Jahzara slipped out through the gilded side doors of the ballroom, her heels clicking against marble as she escaped the flood of music, voices, and careful glances. The royal birthday party was in full swing behind her, but she had no desire to continue being paraded or praised for reasons she couldn't quite trust.
The palace garden welcomed her with silence and moonlight.
It was vast—lined with white roses, climbing ivy, and stone archways carved with the history of the Volemont dynasty. The path glittered faintly beneath her steps, dew-kissed and bathed in silver. Jahzara lifted her eyes to the sky, and the stars gazed back—brilliant and ancient, scattered like sequins across a velvet black canvas.
She took a deep breath.
Out here… I can breathe.
Her afro, a bold crown of dark coils, shimmered slightly in the moonlight. The cool breeze danced through it, through the silk of her dress, and over her skin. Her eyes—wide, almond-shaped, rich like burnt honey—reflected the starlight as she wandered deeper into the garden.
Alone. Finally.
She rounded a trimmed hedge and paused, hearing a quiet laugh ahead.
A man leaned casually against a tree, half in shadow, tossing a small coin between his fingers. His suit was well-fitted but not formal, and his face was striking—sharp cheekbones, soft pink lips, a jaw that looked carved from something noble. His dark curls framed his face messily, and when he looked up, his eyes like ice catching fire.
"Didn't think anyone else would run from the palace," he said.
Jahzara froze for a moment, then smiled faintly. "Parties aren't always my scene."
He nodded in agreement. "Me neither. Too much talking. Not enough meaning."
She walked slowly toward him, curiosity flickering in her chest. "Are you one of the foreign guests?"
He shrugged, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. "Something like that. Name's Lucas"
"Jahzara," she said.
"Beautiful name," he replied. "Is it African?"
She nodded. "Nigerian. It means 'blessed princess' in Swahili, but my dad probably picked it to sound expensive."
Lucas laughed, warm and easy. "It does sound royal."
"Ironic," she said dryly. "Because I've never felt like one."
They began walking slowly along the cobblestone path winding through the garden. It was quiet here, save for the occasional echo of laughter from the palace. Jahzara breathed deeply, the scent of roses, earth, and night air wrapping around her.
"I didn't expect to talk to anyone tonight," she said.
"Me neither. I was trying to disappear for a bit."
She glanced at him. "Disappear from what?"
He hesitated, then said, "Expectations. Obligations. People who think they know who I'm supposed to be."
"That sounds familiar," she murmured.
"Oldest child?"
She nodded. "Firstborn. Only daughter. Which basically means I have no one to talk to and no one who really listens. I'm the accessory child in my family. My brothers get the spotlight, my father gets the legacy, and I… exist."
Lucas studied her quietly. "That's harsh."
She shrugged. "It's reality. Being born with a silver spoon doesn't mean you get fed."
He stopped walking, turning to face her beneath the faint glow of the garden lanterns. "That's deep."
She looked up at him, meeting his eyes for the first time. Blue. Not just light blue—but piercing, glacier-cut, the kind of blue that held secrets.
She found herself saying things she'd never told anyone. "At home, I'm… an outsider. I can't be loud because then I'm difficult. I can't be too quiet or I'm weak. I can't win. I tried for years to be seen. But all I ever got was a pat on the head or a reminder to smile more."
He was quiet for a while. Then: "You just described my life too."
Her brows lifted slightly.
"I was born into a role I didn't choose," he continued. "They trained me from the moment I could walk. Smile at strangers. Memorize speeches. Be perfect, but don't be human. And the older I got, the more I realized—I'm not supposed to feel. Just function."
Jahzara studied him, sensing something under the surface. "You talk like you're wearing a mask."
"Maybe I am," he said. "But tonight, I took it off."
"And what's under it?"
He smiled gently. "Just a guy who needed fresh air… and found a girl with fire in her eyes."
Her cheeks warmed. She looked away quickly, pretending to adjust her dress. "I don't usually talk this much."
"I'm glad you did," Lucas said. "You're… different. Real."
Jahzara laughed. "That's what people say when they don't know what to call you."
"No," he said seriously. "It's what I say when someone's presence actually matters. You don't just fill space. You change it."
For a moment, time stopped. The stars above blinked slowly, the trees whispered, and something unspoken passed between them. Not love. Not yet. But recognition. A soul calling out to another.
She looked at him again. His curls were a little messy from the wind, and a soft shadow dusted his jaw. There was something both princely and wild about him. And yet… he looked more like her than anyone she knew.
A voice called in the distance—her mother, again.
She sighed. "That's my cue."
Lucas didn't move. "Can I see you again?"
Jahzara hesitated. "I don't even know who you really are."
He grinned. "Then maybe next time, you can figure it out."
She gave a small smile. "Maybe."
"Maybe," he repeated, stepping back.
As she turned and walked away, she could feel his eyes on her. Not undressing her like so many had before, but watching her like she was something rare. Worth understanding.
She didn't look back.
But in her chest, something had shifted.