The Royal's cursed flame

Cara didn't speak of the celebration for days. Not in passing, not in jokes. She didn't tease or ask about dresses. She didn't offer help or suggestions. She simply stayed quiet.

Too quiet.

Nysa tried to bring it up once as they walked home.

"You know... if I could give you the invitation, I would."

Cara stopped walking.

"Don't do that," she said.

"Do what?"

"Pity me."

Nysa blinked. "I wasn't..."

"You were," Cara said, turning to her with a tight smile. "But it's fine. Truly. I mean, of course it hurts. I've dreamed of that celebration since I was nine. And now you get to go. You who never even cared for it."

"I didn't ask to be chosen..."

"I know," Cara said, her voice too sweet, her eyes too sharp. "That's the thing about fate. It never asks permission."

They walked the rest of the way in silence.

---

The next week passed in a blur.

Nysa's life hadn't changed, not really. She still woke up before sunrise, still swept ash from the fire, still helped Aunt Mara with the wash. But in quiet moments...when her hands were idle...her thoughts wandered to silk gowns and candlelit halls. She imagined chandeliers like stars, music like wind, people dressed in gold and secrets.

And then she imagined herself among them.

Not as a guest.

But as something more.

---

One afternoon, while Nysa adjusted a new chain design, Murda ...the quiet apprentice...approached her.

"You're going to the palace, right?" she asked shyly.

Nysa nodded.

Murda hesitated, then lowered her voice. "Just be careful who helps you prepare. Some people don't want you to shine."

Nysa tilted her head. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing," Murda said quickly. "Forget I said anything."

But Nysa didn't forget.

Not that day.

Not after she caught Cara burning a letter behind the shop later that night.

---

The week before the celebration passed in a slow, golden blur. Windale buzzed with gossip, the town wrapped in a sense of excitement it hadn't seen all year. Banners were being hung along the main road, tailors were working day and night, and every selected guest had been measured at least twice for dresses, coats, or anything remotely passable as "noble-looking."

Nysa, still in disbelief that her name had been chosen, was quietly preparing. She'd been saving up for this moment the moment her name had been announced...tucking away copper and silver coins behind loose bricks in her room, cutting corners on meals, and working twice as hard at Madame Selene's. Her hope was simple: a decent gown, a pair of shoes without holes, and a chance to blend in just enough not to be mocked.

Every time she imagined it...walking through palace halls, her curls brushed and gown flowing...her heart stammered.

Cara barely spoke of the celebration at all. If she was jealous, she hid it behind soft smiles and tired eyes. But Nysa had sensed a subtle distance between them...a quiet frost that hadn't thawed, even after days.

Still, Nysa kept her excitement guarded, especially at home. Aunt Mara's health had improved only slightly, and Uncle Jorren was too busy ranting about the rising cost of wood to care about royal festivities. As for Kaeli...Nysa avoided her gaze altogether.

Then came the morning news that changed everything.

Lioren returned to the shop, windblown and breathless, a folded paper clutched in his hand.

"Nysa!" he called as soon as he stepped in.

She turned, startled, setting down the chain she was polishing. "What is it?"

"I've been chosen."

Her eyes widened. "You too?"

"No...not originally. They added my name last minute. Said my work with transportation logistics qualifies me under royal service."

Nysa blinked, barely comprehending. "That's... incredible."

He beamed. "It gets better. I get to bring a guest."

Her heart skipped. "You mean...?"

He stepped closer. "Will you come with me?"

Nysa's breath caught. "You're already going. I...I have an invitation."

"I know," he said. "But people attend alone all the time. You don't have to. Not when you can go with someone you know."

Nysa's breath caught...but before she could answer, Cara's voice cut through the room.

"Lioren!"

They both turned. Cara stood rigid, her hands clenched around a string of pearls.

"You… you can bring a guest?" she asked, voice too bright.

Lioren hesitated. "Yes, but..."

"Then take Cara," Nysa said suddenly.

Silence.

Lioren frowned. "What?"

Nysa glanced at Cara, whose face was a mix of shock and fragile hope. "She's been dreaming of this for months. I already have my own invitation...it's only fair."

Cara's breath hitched.

Lioren shook his head. "Nysa, I asked you..."

"And I'm saying you should ask her instead." She smiled at Cara, warm and genuine. "You deserve to go."

For a heartbeat, Cara's eyes shone...then flickered with doubt as Lioren shifted uncomfortably.

"It's not that simple," he said carefully. "The palace has strict rules...only one guest per invite, and they're already making an exception for me. If I change who I bring last minute, they might revoke the offer entirely."

Cara's hope crumpled. "You don't know that," she whispered.

Nysa reached for her hand. "Lioren..."

"I can't risk it," he insisted, guilt tightening his voice. "Not when so many people fought to get me this chance."

Cara yanked her hand back. "Right. Of course."

She turned on her heel, knocking over a stool in her haste. The pearls she'd been polishing scattered across the floor like fallen stars.

"Cara, wait..." Nysa called, but the door slammed shut behind her.

Lioren ran a hand through his hair. "I didn't mean to..."

"She'll be okay," Nysa said softly, though her eyes lingered on the doorway. "She just needs time."

He sighed. "I should go after her."

"No." Nysa placed a hand on his arm. "Not yet. Let her cool down." She knelt to gather the spilled pearls, rolling them between her fingers. "I'll talk to her later."

Lioren nodded, but his shoulders remained tense. "Do you think she'll ever forgive me?"

Nysa smiled faintly. "She will. But you might owe her a favor after this."

---

By that afternoon, news had spread of two other girls chosen from Windale: Murda, the quiet apprentice with careful hands and long lashes, and Sera, a baker's daughter known more for her sharp tongue than her pastries.

The three girls...plus Lioren...would travel together to the capital, the palace awaiting them just beyond Windale's hills.

For Nysa, everything felt like a dream. Lioren stayed close at the shop that day, helping her move heavier materials, making her laugh during lunch breaks, teasing her when she blushed too easily.

"Do you think I'll embarrass myself?" she asked him at one point, eyes wide.

"Yes," he said, straight-faced.

Her jaw dropped.

Then he grinned. "But you'll do it with grace."

She threw a polishing cloth at his face.

---

That night, Nysa returned home with aching feet but a bubbling spirit. She barely noticed Kaeli's glare from the corner, nor Lina's usual silence. She headed straight to her room, pulled up the stone slab by her cot, and reached for her hidden pouch of coins.

Gone.

She stared at the empty gap.

No... no, no, no.

She knelt down, heart pounding, hands frantically brushing the inside of the hollow stone, then checking the cracks in the wall. Nothing. Her savings...three months of hard-earned silver and copper...gone.

She stood slowly, numbness creeping into her limbs.

"Kaeli," she called, voice sharp.

No answer.

"Kaeli!" she tried again, stepping into the hallway.

Her cousin was there, sitting near the fire, pretending to be embroidering. She looked up lazily.

"Yes?"

"Where is it?"

Kaeli raised a brow. "Where is what?"

.

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