The Royal's cursed flame

"I'll run home after lunch and get it," Cara promised. "Don't worry about a thing. Just rest and try to smile. The palace awaits."

Nysa gave a tearful laugh, a mix of relief and joy swelling in her chest.

As she returned to her workbench, wiping her cheeks dry and focusing on a tiny clasp that needed fixing, she felt a flicker of light return to her. Hope had a shape again. A color.

She never noticed the way Cara turned, stepping into the far storage room, eyes narrow and expression unreadable.

She pulled out a folded slip of parchment, checking something scribbled at the edge. A name. A time.

Then slowly, she smiled—sweet and sharp.

"I told you," she whispered to herself.

"Fire always burns the brightest… before it's snuffed."

---

The sun had barely crossed its highest point when Cara swept into the workshop with a bundle wrapped in soft blue linen, her steps light and triumphant.

"Nysa!" she called.

Nysa glanced up from the delicate earrings she'd been threading. "You found it?"

Cara grinned. "Better. I brought it."

She held out the bundle like a sacred offering. Nysa quickly wiped her hands and stood, her eyes wide as Cara untied the cloth.

Inside was the gown.

It was even lovelier than Cara had described. Pale gold with hints of cream under certain lights, the fabric shimmered gently. Lace sleeves graced the shoulders, and a modest train gathered behind the waist. A pair of satin shoes and a beaded clutch nestled beneath it, along with soft gloves that still carried the faint scent of rose oil.

Nysa could only stare.

"I... I don't know what to say."

Cara smiled, brushing a loose curl from Nysa's forehead. "Say you'll look better in it than she ever did."

"I—thank you," Nysa whispered. Her throat tightened. "Cara, I mean it. I would've stayed home crying if not for you."

"Well," Cara said with a wink, "I wasn't going to let you sob over candlelight while everyone else danced in pearls."

The other apprentices had gathered around subtly, peeking from corners and pretending to focus on their tasks. Mira gave a small, admiring nod.

Madame Selene called from the back, "If you're going to parade about, Nysa, do it early. You'll be useless the rest of the day."

Nysa laughed, still overwhelmed. "Does that mean I can leave early?"

"Take the afternoon," Selene replied. "But don't forget whose tools you owe your training to."

"I won't!" Nysa called, already bundling the gown back into its cloth.

She turned to Cara, hugging her tight. "You saved me."

Cara hugged her back with just enough pressure. "I'll see you tonight, shining like the moon."

---

Back at the house, Nysa slipped through the door quietly, avoiding Kaeli's room entirely. She laid the bundle on her bed and locked the door before unwrapping it.

The gown shimmered like liquid gold in the honeyed afternoon light, its delicate beadwork catching every stray sunbeam, scattering prismatic flecks across the walls.

Nysa had spent hours in the bath, scrubbing every trace of sawdust from her calloused fingers, scraping away the stubborn soot beneath her nails until her hands felt foreign to her—soft, almost fragile. The lavender-scented oil, the last precious drops of a bottle she had hoarded for months, glided over her skin, leaving behind a whisper of summer meadows. She stood before the mirror, her breath shallow, her pulse a hummingbird's wings against her ribs.

The reflection staring back at her was a revelation.

Her hazel eyes, usually sharp with focus or shadowed with exhaustion, now sparkled beneath dark, carefully curled lashes. The rose in her cheeks wasn't just from the heat of the bath—it was the flush of anticipation, of something dangerously close to hope. Her hair, which had spent years in a practical braid or a hasty knot, now cascaded in artful coils, twisted and pinned into an elegant coronet, with two delicate tendrils framing her face like gilded vines.

She turned to the small jewelry box on her dresser—the one she had carved herself as a girl, its edges worn smooth from years of use. Inside lay treasures she had forged with her own hands: gold-leaf earrings that caught the light like embers, a slender chain with a tiny, flickering flame pendant—a replacement for the one she'd lost, never quite the same, but close enough to make her throat tighten.

Then came the gown.

The silk whispered against her skin as she slipped into it, the fabric cool and heavy, luxurious in a way she had never allowed herself to know. Her fingers trembled as she fastened the tiny buttons at the back, each one a battle won against her own disbelief. When she finally looked up—

The girl in the mirror was a stranger.

Gone was the orphan of Dunvalle, the girl who had learned to make herself small, invisible. The woman before her now stood tall, her spine straight, her chin lifted. The borrowed shoes from Cara—satin, with just enough heel to make her feel regal—lent her a new kind of strength. The gloves, snug and flawless, hid the scars of her labor, and the beaded bag in her hands felt like a treasure, something too fine for her to touch.

Yet here she was.

Radiant. Bold. Unbroken.

For the first time in years—perhaps the first time ever—Nysa let herself believe it.

She was beautiful.

---

The sky had shifted to amber and lilac by the time she stepped outside, carefully picking her way down the lane toward the square where the royal carriage awaited.

She spotted the others before they saw her.

Lioren stood beside the elegant black carriage in a freshly pressed coat of navy, his hair neatly tied back. Sera and Murda stood nearby—Sera in emerald green and Murda in soft lavender—both chatting with excitement as the horses were prepared.

Nysa's breath caught when Lioren turned and his eyes found her.

He stared.

Truly stared.

Then a slow smile spread across his face, filled with warmth and something quieter—softer.

He stepped toward her, offering his hand. "You look like the first star in the sky."

Nysa flushed. "You clean up well yourself."

He took her hand and gave a mock bow. "Shall we, my lady?"

She laughed lightly. "We shall."

Sera looked over and blinked. "By the skies... Nysa, you look like you stepped from a noble house!"

Murda nodded. "You're glowing."

"Thank you," Nysa said, cheeks warm.

As they helped her into the carriage, the town behind them bustled with watchers—neighbors, friends, even strangers hoping for a glimpse. Somewhere in the crowd, Cara stood beside her sister near the corner shop, her lips parted in a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

Her gaze lingered on Nysa's gown, then her face, then the pendant on her neck.

Cara didn't wave.

She simply turned and walked away.

And as the carriage wheels began to roll, Nysa looked out toward the horizon—toward the palace lights flickering in the distance—and felt her chest lift with hope.

Tonight, she would step into a different world.

But she had no idea how quickly that world would try to break her.

.

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