was a display.
A political promise wrapped in silk.
The Duchess finally lifted her gaze, sharp and calculating.
"You understand what this means."
Elara nodded.
Marriage.
Alliance.
Duty.
The words were never spoken, yet they hovered between them like ghosts.
After breakfast, Elara escaped to the only place in the estate that felt real.
The garden.
Rows of roses stretched endlessly beneath the sun, their fragrance sweet enough to almost feel like freedom.
Almost.
She knelt beside a white rose bush, fingers brushing the petals gently.
"You're lucky," she whispered. "You don't have to marry anyone."
A laugh broke the silence.
"You speak to flowers now?"
Elara turned.
Lord Cassian stood at the garden gate.
Warm eyes. Gentle smile. Sunlight caught in brown hair. Everything about him felt easy.
Safe.
Different.
"My lady," he bowed dramatically. "Your secret conversations are safe with me."
Elara felt warmth bloom in her chest — a rare, fragile thing.
Cassian was the son of a noble family, but he never treated her like a political piece.
With him, she could breathe.
"You're early," she said.
"I wanted to see you before the festival madness begins."
His smile softened.
"I heard the prince returns."
The air changed instantly.
Even the roses seemed to hold their breath.
Cassian hesitated.
"They say he's… difficult."
Elara exhaled slowly.
"I have heard worse words used."
Cruel.
Cold.
Heartless.
The prince had many titles.
None comforting.
Later that afternoon, the royal carriage arrived with invitations sealed in gold.
Elara stared at the wax crest long after the messenger left.
Her hands trembled.
The festival would change everything.
She felt it deep in her bones.
Across the kingdom, another girl with the same face stood beneath the same sky, unaware that destiny was moving both of them toward the same moment.
Toward the same man.
Toward the same storm.
Tomorrow, the prince would return.
And fate would finally bring the twins one step closer to collision.
Elara remained in the garden long after Cassian left.
The sky slowly softened into evening, painting the clouds in pink and gold, but the beauty did nothing to calm the unease growing inside her chest.
The prince returns.
Everyone spoke those words like celebration.
To Elara, they sounded like a warning.
She walked along the stone path, trailing her fingers across the rose bushes as memories surfaced—memories she rarely allowed herself to revisit.
She did not remember her earliest years clearly.
Only fragments.
Soft voices.
Warm arms.
A lullaby she could never fully recall.
Sometimes she woke in the middle of the night convinced she had forgotten something important. Someone important.
A strange emptiness lived inside her, a hollow space she could not explain.
The Duchess had once dismissed her questions coldly.
"You were sick as a child," her mother had said. "You remember nonsense dreams."
But the feeling never left.
A missing piece of a puzzle she had never seen.
Footsteps echoed behind her.
"Elara."
She turned quickly.
Her father stood at the end of the path, tall and imposing in his formal coat. Duke Valmont was a man the kingdom respected—and feared.
He rarely visited the gardens.
Which meant this was not a casual conversation.
"You received the invitation," he said.
"Yes, Father."
His gaze softened for the briefest moment before returning to steel.
"You must understand what tomorrow represents."
She lowered her eyes.
"Yes."
"The prince will choose a bride soon."
The words landed like stones in her stomach.
Elara had always known this moment would come, yet hearing it spoken aloud made it terrifyingly real.
"You are the most suitable match in the kingdom," the Duke continued. "Graceful. Educated. Beautiful. The people adore you."
None of those words sounded like praise.
They sounded like preparation.
"If the prince shows interest," her father added, "you will not refuse him."
It was not a command.
It was destiny being handed to her in a sentence.
Elara swallowed the knot in her throat.
"I understand."
The Duke nodded once and walked away.
The conversation was finished.
So was her choice.
Night settled quietly over the estate.
Elara stood at her bedroom window, watching the lights of the distant city flicker like tiny stars on earth.
Somewhere out there, people lived lives of freedom.
People laughed loudly, chose their own futures, and fell in love without permission.
The idea felt almost magical.
She pressed her hand against the cold glass.
"I wonder what it feels like," she whispered, "to belong to yourself."
The wind brushed the curtains softly, carrying the distant echo of festival preparations from the capital.
Music.
Laughter.
Excitement.
The entire kingdom waited eagerly for tomorrow.
Elara did not.
Because deep down, she felt it clearly.
Tomorrow would not bring celebration.
Tomorrow would bring change.
And change had never once been kind to her.
She closed the curtains slowly, unaware that across the kingdom, another girl with the same face stared at the same moon—both of them standing at the edge of a future neither had chosen.
Tomorrow, their worlds would begin to collide.