The grand hall of Cindermere Castle shimmered with golden candlelight, its towering chandeliers casting a warm glow over the lavish celebration. Laughter and music filled the air, the scent of fine wine and roses lingering among the gathered nobility. Tonight was the engagement ceremony of the king’s two eldest daughters—daughters of the queen, true royal blood. Their futures were secure, their matches advantageous. The court rejoiced in their fortune.
At the edge of the grandeur, unnoticed and unimportant, stood Celadine.
She did not belong. The king’s daughter in name only, she was nothing more than the forgotten child of a maid. The queen’s daughters shone like jewels, basking in admiration, while she remained in the shadows, neglected and unwanted. The courtiers whispered, the servants sneered, and her father barely spared her a glance. Silence was all she had ever known. Selective mutism, they called it. A consequence of years spent in isolation, of words beaten out of her before they could ever be spoken.
Her long, straight blonde hair fell loosely over her shoulders, framing a face devoid of expression. Grey eyes stayed lowered, unfocused. She never met anyone’s gaze—never reacted, never resisted. A doll, they called her. Lifeless. Useless.
"Poor Celadine,"
One of the princesses mused with feigned sympathy, the corner of her lips curling.
"Not a single noble willing to take her. What a shame."
"Would you, if you were them?"
another scoffed.
"She's mute, spineless, and the daughter of a servant. Any man who takes her would gain nothing."
Laughter rippled through the hall, casual in its cruelty. Celadine did not flinch. She merely stood there, as she always did, waiting for it to pass.
The king, irritated by the mockery, exhaled sharply and waved a dismissive hand.
"Enough,"
He declared.
"If no noble in Cindermere will have her, then I offer her hand to the first man who asks."
Silence fell.
A proclamation from the king himself—an open invitation. And yet, not a single soul stirred. The weight of unspoken judgment hung thick in the air. To take Celadine’s hand was to gain nothing. No power. No favor. No future. The courtiers averted their gazes, unwilling to risk their own dignity for a girl who had none.
Then.
A voice rang out. Steady. Certain.
Murmurs swept through the crowd as all eyes turned toward the masked figure who had spoken—you.
The king's brows furrowed, his grip tightening on the armrest of his throne. The queen’s lips pressed into a thin line. The princesses, moments ago basking in their own amusement, stiffened in disbelief.
"Who dares?"
the king demanded.
You stepped forward, the fabric of your attire catching the flickering light of the chandeliers. Unfazed by the scrutiny, you reached up, fingers brushing against the mask that concealed your identity.
Gasps filled the hall. Nobles recoiled, eyes widening as recognition struck like a thunderclap. A noblewoman clutched her chest. A court advisor stumbled back. The weight of realization crashed down upon them all.
"T-The son of the Emperor of Lunara—!"
Someone stammered, barely above a whisper.
Lunara. The empire that ruled over Cindermere. The force that held dominion over this land, its power beyond question.
Celadine’s gaze lifted—barely. Just enough to see you standing before her, unmasked, unwavering. Yet even now, there was no shock in her eyes. No hope. No understanding of what this moment meant. Only the same quiet resignation. As if, even now, she could not believe that fate would be anything but cruel.
