The Grand Entrance

Maerilee

I stand in front of the mirror, assessing my reflection. The lavender gown clings perfectly to my frame, the soft fabric shimmering with every movement. It’s a beautiful dress, hand-sewn with threads of silver that match the pale glow of my hair, but all I can think about is how much I wish I didn’t have to wear it.

I’m not looking forward to this grand spectacle to parade me around in front of foreign nobles, all in the hopes of finding my One. The thought alone makes me clench my fists, the material of my skirt crinkling under my hands. I smooth it out with a shaky breath.

I can do this. I have to do this.

The weight of expectation is heavy on my shoulders as I turn away from the mirror, heading toward the door where Akin waits. He’s dressed in formal attire, his expression as unreadable as ever.

"Are you ready?" he asks.

I nod, though my heart is pounding in my chest. "As ready as I’ll ever be."

He offers a slight smile but doesn’t say anything more. He guides me through the palace corridors, the sound of our footsteps echoing off the marble floors. My palms are slick with nervousness, and I try to wipe them discreetly on my gown, but Akin notices.

"You look beautiful," he assures me, his voice low but steady.

I glance at him, surprised by the compliment. He rarely says things like that.

"Thank you,” I whisper, too stunned to say much else.

We reach the grand staircase leading down to the ballroom, and my stomach flips. The doors below are already open, and I can hear the distant murmur of voices, the music, the clinking of glasses. The grand chandelier is glowing brightly, casting light over the elegantly dressed fae who have gathered from every corner of Haebradia. This is it.

Akin gives me one last look. “I’ll be nearby if you need me.”

I nod, swallowing hard as I take my place at the top of the staircase. The herald stands beside me, poised and ready to announce my arrival. His deep voice booms across the ballroom, cutting through the noise below.

“Her Highness, Princess Maerilee of Altinna.”

As if on cue, every head turns toward me. The room goes quiet, the murmurs dying down into a hush as I take my first step down the staircase. My gown trails softly behind me, the lavender fabric catching the light, making me feel ethereal.

All eyes are on me, noblemen and women from every kingdom, fae of every type and color. I can see the glittering wings of the Sylvan fae, the horns of the Briarwood folk, the towering forms of the Stonekin. The tension in the room is palpable, a mix of curiosity and expectation as they watch me descend. They all know tonight’s purpose. They’re all wondering if I’ll find my One tonight.

The pressure is suffocating.

As I reach the bottom step, I brace myself for a feeling. I’ve been told that when I meet my One, I’ll feel it immediately. My mother always spoke of a pull, a connection so strong that it’s undeniable. She felt it the moment she laid eyes on my father. She said it was like a magnetic force, drawing them together in an instant.

So as I step into the ballroom and the crowd parts slightly, I wait for that feeling. I scan the faces in the room, searching for a spark, a sign that one of them is him.

But nothing happens.

There’s no rush of energy, no magnetic pull. Just the overwhelming sense of being watched by hundreds of strangers, each one silently judging me. I can feel the weight of their gazes, some curious, others assessing. I try to smile, to maintain the composure that’s expected of me, but inside, a gnawing sense of panic begins to build.

What if none of them are him?

The ballroom is grand, the walls lined with gold filigree, and the chandeliers overhead cast a warm, golden glow over everything. Musicians play softly in the corner, the delicate notes of a harp weaving through the air. Fae of every creed and color mingle, their fine clothes shimmering as they move.

I feel out of place among them, like a piece of a puzzle that doesn’t quite fit. My magic flickers weakly inside me, a constant reminder that I’m not like them. Not yet.

* * *

Akin

I stand at the edge of the ballroom, blending into the shadows cast by the ornate pillars. My eyes never leave Maerilee, though I make sure to stay unobtrusive, just as I always do. I’m not meant to be noticed tonight. No one is supposed to see me here. This is her night, not mine.

She looks radiant, as always, in her lavender gown. The way the fabric catches the light and shimmers as she moves is enough to steal anyone’s breath. But it’s not the gown or the way her hair gleams under the chandeliers that holds my attention. It’s her.

She’s nervous as she scans the crowd, and from where I stand, I can see the exact moment when that nervousness deepens into something darker. She’s searching for her One. I know it. I’ve been dreading this moment since the day her parents announced the ball.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding when I see the look of consternation on her face. She’s scanning the crowd, hoping, waiting for the spark, the connection her mother always talks about. But it’s not there. Not yet.

I should feel anxious for her, but all I feel is relief.

Relief that she hasn’t found him. That she hasn’t locked eyes with some stranger across the room and felt that pull, that undeniable bond that will tie her to another for the rest of her life. That will tie her to someone who isn’t me.

The second I acknowledge that, I’m angry at myself for it.

I know better. I’ve always known better. Maerilee finding her One is what’s best for Altinna. The kingdom needs her at her full power, and she can’t manifest it alone. Her One, whoever he is, will be the key to unlocking that. And I want that for her. I want the kingdom to be safe, to thrive. I want Maerilee to have the strength she needs to protect the kingdom.

But wanting that means losing her. And I don’t know how to reconcile the two.

I’ve been by Maerilee’s side for as long as I can remember. I remember when she was just a little girl, full of wild energy, running barefoot through the palace gardens while I tried to keep up with her. She was always faster than me back then, laughing over her shoulder as I chased her through the roses and up the old oak tree that grew near the palace gates.

We weren’t supposed to climb that tree, of course. It was forbidden, but that didn’t stop her. It never stopped her.

One day, she fell from one of the branches, scraping her knee on the way down. She was crying, sitting in the dirt with her dress torn, and I rushed over to her, panicked. I was ready to run for help, but she grabbed my arm and pulled me down next to her.

“I’m okay,” she said, through tears and hiccups. “It doesn’t even hurt that bad.”

She wiped at her face furiously, and I could see the stubborn pride in her even then. She hated crying. Hated showing weakness. I sat with her, unsure of what to do, and then she grabbed my hand.

“You can’t tell anyone, okay? Promise.”

I promised. Of course, I promised. I would’ve promised her anything.

From that day forward, it was always Maerilee and me. Somewhere along the way, things shifted. She stopped being just the princess I was sworn to protect, and she became something more.

I don’t know when it happened. Maybe it was gradual, or maybe it was all at once. But one day, I looked at her, and she wasn’t just the girl with scraped knees and a fierce determination to prove herself. She was everything. And I realized, painfully, that I loved her.

It’s a love I know I can never have, not the way I want. She’s the future queen of Altinna, and her destiny is tied to another. The entire kingdom depends on her finding her One, on the bond that will give her the strength to maintain the magical barrier that keeps us all safe.

I understand that. I’ve accepted it. But that doesn’t stop my heart from breaking a little more every time I’m near her.

And now, watching her in this ballroom, knowing what’s at stake, I feel like I’m being torn in two. Part of me wants her to find him, to feel that connection and finally be at peace with her powers, with her future. But the selfish part of me hopes she never does.