Festival

The morning sun crept over the southern horizon, pouring golden light through the palace windows and into the corners of my room.

I lay in bed a moment longer, listening to the birdsong and the distant bustle of the waking castle, before finally sitting up and stretching with deliberate slowness.

I told myself I wasn't excited. I was a princess, after all—attending a village festival was supposed to be a duty, not a privilege.

But I found myself moving through my morning routine with a kind of restless energy, a humming anticipation that I couldn't quite smother, no matter how sternly I reminded myself of my reputation.

After washing and dressing selecting a light blue gown embroidered with delicate silver thread, just enough for a royal presence without outshining the local festivities—I checked my reflection.

My hair, tamed into a cascade of pale waves, gleamed like moonlight. I pinned it half-up, letting just a few strands fall loose to frame my face. There, I told myself. Composed. Regal. Absolutely not giddy.

Lyra was waiting in the sitting room when I entered, already dressed in the neat, slightly formal attire that somehow made her look even taller and more striking.

She glanced up, eyes flicking over me with something like approval before she quickly masked it behind a smirk.

"You look… different," she said, mouth quirking.

"Try not to sound so surprised," I shot back, fighting a smile. "A princess can't attend a festival looking like she just rolled out of bed."

She grinned, rolling her eyes, and we made our way to breakfast.

The queens were absent—probably already busy with festival preparations—so it was just the two of us at the sunlit table, the room unusually quiet except for the clink of silver and the gentle murmur of servants.

I tried to focus on the meal, but my stomach fluttered with nerves, making it difficult to eat more than a few bites.

Lyra finished her plate with her usual efficiency, then pushed back her chair and stood. "Ready?"

I nodded, feigning indifference as I rose. "Of course. Don't fall behind—I expect you to keep up."

She gave a mock salute. "Yes, Your Highness."

Outside, a carriage awaited us at the palace steps, polished to a mirror shine and decorated with sprays of wild southern flowers.

The horses sleek, bay-coated, ribbons braided into their manes—pawed the ground in anticipation.

I stepped up with practiced grace, settling onto the plush seat inside as Lyra climbed in beside me, her knee nearly brushing mine.

The ride through the winding coastal road was silent at first, the scenery slipping by in a blur of green hills, sparkling sea, and distant, white-capped cliffs.

I tried to look bored, but every bend in the road revealed another breathtaking vista, and soon I found myself leaning forward, eyes wide as the village came into view.

The heart of the southern village sprawled below us, nestled between groves of ancient olive trees and the gentle curve of the bay.

It was alive with color—banners in every shade of blue and gold strung from rooftop to rooftop, stalls draped in bright cloth, the scents of baking bread and sun-warmed fruit wafting on the breeze.

Music drifted from the central square: lutes and pipes, laughter and clapping, the bright harmony of a place that felt entirely removed from palace life.

The carriage rolled to a halt at the edge of the village, where a low stone archway marked the official entrance.

Children ran barefoot across the cobblestones, faces painted in swirling designs, their hair adorned with crowns of wildflowers.

Merchants called their wares, offering ribbons, sweets, carved figurines, and candied nuts to anyone with a coin—or a smile.

Lyra jumped down first, offering her hand to help me descend. I took it before I could think, her grip warm and steady, grounding me for a moment in the chaos of noise and movement.

For a heartbeat, we stood together at the entrance, and I saw it—the way people looked at us. The villagers bowed, but there was a curious spark in their eyes, a kind of whispered speculation as we passed by.

I heard a woman nudge her friend: "That must be the princess, isn't it? And her knight—aren't they just perfect together?" Another pair of old men watched us, grinning, one muttering, "Finally, the palace sends someone worth looking at."

The attention made me straighten, every inch the regal figure I was trained to be, but it also sent a strange thrill through me. They didn't see us as ruler and retainer, but as… equals. Companions. A pair.

Lyra must have noticed, because she leaned in slightly and muttered, "Relax. You look like you're about to declare war."

I jabbed her lightly with my elbow, unable to suppress a small smile. "Maybe I am. Against those people talking shit."

The main square was a whirl of movement. Dancers spun in circles, their skirts catching the light. Musicians played on a raised platform surrounded by clapping children.

The scent of roasting meat mingled with honeyed cakes and tart cider. Everywhere, people laughed, embraced, called out to friends across the throng. I felt it—a contagious joy, an openness I'd never encountered at court.

Vendors pressed tokens and sweets into my hands, ignoring my protests.

"For luck!" they said, or, "A gift for the ice princess—may you find some southern warmth!"

Even Lyra, usually immune to charm, found herself with an armful of ribbons, a bright scarf knotted around her wrist, and a garland of orange blossoms dropped over her head by a trio of giggling children.

I found myself laughing—genuinely, unexpectedly. It felt strange and wonderful, like trying on a new dress and finding it fit better than anything you'd ever worn.

For a while, I forgot my role, my title, and simply wandered from stall to stall, sampling sweets and watching the dancers, Lyra never more than a step behind.

We must have made a striking pair: I with my pale hair and royal blue gown, Lyra all angles and shadows at my side, every inch the watchful protector.

Yet the way she looked at me, the way her hand hovered close to mine, her laughter at my dry commentary, made us seem… closer.

More than just princess and bodyguard. People noticed; I could feel it in every smile, every nudge, every whispered word.

At one point, an old woman selling charms pressed a carved heart of bone into my palm, winking at Lyra. "For your sweetheart," she said, and I flushed, stammering a thank you while Lyra snorted and tried to hide her grin.

We wandered deeper into the festivities, following the music and the ebb and flow of the crowd.

My nerves had all but faded, replaced by a warm sense of belonging, a feeling I'd never expected to find so far from the palace.

We stopped by a fountain, watching as children splashed each other and tossed coins for luck. Lyra stood close, her presence a steady, calming force in the chaos.

I turned to say something—some cutting remark about her new floral accessories—when suddenly someone barreled into me from behind.

The world spun. My foot caught on the uneven stone. For a split second I was falling, the crowd blurring past, panic flaring—

But then, in a heartbeat, Lyra's arms were around me, strong and certain, pulling me back from the brink.

I landed against her chest, breathless, heart pounding, the sounds of the festival fading away.

For a moment, the whole world shrank to the warmth of her arms, the steady beat of her heart, the look in her eyes—startled, protective, and something else I couldn't name.

We stayed like that, suspended between falling and flying, and I realized—with a thrill and a terror I could not admit—that I never wanted to let go.