Chapter 3 The First Flame

The morning air in Duskmere carried a hush that spoke of change. The sky, tinged in lavender and rose, cast a soft light over the village rooftops, but Liora felt none of its warmth. Her fingers moved absently as she scooped water from the stone well outside her home. Each drop rippling in the wooden bucket mirrored the flutters inside her nerves, anticipation, fear.

Since that first meeting, her world had tilted on its axis. The prince Alaric had returned to the grove more than once. Each time, their conversations grew longer, their glances lingered, and the invisible thread between them pulled tighter. But nothing could remain hidden for long in a village like hers.

She heard it in the way the baker's wife paused mid-sentence when Liora walked by. In the whispers at the market. In Maeve's eyes as her friend stared at her across the table the night before, mouth a thin line, words held back.

Maeve knew. Or suspected enough to worry.

"Your head's in the clouds again," Maeve said now, striding up beside her with a basket on her hip. "Don't tell me it's that mysterious noble again."

Liora looked away. "He's kind."

Maeve scoffed. "Kind won't mean anything when your name's dragged through the mud, or worse when someone decides you're worth punishing for catching a prince's eye."

"I didn't mean for this to happen," Liora said softly.

"You never do," Maeve replied, voice gentler. "But you have to protect yourself. You have too much to lose."

Liora didn't answer. Because the truth was, she had already lost something her heart. She couldn't stop thinking of his voice, low and earnest. Of his smile when he forgot he was supposed to be guarded. Of the way his hand lingered near hers, always close, never quite touching.

That afternoon, she found him waiting in the grove.

He had come without his cloak today. The sun caught the copper in his hair and the gold in his eyes, and for a moment, she could almost believe he was simply a boy, not a prince. Not someone whose name was sewn into the kingdom's history like the threads of a royal banner.

"You came," he said.

"I shouldn't have," she replied. "But I couldn't stay away."

His smile faltered slightly. "Then we're both fools."

He stepped closer, the air between them warm with tension. "Liora, if anything happens... if they find out"

"I'm not afraid of them," she said. "I'm afraid of what this means."

He reached for her hand this time. Held it. His grip was strong, but not possessive. Tender, but certain.

"I don't want to stop," he said. "I tried. I told myself it was just fascination. That I was just curious. But every time I close my eyes, I see you."

Her throat closed with emotion. "You're a prince. I'm... nothing."

"You're everything," he said, his voice breaking. "You're the only thing that feels real."

And then he kissed her.

It was slow, hesitant at first, like he feared she might vanish. But then it deepened, full of all the things they hadn't said aloud. The fear, the longing, the impossibility of what they wanted. She melted into it, into him, into the moment that was theirs alone.

When they finally pulled apart, breathless, Liora felt as though she stood on the edge of a cliff with no way down.

"I don't want to lose this," she whispered.

"You won't," Alaric said. But even as he said it, his eyes darkened.

That evening, in the palace high above Duskmere, Queen Isolde sat in her solar with a letter in her gloved hand. Her pale eyes flicked over the words written by Lord Wexley.

Her son was in love with a commoner.

A muscle twitched in her jaw. "Summon him."

Within the hour, Alaric stood before her, rain clinging to his shoulders, dirt on his boots.

"You went to her again," the Queen said flatly.

Alaric didn't flinch. "You have eyes in every corner of the kingdom. I expected nothing less."

The Queen rose, each movement calculated. "You are heir to the throne. You do not belong in the dirt."

"She belongs in my heart," he said quietly.

"Then you will cut her out," she said coldly. "Before this infatuation rots what's left of your future."

He bowed his head not in agreement, but in defiance carefully disguised as compliance.

"Very well," he said. "If that is your wish."

But in his mind, the decision had already been made.

He would not let go.

Back in Duskmere, Liora arrived home to find her little brother Bram sitting on the steps, a bruise on his cheek and fire in his eyes.

"What happened?" she cried, rushing to him.

"Soldiers," he spat. "One of them said to tell you 'the price of kissing the stars is falling into darkness.' Then he knocked me down and walked off laughing."

Her heart clenched.

This was the Queen's warning.

She wasn't just risking her heart anymore she was risking her family.

And yet, when night fell and the moon climbed above the trees, Liora walked back to the grove.

Because even knowing what it might cost... she needed to see him again.

To feel his arms around her, his lips on hers.

To remember that even in a world of shadows and silver crowns, the heart still burned.

And love, when it came, did not ask permission.

It simply lit the fire.