The moonlight bathed the palace garden in silver, and Gerah found herself wandering under the stars, away from the stiff walls of royalty. Her head was still spinning from dinner—Prince Xavier’s unexpected kindness had stirred something in her heart she wasn’t ready to admit.
As she sat by the fountain, lost in thought, a voice broke the silence.
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“You don’t belong here.”
She turned.
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It was Mara, arms crossed, eyes sharp as blades.
“I didn’t ask to be here,” Gerah replied calmly.
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“But you are. And now you’re a threat.”
Before Gerah could respond, footsteps echoed behind them.
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“Princess Gerah.”
It was Marco, charming and polite, with a crooked grin that softened his serious aura.
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“I was looking for you,” he said, ignoring Mara’s icy glare. “Jiru’s asking about you.”
“Jiru?” Gerah blinked.
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“He wants to thank you. You said something earlier at dinner that helped him win the king’s favor. He’s... impressed.”
Mara raised a brow.
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That’s not part of the story, Gerah thought.
Jiru’s not supposed to care about anyone but Dahlia.
And yet… here they were—people reacting in ways she never wrote. Feelings shifting. Lines blurring.
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Back in her room, Gerah stared out her window.
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The story’s changing,” she whispered.
“And so am I.”
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