Of Stars And Sapphires

The Emberstone Market spree "date" had gone more beautifully than either of them anticipated. Something had shifted—soft, subtle, but undeniable. The clock of fate ticked on, slow and deliberate, drawing them together with a pull neither could quite resist.

Nyra woke the next morning with a buoyant sense of ease. Her body felt light, her lips carried a natural curve, and a quiet gleam of joy danced in her eyes. She joined the Aurelion royals for breakfast, the table more crowded than before—lively, now that the grand princess and her daughters had arrived. Their presence brought energy and chatter, the hall echoing with conversation and restrained laughter.

Izana sat across from her, dressed in elegant simplicity. He offered her a quiet nod when their eyes met, but something in his demeanor felt distant—cool, composed. He exchanged a few polite words with his relatives, touched his tea but hardly ate.

And then, almost as soon as breakfast had begun to settle into its rhythm, Izana rose from his chair.

“I have some matters to attend to,” he said evenly, offering the table a slight bow. His eyes flicked briefly to Nyra—barely a second, but just enough.

With that, he turned and left, his robes trailing behind him in a whisper of motion.

Nyra watched his retreating form, her hand still resting lightly on the rim of her teacup. A strange hollowness settled in her chest.

The rest of the table went on, unaware—or pretending not to notice. Maids bustled in and out with trays, and the palace stirred with its usual hum of purpose. But for Nyra, the lightness of the morning dimmed just a little.

She didn’t realize how much she had hoped he'd linger.

Izana had noticed.

The way her eyes brightened when they landed on him. The soft, almost unconscious upward curve of her lips. The way her gaze lingered on his face a second longer than courtesy required. Subtle, fleeting things… but to a man like him, trained to read diplomacy in every glance, they were impossible to ignore.

He reached for his cup, but his fingers instead brushed against the silver band around his finger. He rubbed it absently—an old habit whenever his thoughts threatened to drift too far.

Schooling his features, he brought his gaze back to the table, to the meal, to the present.

He picked up a few items, though his appetite was distant. As chatter and laughter rose around them, he ate sparingly, offering a few words to his family.

Then, quietly, he stood. “I have some matters to attend to,” he said in that calm, deliberate voice of his.

He looked to her, just once—one final glance before turning away. Not long enough to speak, not quite long enough to explain. But long enough to see the way her eyes followed him. Long enough to carry the ghost of her gaze with him.

As he stepped out of the dining hall, the murmur of voices faded behind him. But her dimmed expression stayed. And it followed him through the corridors like a whisper he couldn’t quite ignore.

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***

In the soft quiet of the afternoon, a knock sounded on Nyra’s chamber door. When it opened, a stream of attendants entered—elegant and efficient. Their hands held beautiful boxes of different sizes.

Trailing them was a poised make-up artist, and just behind her, Princess Jasmine herself, her steps graceful as always.

Jasmine offered a warm smile as she approached. “Princess Nyra,” she said, her voice smooth, “this is a little present from us.” She met Nyra’s eyes with sincerity. “We’d be delighted if you wore this to the ball tonight.”

Then, with a hint of mischief softening her refinement, she added, “Only if you like it, and want to.”

Nyra’s expression was unreadable for a moment. But in her chest, something softened. The care in the gesture—the quiet offering of welcome—was unmistakable. She softly thanked them. The princess nodded with a warm smile before leaving after a few gentle words. In the hush that followed, the attendants moved with practiced grace, unveiling the gown layer by layer. Nyra watched in silence until the final piece—the silver cape—was set gently across a velvet-cushioned chair.

She stepped behind the privacy screen and changed swiftly. When she emerged, the room stilled.

One of the attendants stepped forward to adjust the drape of the skirt—but Nyra lifted it herself, pivoting sharply on one heel. The slit allowed perfect movement. She shifted her weight again, this time testing the feel of the gloves, the range of her arms.

A few attendants exchanged glances—half startled, half charmed.

“She moves like she’s wearing armor,” one murmured, not unkindly.

Nyra only gave a faint, knowing smile.

“Good,” she said. “Then it fits.”

As twilight deepened, the palace transformed.

Down the marble corridors lit by crystal sconces, music drifted gently in the air. And when the ballroom doors opened, Nyra paused at the threshold—not from hesitation, but from sheer impact.

The ballroom shimmered like starlight caught in motion.

Vaulted ceilings arched overhead, draped with gossamer banners that shifted hues between silver and soft indigo. Soft tiny lights, suspended like stars, glowed above the crowd.

Iridescent mosaics tiled the floor in sweeping constellations, their patterns echoing the myths embroidered on her sleeves. The air held the rich scent and at the far end of the room, a quartet played something delicate yet stirring. Nobles in silk and velvet parted gently as she entered, a subtle ripple moving through the crowd.

She walked with measured steps and for a moment, even the music seemed to hush.

Awe flickered—subtle but unmistakable—in the eyes of the gathered nobles.

Princess Jasmine approached with a smile, her voice low and warm as she leaned in.

“You’ve honored us by choosing to wear it.”

Nyra returned the smile, her tone gentle but firm.

“No, Your Highness. I’m honored that you offered it.”

Lady Seraphine joined them then, her presence steady as ever. She wore a gown of deep maroon—regal and unyielding—while Jasmine’s emerald silk shimmered like forest light. Together, they stood flanking Nyra, each a fortress in her own right, their colors and poise a mirror of strength shaped in different forms.

The side door to the hall opened, and the room subtly shifted.

The royal family entered with quiet grandeur—no fanfare, yet every head turned.