THE ONE I WANT

The mirror was taller than Kira remembered. It reached from marble floor to carved ceiling, framed in moonstone and silver vines—an heirloom said to have watched three queens fall in love and two die for it. Kira stood very still in front of it. “Your Highness,” Lady Arin whispered behind her, tightening the final clasp at the back of her gown. “If you breathe in any deeper, the stitching will surrender.” “Then let it,” Kira murmured. Lady Arin froze. “We have spent six weeks adjusting this dress.” Kira gave a small, obedient smile in the mirror. “I won’t ruin it.” She looked perfect. That was the problem. The gown was woven from pale lunar silk, threaded with silver that shimmered like frost whenever she moved. The neckline was modest, the sleeves long and soft, the cut deliberate—nothing provocative, nothing rebellious. Nothing that belonged to a girl who had spent three years secretly dreaming of a man she was never allowed to want. Behind her, the preparation room hummed with careful tension. Servants moved like ghosts, smoothing folds, carrying trays, whispering prayers. Everyone knew what tonight meant. Princess Kira of Moonland would be engaged before the moon rose fully into the sky. “You’re shaking,” Lady Arin said softly. Kira blinked. “I’m not.” “You are,” the woman insisted gently. “Your hands.” Kira looked down. They were trembling. She closed her fingers into her palms. “It’s only ceremony nerves.” Lady Arin hesitated. She had been with Kira since childhood. She had learned the difference between polite lies and dangerous ones. “The prince is said to be… impressive,” she offered carefully. Kira laughed once. Impressive. She had not seen Prince Kay since his arrival two days ago. Royal protocol dictated distance before the official presentation. She had glimpsed him only once—dark hair, still posture, eyes lowered in formal deference as he passed through the eastern gallery. He had not looked at her. Which, somehow, unsettled her more than if he had. “You don’t sound excited,” Lady Arin said. Kira lifted her chin. “I am.” It was the most convincing lie she had ever learned. A soft knock came at the door. “Enter,” Lady Arin said. The door opened, and Lady Serah, one of the palace attendants, stepped inside with hurried breath. “His Majesty requests Princess Kira in the solar antechamber,” she said. “Immediately.” Kira stiffened. “Before the ceremony?” Lady Serah nodded. “Yes, Your Highness.” Lady Arin’s hands paused at Kira’s shoulders. Kira met her gaze in the mirror. Something unspoken passed between them. “Very well,” Kira said quietly. The walk through the palace felt longer than it ever had before. Gold arches curved overhead. Tapestries depicting Moonland’s victories fluttered softly with passing air. Every servant bowed as she passed. Future queen, they whispered behind their eyes. Future alliance, future solution. She reached the antechamber doors. Two guards opened them. Inside, sunlight spilled across polished marble. Her father, King Japha stood near the window, hands clasped behind his back. He did not turn when she entered. “Kira,” he said gently. She stopped three steps inside the room. “Yes, father” He turned then. King Japha looked exactly as history had painted him—tall, composed, silver threaded into his dark hair like deliberate ornament. The king who had united fractured provinces. Her father, the king who had rewritten treaties. The king who never lost his voice when a room challenged him. But today, something in his eyes was… unsettled. “You look beautiful,” he said. “Thank you, father.” Silence stretched. He gestured for her to come closer. She did. “Kira,” he said slowly, “what do you know of Prince Kay?” She hesitated. “That he is Bayland’s second royal son. That he was educated in three courts. That he is… suitable.” A faint smile ghosted across his lips. “And?” She searched his face. “And that this engagement will strengthen peace.” Her father studied her carefully. “That is not what I asked.” Kira felt something tighten in her chest. “I know nothing else.” Another silence. This one was heavier. King Japha turned back toward the window. “There are… certain complexities surrounding Bayland at present that necessitates a marriage alliance.” Her heartbeat stumbled. “Complexities?” He nodded once. “Nothing you need concern yourself with tonight.” Tonight. That word again. Kira swallowed. “Father,” she said carefully, “am I in danger?” He turned sharply. “No.” Too quickly. She saw it. The hesitation. The crack. She took a breath. “Father!.” He closed his eyes briefly. “You will be safe,” he said quietly. She almost believed him. Almost. Then he said the sentence that twisted the room inside out. “After tonight, you may need to leave the palace for a short time.” Kira stared at him. “Leave…?” “For your protection,” he said. Her heart dropped. “Protection from what?” He looked at her for a long, silent moment. Then he said— “From the consequences of being valuable.” The words sank like cold water into her lungs. Before she could ask more, the ceremonial horns sounded faintly through the walls. The ceremony was beginning. “Kira,” King Japha said gently, stepping closer. “Whatever happens tonight, remember—you are loved.” She smiled automatically. “Yes, Father.” But as she turned toward the door, a dangerous, unwanted thought whispered through her mind. If I am being sent away… Then I know exactly where I will be sent. And for the first time that day— Kira felt something dangerously close to relief. Maybe, just maybe, leaving might be what she needs.