As Havynlee stood in the heart of the ballroom, it felt like the entire kingdom was circling around her.
Princes, dukes, noblemen from faraway lands lined up to dance with her. One after another, they twirled her across the marble floor, eyes filled with awe, lips full of praise. She smiled, curtsied, played her part like she had been trained since birth.
But she was exhausted.
The corset dug deep into her ribs, her feet ached in her heeled slippers, and the constant weight of being watched, adored, expected - it suffocated her.
If there was one thing Havynlee would change about herself, it was this - being a princess.
All her life she had been dressed like a doll, wrapped in silks and jewels, told where to go, what to say, who to be with. She could barely leave the palace without a trail of guards and maids behind her like a shadow she hadn't chosen.
So when the next Duke extended his hand, she gave a polite curtsy and murmured, "forgive me, my lord, I need a moment."
And she slipped away into the crowd.
But she didn't get far.
She bumped into someone - broad, warm, solid.
"Oh -!" Havynlee gasped, stumbling a step back. Her eyes lifted instinctively.
And froze.
The young man before her stood tall, dressed in regal navy and silver, the crest of Adverland embroidered near his shoulder. His hair, a soft chestnut brown, gleamed beneath the golden lights. Blue eyes - clear, steady, and startlingly gentle - met hers. There was no smugness, no arrogance, only quiet composure.
For a moment, the noise of the ballroom fell away.
"I…forgive me, sir," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
The corner of his lips lifted in a small smile. "Morven," he said simply, his voice rich and smooth without effort. "Prince Morven of Adverland."
Her breath caught. The prince Morven. The same one Ivy would not stop dreaming about. The warrior prince. The one who fought like fire and was courted by queens.
Her sister had spent months gushing about the crown prince. How he was a fearless warrior, a skilled horseman, the most eligible bachelor in all the neighboring kingdoms.
But as Havynlee looked at him now, she blinked.
This was unexpected…..
He was undeniably handsome, but not in a binding, commanding way she had imagined. There was an innocence to his beauty - boyish even - with tousled blonde hair and clear blue eyes that held no arrogance.
His presence was noble, but soft. Gentle. Almost too gentle for someone rumored to have faces entire battalions without flinching.
"The crown prince," she said softly, more to herself than to him. "I've…..heard so much about you."
He smiled lightly, dipping his head. "And you must be princess Havynlee."
That caught her off guard. "You know me?"
"Everyone does," he replied simply. "Even if they pretend not to." He murmured, his blue eyes wide, as if trying to memorize her face. "They said you were beautiful…..but I didn't know you were this…..ethereal. A work of art sculpted to perfection."
His voice held no jest. Only reverence.
He took her hand and pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles. Her cheeks flushed with color, and she gave a shy smile.
"May I have this dance, milady?"
Havynlee hesitated - just for a moment- before nodding and placing her hand in his. Something about him made her heart skip, even if she wasn't sure why.
From across the ballroom, a storm was brewing.
Princess Ivy stood at the edge of the floor, her fists clenched so tightly her gloves nearly tore. Her gaze was fixed on the pair- on him. Her Morven. At least, she thought he was.
After all, she was the one who always attended the royal balls, charming noblemen and chasing titles. She was the one who had met Morven first, flirted with him, set her sight on him.
And now ?
He was dancing with her step sister.
It was enough to make Ivy burn with hatred so sharp, it nearly drowned her.
.....
The final notes of music had faded, leaving only the faint hum of strings echoing through the marble halls. Courtiers whispered goodbyes with wine-slicked smiles, their silks sweeping across the ballroom floor. The king's birthday celebration had ended in grand applause, but within Ivy's chest something bitter brewed - far from celebratory.
She didn't wait for the closing toasts or the flattery that usually bloomed around her like perfume. Instead, she stormed out, her heels clicking down the corridors like daggers drawn. Her fist clenched the fabric of her dress, jaw set with fury.
When the door to her chambers slammed shut, it rattled the scones.
Then silence for half a second. And then - an explosion.
Vases shattered against the walls. Glided hairpins and a crystal mirror clattered to the ground. Ivy's breath came in heaving gasps, her eyes wild. Her screams piercing the room, high and ragged, like something primal had finally torn loose from her throat.
"Why her? Why always her?" She spat, sweeping her arms across her vanity. Powders and perfumes flew like snow. Glass shattered, Books toppled.
A terrified maid, startled by the noise, pecked in only to be met with wild, tear-glossed eyes.
"Princess ?"
Ivy stood there, chest heaving, eyes blazing. "Don't you dare look at me like that!"
The girl froze, then yelped as Ivy lunged, grabbing her wrist in a bruising grip. The maid nearly tripped trying to escape.
"Don't you ever barge in without knocking again, do you hear me?"
The maid whimpered, nodding furiously, eyes wide with tears.
"Get out!" Ivy snapped, releasing the maid. "Get out before I tear your tongue out for looking at me!"
The maid fled without looking back, sobbing.
"How dare she dance with him….." she hissed through gritted teeth. "That lowborn girl. That bastard."
She grabbed a pillow and hurled it across the room. "That little wretch," she seethed, pacing. "How dare she steal the spotlight again." Her hands trembled as she reached for a candlestick.
Then came the voice - cold, controlled, but thunderous in presence.
"Ivy."
Queen iridessa stepped into the chaos like blade drawn in silence. Her figure commanded the space before a single word left her lips. She was tall, poised, and unmistakably regal - the sort of woman whose beauty wasn't loud but unnervingly precise. Long waves of golden blonde hair cascaded to her waist. Her face was smooth, pale, and perfectly still - not warm, but sharp. Brown eyes, almond-shaped and shadowed with judgement, bore down on Ivy without a blink. Her brows arched with an effortless authority, and her expression was unreadable- beautiful, yes, but in the way of carved marble : cold and immovable.
There was no mistaking the resemblance. Ivy had inherited the same bone structure, the same honey -blonde hair though hers was shorter, brushing just past her shoulders. Yet beside her mother, Ivy looked softened, almost girlish - not nearly as composed, not nearly as dangerous.
"What in the heavens name are you doing ? Have you completely lost your mind?"
The silence that followed was heavier than the chaos.
"She embarrassed me!" Ivy spat, tears of rage in her eyes. "Havynlee danced with him! The prince was meant for me!"
Queen Iridessa's expression darkened. "And you think destroying your room like a lunatic will undo that?"
"She stole him from me!" Ivy shrieked. "She's a maid's daughter. She doesn't belong in our world!"
The queen's voice dropped to a low warning tone. "Do not speak of her that way. Not here. Not when others might hear."
"But she…!"
"Enough!" Her mother's tone snapped like a whip. She strode towards her daughter and took her firmly by the shoulders.
"Listen to me, Ivy. I have a plan. You will marry the prince - I'll make sure of it. You will be queen, just as you deserve."
The coldness in her eyes twisted into something cruel, calculated.
"The same way I cast out her wretched mother from the palace...I will do the same to that stupid little girl."
Iridessa smirked, smoothing back Ivy's hair before guiding her to sit on the bed.
"Havynlee will regret ever being born."
Ivy blinked, startled by the visciousness in her mother's voice.
"Mother..."
"Hush now," Iridessa said with a brittle smile. "Don't worry, my darling. You will get everything you were meant to have. Your mother is here. And your mother has never lost a battle."
She leaned close, her voice dropping to a hiss. "We've tried everything to rid this palace of her. Yet she still remains. Always slipping through our fingers like fog. But I'm done playing gentle.
Ivy stiffened. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying….." Iridessa's voice was calm - too calm. "Why not kill her? Why not end this, once and for all ? I'm tired of her face, that cursed resemblance to the woman who tried to steal my husband. Her mother was a thief. And so is she."
A breath passed between them - heavy, dangerous.
"She dies Ivy. Or we do."