Prince Damian stood before Karina with a majestic poise, his hands behind his back, his gray eyes reflecting the glow of the setting sun, as if containing the reflection of the entire world. He seemed calm to an intimidating degree, as if the place itself existed solely to surround him with his mysterious aura.
Karina spoke in a soft voice, lowering her gaze toward the flowers:
"No, no one refused… it's just that I don't want to pick a flower from these beautiful blooms."
She spoke with honesty from her heart, yet she didn't dare mention that these flowers were the only memory of her late mother. She didn't want to reopen a wound that hadn't yet healed.
Damian raised his gaze to her, his features rigid as ice, his voice cold, slicing through the air:
"It doesn't matter."
A moment of silence froze between them. Karina tried to dispel it with a light smile and said:
"You know… watering and caring for flowers is one of the most beautiful things in the world."
The prince replied without changing his expression:
"Very well… thank you."
Then he extended his hand and plucked a rare golden flower that sparkled in the evening light like a living ember. He handed it to her with a quiet, reserved voice:
"You may take at least one rose."
Karina gazed at it for a moment and said softly, shyly:
"This flower… it's just like you…"
Damian raised his gray eyebrow and looked at her with a hint of mockery, then said in an artificially cold tone:
"You think you resemble me? A flower that pigeons may soil with their droppings?!"
Her eyes widened in shock, then she quickly looked at the flower, stammering:
"No… is there something wrong? You startled me… I really thought something disgusting was on it!"
His expression gradually softened from seriousness to a faint smile, and then he let out a short, clear laugh, enjoying her innocent deception. She realized then that he was joking, fully aware she would believe him.
Karina raised her eyebrow, feigning surprise, and then laughed lightly, a soft laugh that broke the ice between them. As she laughed, her gaze was drawn to something shining on his left wrist… the bracelet.
Her eyes froze on it for a moment. It was the same bracelet she had gifted him, still in place. That single moment was enough to make her heart flutter with warm happiness. He had kept his promise. A wide smile spread across her face, impossible to hide.
Damian noticed her gaze and followed it with his eyes until he understood why. He looked at the bracelet in his hand and said calmly, glancing at her sideways:
"What's the matter? I'm not rude enough to break a promise the first time…"
Then he added in a softer tone, with a hint of seriousness:
"I keep promises for those who deserve them… and I don't yet know if you are that person… until I truly know who you are."
He said it in a neutral tone, but Karina felt his words carried something far deeper than they appeared. His voice blended mystery with sincerity, as if hinting at something he dared not say outright.
He stepped closer, placed the golden flower in her hand, and gently closed her fingers around it, speaking softly as if afraid someone else might hear:
"In the coming days… I may contact you through messages. Reply quickly… I may have important matters."
He said this, then slowly stepped back, his features regaining their royal coolness.
"Now, I must go prepare."
He turned and disappeared behind the royal doors with quiet steps, leaving behind a strange scent, confusing emotions, and a golden flower pulsing warmly in her hand.
Karina stood for a moment, staring down the empty corridor, before deciding to follow him toward the grand hall. Voices rose from there, music played joyful royal melodies, and lights danced along the tall walls. The party was at its peak, yet something in the air felt unusual, as if everyone were waiting for something.
Minutes passed… then hours, and the prince had not yet appeared. Murmurs began to rise among the attendees, and the elegantly dressed faces grew restless with curiosity and worry.
Suddenly… drums boomed, shaking the entire hall.
The main doors swung open, and the guards and servants lined up in long rows along the red carpet stretching to the Emperor's throne.
The chief guard shouted in a commanding voice:
"Your place, Prince Damian!"
The prince entered with steady steps, his clothes gleaming under the lights, a white robe embroidered with golden threads, as if woven from the glow of dawn. He was like an angel walking among mortals, his gray eyes shining with royal composure, his golden hair reflecting the light like pure fire.
Time seemed to freeze… no one dared to speak. Even the most arrogant nobles bowed respectfully without hesitation.
Complete silence reigned in the hall until the Emperor stepped slowly toward the platform, raising his hand to announce the royal speech…
And that was the moment everything changed.
The Emperor's voice filled the royal hall with unparalleled gravity, flowing between marble pillars and crystal mirrors as if emanating from history itself.
He raised his golden cup and said in a firm, resonant voice:
"My dear guests… today marks the fourteenth birthday of the Second Prince, Damian Busashi."
He paused briefly, as if something had caught in his throat, then continued in a slightly softer tone when mentioning the next part:
"Son of the late Empress…"
His voice wavered for a short moment, noticed only by those observing him closely. That trembling tone was not just sadness but a suppressed admission of guilt.
The Emperor continued, trying to regain his usual composure:
"The woman who brought joy to the imperial palaces… we congratulate the true prince on reaching fourteen, and this progress is only proof of his growing maturity day by day. One day, the prince will shine with his strength and valor, becoming an example for many."
His voice echoed through the grand hall as if the walls retained his words to whisper them again after the event.
The Emperor looked at his son with eyes full of pride… but behind that pride was something else, a clear unease, as if trying to convince himself of what he was saying.
As for Damian, he remained standing with royal composure, his gray eyes reflecting only deep coldness. He looked at his father with a harsh gaze, devoid of the respect any father might expect from his son.
And when the subject of his mother arose, his harshness intensified, a quiet, burning resentment smoldering in him.
The speech ended, and with it, the formal ceremony.
The guests returned to their seats, the musicians resumed their lively tunes, and laughter and conversations flowed among the nobles as if nothing had happened.
The prince, however, remained in place with majestic confidence, the light from the giant chandelier reflecting on his golden hair like flames amidst a sea of shadows.
This was the fourteenth consecutive year the Emperor publicly acknowledged Damian as his legitimate, recognized son.
Yet everyone in the hall knew that behind this acknowledgment lay an old wound, and the words spoken by the Emperor in public were never easily uttered.
Karina approached him slowly, gaining confidence with each step.
Classical music flowed in the background, mingling with the laughter of nobles and whispers of the guests. She sat beside him in a quiet corner, away from prying eyes, where the hall's window was open, letting in the night breeze carrying the scent of roses and dew.
She glanced at the crystal cup in her hands, turning her fingers around its transparent edge, and said in a soft but piercing voice:
"I suppose the Emperor favors the other princes over you… how can he acknowledge you in front of everyone yet treat you differently in private?"
It was a bold, perhaps slightly rude question, but it came from genuine curiosity.
Damian raised his eyebrows with remarkable calm, his expression barely changing, though a strange gleam appeared in his eyes—a mixture of surprise and disapproval.
He said in a cold, icy tone:
"I don't know…"
His words were short, but they carried more weight than any lengthy explanation.
Karina stared at him for a moment, then whispered as if speaking to herself:
"How strange…"
He did not answer immediately, taking a deep breath before speaking in a low voice barely audible amidst the party's clamor:
"Perhaps… because of my behavior toward him."
He spoke slowly, deliberately, each word emerging after a long hesitation. His tone was sharp yet calm, like a knife sliding over a smooth surface without making a sound.
They exchanged glances for a long moment, a look that carried more than words ever could.
---
The days after the party passed heavily until a grand piano competition was announced, open to young nobles and the aristocracy.
Since childhood, Karina had found in the piano a spiritual refuge unlike anything else. It was not just an instrument but her only window to escape the noise of the world, her voice when words failed. So, she decided to participate without hesitation.
Every day she sat before the black-and-white keys in her sunlit room, releasing melodies as if sending messages to someone she dared not name.
But over time… she began to feel something strange.
Every time she played, someone stood behind the door.
A faint sound, nearly imperceptible breaths… yet her heart knew. She felt his presence, his shadow, that gaze the soul could not mistake.
And when she suddenly opened the door, she found only the still emptiness, scented with flowers.
One day, as her fingers flowed over the piano keys, producing a sad, nostalgic piece, the calm was suddenly shattered by an angry voice that pierced the room:
"This is my sister's piano… not yours!"
Karina trembled in place, slowly turning toward the source of the voice — and there, at the doorway, stood San, his face a mixture of anger and pain… as if he had seen a ghost from the past.