I woke up to the sound of my door being knocked on, followed by my father's cheerful voice. When I opened my eyes, he was already standing by my bed, saying, "Good morning, my princess. Happy birthday," holding balloons in his hands and a cake topped with as many candles as my age. Lighting all twenty-one candles and bringing them without letting a single one go out must have taken quite some effort.
I plastered a wide smile across my face, jumped out of bed, blew out the candles in a single breath, and planted a loud kiss on my father's cheek. I had to share in his exaggerated excitement and joy as much as I could—after all, it was my birthday. I didn't want to make him uneasy by letting him feel how the dark dreams I had been seeing for years continued to disturb my sleep.
I sent my father out of my room, telling him that I would take a quick shower and get ready.
My nanny had already decided what I was going to wear and was waiting for me in my dressing room. In her hands, she held a midi-length dress long enough to leave my wrists exposed, along with pearly white high heels. The dress was white; its layered tulle skirt was light and flowing, and it was adorned with tiny pink flowers from the bodice all the way down to the hem. Without objecting to her choice, I let her dress me. After drying my hair, she gave my dark chestnut, wavy hair its usual soft volume by gathering it from the sides into a slightly messy braid joined at the back. Then she carefully placed a delicate, flower-shaped tiara made of small pink stones onto my hair.
This tiara, as with every birthday, was the first gift I received from my father. For months, he would work on it in silence, never allowing himself to be seen while doing so. My father was a jewelry designer, renowned worldwide, and the pieces he created fetched breathtaking sums at auctions. Despite all that fame and the relentless work that earned it, he always made time for me, crafting a tiara for me every year since the day I was born.
Once my nanny finished working on me, I took a brief look at myself in the mirror. I didn't look bad. I was dressed to fit my father's image of a sweet, innocent princess, yet a few remnants of last night's nightmares had left dark circles beneath my eyes. With a quick touch of light makeup, I covered every trace and pulled myself together. I was ready for the stage.
All these preparations were for the guests who had already begun to arrive for my birthday party, gathering one by one around the cocktail tables in our garden, decorated with pink tulle draped over white tablecloths in keeping with the party's theme.
These birthday parties had been going on for as long as I could remember. But this year was different. This year, I would be formally introduced to society, brought together with young people of marriageable age, and given the chance to meet potential suitors. I—my father's little princess—had finally reached the age to become the queen of my own household, and I had been preparing for this moment for years.
Despite all the preparations, a faint unease lingered within me. I knew what to do, how to stand, when to speak. Yet it did not make it feel more real. Amid the laughter drifting through the garden, I wondered whether this moment belonged to me or was being lived for others. Tonight, I would be seen and remembered. Without my noticing, my future was already beginning to take shape.
Everyone was so prepared for this moment and found it so natural, as if choosing the person I would spend my life with were as easy as picking an apple at a greengrocer's. As if emotions didn't matter at all, and the alliance marriage I was expected to make before taking over my father's empire were as ordinary as breathing…
Even though I held endless love and respect for my father, and even though every moment of my life up to this age had been shaped by an education designed to follow in his footsteps, I could not suppress the unease within me. Still, fear was of no use against fate. I could no longer keep the guests waiting.
I descended the stairs slowly. With every step, it felt as though another pound of weight was being tied to my feet, making my steps heavier and heavier, yet I had to complete this path. I could not disappoint my father.
When I finally reached the bottom of the stairs, my father extended his arm for me to take, and together we walked toward the stage.
At last, he took the microphone to give the speech it was clear he had been planning for a long time.
"Dear friends, my precious daughter, my princess, has finally reached the maturity to fly on her own wings. Today is her twenty-first birthday. For twenty-one beautiful years, she has brought light into my life. She helped me grow, inspired my designs. If I am able to create such fine works today, it is all thanks to my beautiful daughter, Alara.
My beautiful girl, my Aly—thank you for coming into my life. I hope I have been a good father to you."
I slipped my arm into his and gave it a gentle squeeze, then whispered in a voice meant only for him, "Thank you… I love you."
He responded by holding me tightly in his arms. Somehow, in that moment, it felt less like a celebration and more like a farewell.
At last, we stepped down from the stage to a round of applause and, just as we do every year, performed the opening dance — in a way truly befitting a king and his little princess. When the first dance ending, we greeted the guests with a graceful bow and curtsy. And began moving from table to table, introducing me one by one to people from the business world. After nearly two hours of uninterrupted conversation and formal introductions, I retreated to an empty table tucked away in a quieter, relatively darker corner. It stood at the edge of our garden, far from the crowd.
I had raised countless goblet with the guests and, as a result, consumed a considerable amount of champagne. I was never particularly fond of alcohol, yet refusing a raised goblet would have been considered disrespectful, so I had no choice but to drink. As evening coolness began to settle in, the gathering—set in motion by my father's speech earlier that afternoon—continued without slowing. I had spoken at length and met every potential match. If I happened to miss a conversation with one of the young men, my father would quietly signal with a nod, pointing out whom I had overlooked and gently steering me in that direction.
Eventually, satisfied that I had shown equal attention to everyone, I asked for permission to step away and rest. My head was spinning, my steps unsteady, but I managed to reach this dark corner without incident. I leaned against the table, silently praying for the dizziness to subside, fighting with myself not to ruin the evening by being sick.
Then, suddenly, something around me shifted. The scent of grass and earth grew stronger. A cool, refreshing air filled the space around me, as if I had opened a window on a rainy day. That sense of safety and calm was laced, at the same time, with an unsettling shiver.
I suddenly realized I was not alone. The strong scents of earth, grass, and wood emanating filled me as I scanned my surroundings with curiosity and impatience. Whoever carried that scent had awakened something irresistible within me.
The intensifying fragrance, along with the champagne I had been drinking and the distant murmur of the crowd, blurred my mind, making it hard to perceive my surroundings.
I scanned my surroundings with curiosity, hoping to find the source of the scent. The desire to discover who or what was behind this feeling of peace and familiarity filling me grew with each passing second, making my head spin even more.
At least I saw him..