Chapter 3: Whose Quinceañera??
The sleek black car came to a gentle stop beside a narrow service entrance of the palace. Zory stepped out, heels clicking softly against the polished stone. Her eyes widened immediately, soaking in the sight of Eltador Palace in all its impossible glory. It looked exactly like the fairytale castles people posted on postcards—except bigger. Real.
She tugged her dress lightly as if afraid to wrinkle it. It was champagne-pink, flowing in soft layers of tulle that shimmered as she walked. Tiny pearls lined the neckline like dew. Her red curls fell in soft waves over her shoulders, and her freckles peeked through a light touch of powder. She had never looked this dressed up in her life.
The scent of roses and something richer—jasmine, maybe—hung in the air.
She followed the side path into the Grand Hall.
It was... enormous. Intimidating.
Crystal chandeliers glittered above, their reflections dancing off the white marble floor. Gold trim laced the tall windows, and velvety floral arrangements in deep reds and royal blues filled every corner. A soft symphony played in the background. Nobles glided across the floor in gowns and suits, every movement polished, every voice dipped in elegance.
Zory stood off to the side, silent and stunned.
She had entered through a service corridor, but she wanted a better view—needed one. She gently pushed her way forward, slipping between furs, feathers, and silk, eyes wide. These were the kingdom's elites. This was the life her grandmother wanted for her.
And at the center of it all: the Royal Family.
Queen Reina Isabel stood near the base of the grand staircase, her posture tall and commanding. Her gown was deep emerald green, her crown a thin ring of diamonds, her gaze fixed upward. Beside her stood King Alonso, in a sharp black suit and ceremonial sash, one hand resting on his cane as he surveyed the crowd.
Everyone waited. The music shifted.
Then the Princess appeared.
Princess Daniella descended the staircase like she had been born to glide. Her royal blue gown shimmered with silver embroidery, the train cascading behind her like liquid moonlight. A white-gold crown rested just behind her flawless waves of golden hair, and her gloves reached past her elbows. Her chin stayed high, posture perfect, steps confident.
Zory stared—not out of love, but out of awe. The kind of envy you do not speak aloud. Every inch of the princess radiated power, poise, royalty. She wasn't just wearing a dress. She was the moment.
Zory pressed forward slightly, narrowing her eyes. The twins—Daniella and Daniel—were famously identical. But somehow, seeing the princess in real life brought that to another level. They really did look alike. Almost uncannily so. If not for the dress, you could confuse them.
More cheering. More petals in the air.
Then, a beat passed—and the orchestra swelled again.
"Now welcoming the Prince of Eltador… Prince Daniel!"
The grand doors opened, and in stepped the prince.
He wore a deep navy suit lined with golden embroidery, shoulders squared, each step calm and composed. His golden-blond hair had been pulled into a sleek ponytail, and his expression was sharp but unreadable—like a chess player waiting for the next move. The crowd clapped, girls swooned. Zory leaned forward, studying him.
He was beautiful in the way royalty was always beautiful—refined, unreachable.
She didn't think much of it at first. Until he got closer.
His eyes scanned the crowd, bored at first—then alert. Then they found her.
Zory blinked.
There was something there. In those eyes.
Something familiar.
She inhaled, lips parting slightly. Those eyes...
Her heart stuttered. Wait—wait.
She knew those eyes.
That ponytail. That tone. That stare.
It was them.
The same person from earlier that day at the shop.
She stared, stunned. They were him.
Their eyes met and froze—like their pupils knew each other before their minds did.
And just like that, everything got a whole lot more interesting.