The gardens of the dukedom were Ophelia's favorite place in the world.
They stretched endlessly behind the grand estate, a sea of blooming colors kissed by the golden glow of late afternoon. Lilies, roses, and wildflowers danced gently beneath the breeze, their fragrance drifting lazily through the air. It was peaceful, almost dreamlike — the kind of beauty that made worries feel distant.
Ophelia sat gracefully upon a woven picnic blanket, her pale dress spilling around her like soft moonlight. Sunlight caught in her chestnut hair, turning it into threads of gold. She looked as though she belonged among the flowers — delicate, radiant, untouchable.
Selara watched her quietly.
She lay on her side, chin resting on her palm, long dark hair cascading over one shoulder. Unlike Ophelia's softness, Selara's presence carried sharpness — strength etched into every line of her posture. Even at rest, she looked like someone ready to rise at any moment.
Ophelia hummed happily as she arranged the small pastries.
"You're staring again," Ophelia said with a teasing smile.
Selara scoffed lightly. "I'm making sure you don't overexert yourself."
"That's not what you were doing."
Selara rolled her eyes, though a faint smile betrayed her. "Eat your cake."
Ophelia laughed, the sound light and effortless. It always struck Selara — how easily Ophelia laughed, how naturally warmth followed her wherever she went.
Everyone adored Ophelia.
Servants, nobles, knights, visiting dignitaries — the entire dukedom seemed to orbit her gentle presence. Selara had never resented that.
Until him.
A sudden commotion echoed from the distant stone path.
Selara stiffened.
Ophelia's eyes lit instantly.
"He's here!"
Selara's jaw tightened.
The crown prince emerged through the garden archway like a scene pulled from a romantic tale. Golden hair, princely attire, confidence wrapped in boyish charm — he walked with the ease of someone who had never known rejection.
And as always…
He looked only at Ophelia.
"Ophelia!"
She rose too quickly.
Selara was on her feet in an instant. "Careful."
But Ophelia was already moving, skirts gathered as she hurried forward with a smile bright enough to rival the sun itself.
The prince reached her, laughing as though nothing in the world could possibly be wrong.
Selara watched from a distance.
Watched the way Ophelia's face glowed.
Watched the way his eyes softened.
Watched the way he took her hands so naturally.
Something sharp twisted in Selara's chest.
Not hatred.
Never hatred.
But irritation.
Annoyance.
A quiet, persistent jealousy she refused to name.
Because every time he arrived…
Ophelia forgot everything else.
Forgot Selara.
Forgot their conversations.
Forgot their quiet afternoons together.
It was ridiculous, Selara knew. Childish even.
Yet the feeling lingered.
"You look like you're preparing for battle," a voice teased.
Selara turned.
The prince was grinning at her now.
"I always am."
He laughed. "Still so hostile."
"I prefer selective tolerance."
Ophelia sighed. "Selara…"
The prince chuckled, clearly amused. "See? Even now, she scolds you for me."
Selara crossed her arms.
Ophelia tugged gently at his sleeve. "Come. Sit with us."
And just like that…
Selara's place beside her sister was taken.
Again.
She sat opposite them, silent, picking absently at a pastry she had no intention of eating.
They spoke.
They laughed.
They existed in their own small universe.
Selara stared at the fading sky.
Golden hues slowly melted into amber, then crimson, then soft shades of violet. The sun dipped lower, painting the gardens in warm, breathtaking light.
Beautiful.
Romantic.
Perfect.
Ophelia always loved sunsets.
The prince suddenly grew quiet.
Selara noticed immediately.
Ophelia did too.
"What is it?"
He studied her as though committing every detail to memory.
Then, without warning, he stood.
Ophelia blinked in confusion.
Selara narrowed her eyes.
The prince stepped forward.
And knelt.
The world seemed to still.
Ophelia's breath caught.
Selara's eyes widened slightly.
The sunset blazed behind them, golden fire wrapping the moment in something almost unreal.
"Ophelia," he said softly.
Not playfully.
Not teasingly.
But with a sincerity that altered the air itself.
"You love these gardens."
Ophelia's voice was barely a whisper. "I do…"
His fingers tightened gently around hers.
"Then I swear to you…"
Selara felt it — the shift, the gravity of the moment.
"One day, I will marry you."
Silence fell across the gardens.
Even the breeze seemed to pause.
"I will build you the greatest garden the kingdom has ever seen."
Ophelia's eyes shimmered.
"A garden without end."
His voice deepened, steady and unwavering.
"Where flowers bloom in every season."
"Where sunsets are always beautiful."
"Where you will never know sorrow."
Selara stared.
Something unfamiliar stirred within her.
Not jealousy.
Not irritation.
But the quiet, undeniable recognition of destiny unfolding before her eyes.
Ophelia's lips trembled.
"You…"
Tears gathered, shining like captured sunlight.
"You truly mean it?"
The prince smiled — soft, certain.
"With my life."
The sunset burned brighter, wrapping them in gold.
And Ophelia…
Ophelia smiled like someone whose heart had just been handed the world.
Selara looked away.
Because for the first time…
The jealousy hurt.