The Royal's cursed flame

Nysa had never seen anything like it.

As the carriage rolled past the outer walls of the palace, she pressed her face softly to the window, her breath fogging the glass. Windale faded behind them into darkness, swallowed by the rolling hills and torch-lit roads. Ahead, the capital rose like a dream carved into stone and gold, its towers crowned with banners that swayed in the breeze.

But it wasn't until they turned the last corner that her breath truly caught.

The palace stood bathed in soft golden light, its marble columns gleaming under a thousand lanterns. Glass domes shimmered overhead, reflecting moonlight and starlight in such a way it looked as though the sky itself had come down to dance upon the rooftops. A wide staircase of polished stone led to massive carved doors flanked by guards in ceremonial blue and silver. The air smelled faintly of roses and spiced wine.

"It's..." Nysa's voice failed.

"Breathtaking," Murda finished for her.

Sera leaned forward, practically squealing. "It looks like it's made of stars."

Lioren, seated beside Nysa, glanced her way. "You alright?"

She nodded, barely. "I never imagined it would be like this."

"Just wait until we step inside."

The carriage slowed, joining a line of other elegant carriages arriving from nearby towns and districts. Some were decorated in gold paint, others in royal crests or creaking silk banners. Servants rushed to open doors, helping guests down as the celebration truly began to stir.

Their carriage finally stopped before the grand steps.

Lioren stood, offering his hand with a soft smile. "May I?"

Nysa hesitated for just a heartbeat, then placed her gloved hand in his.

He helped her down gently, as if she were made of fragile glass. The moment her feet touched the polished stone, she was consumed by light—golden from lanterns strung high above and silvery from torches reflecting off every marble column.

Nysa had never felt so small and so radiant at once.

Guests milled about the wide steps, the colors of their garments a painting come to life. The women wore dresses that sparkled with crystals and sapphires, some with embroidered birds and stitched constellations across silk so fine it whispered in the wind. Men wore tailored coats and sashes with golden pins and velvet cuffs. Even the servants had pressed uniforms with polished boots and gloves.

She took a step forward and faltered.

Compared to the others, her gown felt suddenly plain—elegant, yes, but modest. Her shoes were borrowed. Her pendant was handmade. Her gloves were fraying at the edges.

Lioren must've seen her flinch.

"You look perfect," he said quietly beside her.

She forced a smile, but her fingers clenched her clutch tighter.

They reached the top steps where their names were announced—not too loudly, just enough to be heard by those in the waiting hall. A steward offered a bow and gestured them forward into the palace.

The first thing Nysa noticed was the warmth.

Not just in the temperature, but in the glow. The interior of the palace shimmered like the inside of a golden shell. Chandeliers hung from arching ceilings, their crystals catching every flicker of candlelight. Velvet drapes in deep navy and royal red lined the walls, and the floors were a smooth, pale marble flecked with veins of silver.

They passed a hallway of portraits—paintings of kings and queens long dead, staring down with pride and mystery in their eyes. At the end of the corridor, double doors swung open... and Nysa's heart nearly stopped.

The grand ballroom.

It was enormous—larger than any room she had ever dreamed of. The ceiling arched so high it disappeared into a mural of constellations, lit with tiny magical orbs that flickered like real stars. On the floor, dozens of couples were already dancing in slow, elegant circles to the sound of a live orchestra stationed on a raised platform. Violins, harps, and lutes blended into a waltz that pulsed gently through the air like a heartbeat.

Nysa stepped inside slowly, every sound muffled by awe.

To the left, a long table groaned under the weight of food—plump grapes, roasted meats, tiny cakes dusted with gold powder. Servants in navy uniforms moved silently between the guests, refilling goblets and offering trays of honeyed fruit.

To the right, smaller chambers opened into lounge areas, each designed for rest or quiet conversation. The walls glittered with tiny embedded gemstones, forming swirling patterns like frozen fireworks.

Nysa turned in a slow circle, drinking it all in. Her curls caught the light and shimmered as she moved.

"Are we allowed to be here?" she whispered to Lioren.

He chuckled softly. "We were invited. That's all that matters tonight."

She nodded, but her shoulders remained tense. A group of noblewomen passed, their eyes flickering toward her just a second too long—smiling, but with lips too tight.

"She's not one of us," they seemed to say without words.

Nysa looked down at her pendant, the small flame she'd made from copper and enamel glinting at her throat. Not real gold. Not real status.

But real enough for her.

"Don't let them in your head," Lioren said, as if reading her mind. "They're not worth it."

"I know," she said, though her voice was quiet.

They walked deeper into the ballroom, pausing near a fountain carved from moonstone at the center of the hall. The water danced with magic, shimmering in mid-air before falling in droplets like tiny crystals.

The two other girls—Sera and Murda—soon joined them again, both laughing and pointing at the delicacies on the banquet table. Murda dragged Sera toward the food, leaving Nysa and Lioren alone once more.

He turned to her.

"You look like you belong here, Nysa."

She looked at him, then around again.

"I'm not sure I ever will," she murmured.

"Maybe that's what makes you different."

His words lingered, heavier than she expected. She blinked up at him.

"Different isn't always good."

"It is when everyone else here looks the same."

A pause.

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