Chapter 1 The Engagement Banquet
The music came to an abrupt halt the moment Lyra smiled. It wasn't due to any mistake made by the musicians, but rather because the entire room had turned to admire the striking woman clad in shimmering silver—her.
Tomorrow, she would step into a new life as Lady Rowan Ragnar, a title she had long awaited. Tonight was filled with the promise of joy and celebration, set against the backdrop of a grand ballroom where crystal chandeliers cast soft moonlight across the polished marble floor. Nobles in exquisite attire lifted their jewelled glasses, their laughter and chatter mingling like a symphony of anticipation.
As Lyra stood at the centre of it all, Rowan crossed the ballroom toward her with a commanding presence. Tall and handsome, he was the embodiment of every girl's dream, the perfect Hero Commander that the kingdom had imagined for ages. When he reached her, he took her hand and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of it, sending a ripple of warmth through her.
"You look beautiful," he said, his voice smooth and sincere.
"I've waited years to hear you say that," she replied, her heart fluttering at his words.
He smiled back, but Lyra noticed a flicker of distance in his eyes, a shadow that seemed to linger despite the brightness of his expression. Shaking off the strange unease that settled in her chest, she thought perhaps he was just as nervous as she was; after all, they were both on the cusp of an enormous change.
In that moment, her best friend Celeste rushed over, her laughter ringing like a bell amidst the elegant chaos of the ballroom. "My future sister! Come here!" she exclaimed, enveloping Lyra in a warm embrace that felt like home.
"You'll be the most beautiful bride the kingdom has ever seen," Celeste added with a bright smile.
"You've said that five times already," Lyra chuckled, her heart lifting.
"I'll say it fifty times if I have to!" Celeste replied, laughter sparkling in her eyes as they shared that beautiful moment.
In the warmth of their friendship, the tightness in Lyra's chest disappeared, replaced by a sense of gratitude. She felt fortunate to have such a perfect fiancé, an amazing best friend, and the prospect of a future filled with happiness. Little did she know, all three of those cherished elements would vanish before the clock struck midnight, shattering her dreams in an instant.
Lyra checked the ballroom for the third time. Rowan was gone, just now when they were supposed to dance.
At first, she smiled to herself. He was probably making arrangements for tomorrow's ceremony or escaping another conversation with the overly enthusiastic nobles.
But as the music drifted through the palace, an uneasy feeling settled in her chest.
"Have you seen Lord Rowan?" she asked a passing servant.
The servant hesitated."I believe he went toward the conservatory, my lady."
The conservatory? Rowan hated flowers.
Her steps quickened as she crossed the moonlit courtyard. The laughter from the banquet faded behind her, replaced by the whisper of the night breeze. Glass walls shimmered ahead, the royal greenhouse glowing faintly beneath the full moon.
Just as she reached the door, voices stopped her.
A man's voice. Low. Heavy with guilt. - "I can't keep lying to her."
Her heart stumbled. Rowan.
Then another voice emerged from the shadows, soft yet hauntingly familiar, laced with an impossibly cruel edge. "You've already chosen me." The name sent a chill down Lyra's spine—Celeste! Her heart raced as she felt the weight of those words. Instinctively, her hand froze mid-motion on the cold, brass handle, as if the mere act of opening the door would seal her fate. The air around her thickened with tension, and she could almost hear the echoes of her past choices reverberating in her mind.
Celeste leaned in closer, her voice barely above a whisper. "No one has to know," she said, her eyes darting around the dimly lit room, ensuring they were alone. "After tomorrow, she will stop asking questions."
The air between them thickened, filled with unspoken tension. Silence enveloped them, punctuated only by the sound of a single heartbeat that seemed to echo in the stillness.
And then, as if drawn together by an invisible force, their lips met softly, a gentle brush that ignited a spark between them, sealing their unvoiced secrets in that fleeting moment.
The world seemed to hold its breath.
"No..." Lyra whispered. - Her fingers trembled as she pushed against the locked door. It refused to move.
She took a cautious step back, trying to push aside the sharp sting radiating from her leg. Drawing on memories of her childhood, she made her way to the familiar side entrance, a spot she had frequented countless times in the past. As she reached for the door, it yielded to her touch, swinging open with a soft, nostalgic creak that echoed through the quiet hallway, reminding her of a time long gone.
Warm, fragrant air wrapped around her. Rows of white roses glowed beneath the moonlight filtering through the glass ceiling.
At the centre of the greenhouse stood Rowan.
One arm was wrapped around Celeste's waist.
The other gently brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.
He looked at Celeste the way Lyra had dreamed he would one day look at his bride. As if she were the only woman in the world.
Lyra's gaze dropped. A silver necklace rested against Celeste's throat. Her breath caught.
It was the engagement gift Lyra had spent months commissioning,the moonstone pendant she had chosen because Celeste once told her it looked like captured starlight.
She had trusted her best friend to keep it safe until the wedding. Instead... Celeste was wearing it.
Rowan leaned down and kissed her again.
Long… Tender… Unhurried. Lyra couldn't help but let out a faint smile while watching Rowan and Celeste that echoed through the greenhouse. Rowan stiffened. Slowly, he turned. His eyes met hers.
The colour drained from his face. "Lyra…"
No apology came. No explanation. Only silence.
In that single moment, the future she had spent years believing in crumbled to dust.
And somewhere beyond the glass walls, beneath the silver light of the full moon, something ancient stirred awake.
