Elara had just finished sweeping the marble steps that led toward the moon garden when she heard the crunch of boots behind her. She stiffened but did not turn around. It wasn't fear—at least, not entirely. It was the awareness that something important was about to happen. That same strange pressure bloomed in her chest, the way it always did when fate was about to shift.
"Why are you always lurking where you're not supposed to be?"
The voice behind her was sharp, unwelcoming, and low, like a blade sliding out of its sheath. She turned slowly and met the eyes of Prince Han'Yoon.
He stood there in full daylight—tall, proud, dressed in dark silk robes with silver embroidery curling along his collar. His presence was regal and cold, like a winter sunrise. But what caught her breath wasn't his status or his striking appearance. It was his eyes.
They were almost identical to hers.
Grey. Like ash.
Like mist.
She bowed quickly, masking her sudden unease. "I'm not lurking, Your Highness. I was just… cleaning."
He stepped closer, his arms folded. "No servant lingers near the Moon Garden unless they have reason."
"I didn't know it was restricted," she lied.
His eyes narrowed. "You're lying."
Elara kept her head bowed, her pulse quickening. "I'm sorry."
For a moment, he said nothing. Then his voice dropped lower, laced with something other than disdain. Curiosity, maybe. "Where are you from?"
Elara hesitated. "A small village. I don't remember its name. I was orphaned young."
That was close enough to the truth.
The prince tilted his head. "And yet you speak as if you've been educated. You walk like someone raised in the inner courts. And your eyes—"
He stepped even closer, and she finally looked up. His gaze pierced her.
"Your eyes are not common. They are the color of ash after sacred fire. Do you know what that means?"
She shook her head slowly, heart thudding. "No, Your Highness."
"Only one family once had such eyes," he said softly. "The Sylara. The line that vanished when the forest died. Or so we thought."
Elara felt the ground tilt beneath her feet. Did he know? No—he couldn't. But he suspected. She had to say something.
"It must be coincidence."
Prince Han'Yoon gave a short, dry laugh. "I do not believe in coincidence, girl. Not in this palace."
He turned, staring out at the white blossoms of the Moon Garden.
"There are things at play here that even I do not fully understand," he said. "But I watch. I listen. And I know when something doesn't belong."
Elara's fists tightened at her sides. "Then perhaps I don't belong."
He turned back to her, and to her surprise, his expression had softened. Only slightly—but it was enough to unravel her defenses a little.
"Perhaps not," he said. "But neither do I."
She blinked. "What?"
He stepped past her, slowly walking along the edge of the garden path. "I'm a prince without a throne. A warrior in a kingdom that worships stillness. My sisters hate me, though they smile. My father fears me, though he praises me. I'm watched every moment, yet I've never been truly seen."
He stopped, glancing back at her. "Until now."
The silence stretched between them.
Elara's voice was barely above a whisper. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you're not who you pretend to be. And yet… neither am I."
He reached into the sleeve of his robe and pulled something out—a tiny folded cloth. He handed it to her.
Elara accepted it slowly, unfolding it. Inside was a pressed flower. Golden and crimson, edges dark as flame.
Cheonhwa.
She looked up in shock.
"You dropped it in the corridor two nights ago," he said. "It burned my fingers when I picked it up. But I kept it."
She stared at him. "Why?"
"Because I wanted to see what would happen if I gave it back to you."
Elara held the flower gently. It was cool now. Silent. But it pulsed faintly in her palm, like a heartbeat.
"I don't know what this is," she lied again.
"Yes," the prince said softly. "You do."
They stood there a while, neither speaking. The clouds shifted, casting long shadows across the path.
At last, Elara broke the silence. "Will you tell the king?"
Prince Han'Yoon studied her. "Not yet. Perhaps never."
"Why?"
He paused. "Because if you are who I think you are… then we are on the same side."
Elara blinked. "Side?"
"The side that wants to see this kingdom survive. The side that sees what my father is becoming. What he already is."
Her breath caught. "You don't trust him."
"I trust no one," the prince replied. "But I might, someday, trust you."
He turned to leave, then stopped. "You should be careful, Elara. My sisters are watching. And so is the flower."
Elara's voice trembled. "Do you believe in the curse?"
Prince Han'Yoon's face darkened. "I believe in consequences."
He walked away then, leaving her alone with the echo of his words and the faint shimmer of the Cheonhwa flower in her palm.
Elara stood there, her thoughts spinning like leaves in a storm.
He knew.
Not everything. But enough.
Enough to change everything.
And yet… he hadn't turned her in. He'd warned her. He'd seen her.
For the first time since arriving in this world, Elara felt less alone. But also, more exposed than ever.
She tucked the flower into the fold of her sleeve, breathing deep. Her path had just narrowed—and sharpened.
Trust was a weapon in this palace. And she'd just been handed a blade.