The sun had not yet kissed the marble terraces of Vayrana, but already the royal palace stirred with a quiet, joyful rhythm. The scent of blooming saffron blossoms floated on the early breeze, weaving through corridors of white sandstone, mingling with the soft murmur of temple chants in the distance. In the inner courtyard, carved fountains whispered like old friends, and birds flitted through trellises thick with jasmine and wild blue hibiscus.
Today was no ordinary day in Vayrana. It was Princess Serenya Vaelith's eighteenth birthday — the day she would be formally betrothed, as decreed by centuries of tradition.
In the Kingdom of Vayrana, it was custom for daughters of the royal line to be officially promised at eighteen and wed at twenty-two. The years in between were considered the Years of Blossom — a sacred period where young noblewomen were taught the ways of rulership, charity, and grace. It was also, secretly, a time where they were allowed to dream.
Within the princesses' private wing, laughter and quiet chatter echoed like wind chimes through high-arched halls. Serenya stood in the center of her chamber, her long veil trailing behind her like mist, stitched with pearl-thread lotus vines that shimmered in the soft light. The veil, like all of Vayrana's royal daughters', fell from the bridge of her nose down to her collarbone, leaving her luminous blue eyes visible — wide, curious, the color of honey warmed by firelight.
She was dressed in a flowing robe of rose-gold and ivory, embroidered with tiny moonstones that danced with every movement. Thin golden bangles adorned her wrists, clinking musically with every turn. Her bare feet moved silently over marble warmed by the morning sun.
"You look like a temple goddess," came a teasing voice.
Princess Thirena, third-born and Serenya's closest sibling in age and spirit, leaned lazily against the doorway, arms crossed over her embroidered indigo tunic. Her own veil was sheer and dyed in the soft hues of the sky at dusk. Where Serenya's steps were like feathers, Thirena moved with the self-assurance of a storm.
"And you," Serenya replied with a grin beneath her veil, "look like a rogue who snuck into the queen's wardrobe again."
"What can I say? I steal from the best." Thirena stepped inside and plucked a fruit from the breakfast tray. "You ready to become someone's betrothed, little dove?"
Serenya wrinkled her nose playfully. "If I say no, will the stars stop moving?"
"Not a chance," chimed in Princess Naerya, the second sister, entering with her usual grace, a small scroll in hand. Her veil was silk-thin and book-dusted, her mind always lost in words and wisdom. "The prince arrives at the noon bell. You know Mother will expect perfection."
Serenya's smile faltered slightly.
"She means well," Thirena said quickly. "Even if she inspects our posture like we're marble statues."
Their mother, Queen Ishara, was not cold, but she was precise. She had been raised in the court of scholars and warriors, taught to master emotions before they mastered her. She loved fiercely but quietly, a love that came in the form of perfection demanded, not praises showered.
Elarynth, the eldest sister and already bethroted, had inherited her mother's discipline. She was a little too full of herself.
It was she who entered next, her veil adorned with tiny sapphires, her every movement regal and exact.
"Serenya," she said softly but firmly, inspecting her youngest sister. "You've let your bangles shift too low. Fix them. And Thirena, how many times must I remind you to not enter Serenya's chamber without proper announcement?"
Thirena rolled her eyes. "And a good morning to you too, your Grace."
Elarynth gave her a long, unreadable look before turning back to Serenya. "This is your day, sister. Let no one say you brought shame to our house."
Naerya moved to Serenya's side and adjusted the veil with gentle fingers. "Don't mind her. She just wants everything to go well."
"So, it's just me and Thirena left now," Serenya said, her tone wistful.
"I intend to escape it all and live in the forest," Thirena said dramatically. "Eat mangoes, fight wolves, and never be betrothed."
"Wolves would die of confusion," Naerya murmured, smiling.
Serenya giggled. The warmth of her sisters was a comfort, even under the veil of expectations. She turned to the mirror, studying her own reflection.
"Do you think... he will like me?"
Thirena tilted her head. "Kael? He'd be a fool not to. You write to each other like poets trapped in moonlight."
"He has kind eyes," Serenya admitted. "He writes me poetry."
"Then let your heart be light," Naerya said gently. "Today is for beginnings."
A soft knock at the chamber doors made them all straighten.
A servant bowed low and whispered, "Her Majesty requests the presence of her daughters in the Garden Pavilion."
---
The Garden Pavilion was a domed sanctuary of marble and carved gold, nestled amidst lotus ponds and trailing vines. There, beneath a flowering rain tree, Queen Ishara stood in her ceremonial robe, her figure tall and commanding, her gaze sharp even behind the silk of her veil.
The princesses bowed low.
"Rise," she said, her voice like still water. "Serenya, come forward."
Serenya did so, her heart fluttering.
Her mother took her hands. "You are a daughter of Vayrana. That means duty. But it also means power. Do you understand?"
Serenya nodded. "Yes, Mother."
Ishara's grip softened, just slightly. "Do not forget who you are. And never allow yourself to be made smaller than your worth. You are your father's light."
Serenya glanced up. "And yours?"
The queen paused. "You are all mine. Even when I do not say it."
The air was still as the bells began to chime from the main hall.
The procession would begin soon. The prince would arrive. The nobles would gather.
But for now, Serenya stood as she was: a daughter, a sister, a girl on the cusp of a future shaped by tradition, yet filled with her own dreams.
And the world would watch.