Elenora stood before the tall mirror in her chambers and brushed a stubborn strand of hair from her face. Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, making her golden hair shimmer like liquid light. She studied her reflection critically. Small, delicate, with a slender frame—she looked nothing like a daughter of House Blackthorne.
The rest of the royal family bore dark, heavy hair, the prominent profile, and the proud, upright posture that had marked their lineage for generations. Only her eyes—those striking green eyes—proved she was truly her father's child. A small inheritance, yet one that comforted her when she felt like a stranger among her kin.
Her thoughts drifted to her brother. Prince Elrond—her pride, though shadowed by doubt. Only weeks ago he had been chosen, called by a dragon. Not a mighty, fearsome creature as sung of in bardic tales, but a young, slender, red dragon whose scales gleamed like rubies in the light. Far too young to be sent to war or to bear a rider. Years would pass before Elrond could train him, let alone fight by his side.
And yet—better a dragon than none at all. No one knew how many still slumbered in the Dragon Grotto beneath the castle. Some claimed only a few remained. Others whispered the grotto was already empty and that the final calls would soon fade forever.
Elenora placed her hand against the cold glass of the mirror. What if she was never called? What if her differences marked her as unworthy in the eyes of the dragons?
The heavy double doors to her chamber burst open without a knock. Serafina swept inside, her black hair perfectly arranged, her narrow lips curved into a superior smile.
"Ah, there you are," she said mockingly, her gaze sliding over Elenora. "Still standing before the mirror? As if it would make a difference."
Elenora froze but said nothing. Serafina stepped closer, her high heels clicking on the stone floor. "You should be grateful Father hasn't summoned you to tonight's banquet. It would only be embarrassing to see you among kings, nobles, and emissaries. Not to mention my betrothed."
At the mention of him, a flicker of unease crossed Serafina's eyes, but she masked it instantly. "A future king deserves a bride of stature, not…" She let the words trail off, her gaze sweeping Elenora from head to toe with disdain.
When the door closed behind her sister, silence filled the chamber once more. Elenora lowered her gaze to the floor, her fists unclenching slowly. She wished she could feel anger—but instead there was only a hollow ache in her chest. How desperately she longed to stand among the glittering hall tonight, to hear the music, to see the visiting kings and nobles, to catch even a glimpse of Serafina's mysterious fiancé.
But she would not be there. She would remain behind the walls of her chamber, unseen, unheard. A shadow where others shone in the light.
And the thought made her heart ache all the more.