The Constellations Of Us

The stars had always been my comfort. When the palace grew too loud with whispers of duty and expectation, I would slip onto my balcony, lift my eyes, and count the constellations like old friends. But lately, the heavens had betrayed me. Where once the sky glittered with endless silver, now there were gaps—dark scars spreading across the night’s canvas. Every time a star winked out, a hush seemed to fall over the kingdom, as though the world itself held its breath. The people called it bad luck. The priests called it judgment. My father, the king, called it nonsense. But deep down, I knew it meant something more. The legends spoke of an immortal cursed to devour the light of the heavens, a shadow who walked among us unseen. And though I told myself it was only a story, I couldn’t shake the chill that crept across my skin whenever I looked at the thinning sky. That night was supposed to be a celebration—the grand banquet that would seal my betrothal to Prince Darian of Draeven. My maids draped me in silk heavy with jewels, laced my corset so tightly I could hardly breathe, and painted my lips crimson as though I were being sent into battle instead of marriage. In a way, I was. The palace halls glittered with torches, the air thick with roses and roasted meats. Music floated from the ballroom, sweet and false. Everywhere I turned, nobles smiled with sharp eyes, their words dipped in honey and venom. I had played my part for years, but tonight the weight of it pressed heavier than ever. Prince Darian stood at the center of it all, as polished as a blade. His golden hair gleamed in the firelight, his smile as flawless as the jewels on his cloak. To the court, he was the perfect prince—handsome, powerful, destined to rule. To me, he was a cage with gilded bars. When his eyes met mine, there was no warmth, only calculation. He saw not a woman, but a kingdom. A prize. He took my hand, his grip firm. “You look radiant tonight, Princess,” he said, his voice smooth and practiced. I forced a smile. My throat tightened, but the words slipped free anyway. “Like a lamb dressed for slaughter.” His smile twitched—just for a heartbeat—before it returned, flawless again. “Always with the dramatics,” he murmured. “But after tonight, you will be mine. And soon, so will your kingdom.” The musicians struck up a waltz. He led me into the dance, our steps rehearsed and precise beneath the eyes of dozens. My heart pounded, not from the music but from the truth pressing against my ribs: if I stayed, my life would be nothing but pawn moves in Darian’s endless game of power. And then—through the tall arched windows—I saw it. A star flared brightly, then vanished. Just like that. Gone. The musicians faltered for only half a beat before recovering, but I couldn’t look away. A shiver slid down my spine, cold and sharp. Another star had fallen. The prophecy whispered through my mind, words I’d heard since childhood: When the last star falls, darkness will claim the world. I couldn’t breathe. The moment the dance ended, I slipped from Darian’s grasp and fled the ballroom. My skirts tangled around my legs as I ran down the torchlit corridors, the music fading behind me. But this was no impulse. Weeks ago, I had hidden a cloak and boots in my chamber, waiting for the right moment. I had told myself I would never be brave enough to use them. Yet tonight, with the stars dimming above me and Darian’s cold smile still burning in my mind, the choice became clear. I would not marry him. I would not rot in silk while the sky died above me. By the time I reached my chambers, my decision was no longer a whisper—it was a roar in my veins. I stripped out of the jeweled gown with shaking hands, tugging on my cloak and boots. At the balcony, I paused only once. The night stretched vast and wounded, constellations broken, pieces missing. I pressed my palm to the stone railing. “If the world is ending,” I whispered, “then I’ll see it on my own terms.” And then I climbed down into the gardens, the cool night air wrapping around me like freedom. The city beyond the palace walls was alive with laughter and lanterns, but I kept to the shadows, hood drawn low. For the first time in my life, I was just another face in the dark. Not a princess. Not a pawn. Just a girl running into the unknown. I didn’t know where I was going. Only that I had to leave. But the world has a cruel way of testing resolve. At the edge of the marketplace, men appeared from the shadows—mercenaries, their armor mismatched, their eyes glinting with hunger. “Well, well,” one drawled, stepping into my path. “What’s a fine lady doing out alone at this hour?” Fear clawed at my chest, but I lifted my chin. “Step aside,” I said, though my voice trembled. They laughed. One reached for my cloak. And then he appeared. A shadow moved behind them, silent as the night itself. Steel flashed. One mercenary fell, then another. The last dropped his blade and fled. I stumbled back, breath ragged, staring at the stranger who had saved me. He stood tall, a hood shadowing his face. His sword glimmered faintly with moonlight. Something about him—the way he moved, the way the night itself seemed to bend around him—stole the air from my lungs. “Are you hurt?” His voice was low, rough, as though unused to kindness. I shook my head. “Who… who are you?” He sheathed his blade with calm precision. “No one worth remembering.” But in that instant, I knew my life would never be the same. And above us, another star flickered… and died.