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"He's the Oracle," Marianne whispered, eyes wide like she was talking about some mythical creature. "Like... the Oracle."
I blinked. Ah. I know where this is going...
Lira leaned in, all serious. "It means the gods speak to him. He sees things—visions, omens, or something of the sort. My sister said the Temple was in quite a frenzy when they discovered it. Most rare—once in a hundred years, they say."
"Yes indeed," Marianne nodded eagerly. "They say he predicted last winter's plague before the healers even noticed it."
Chosen by the gods, huh? That's one heck of an overused trope.
From the moment Damien stepped into the grand hall, it was like all the air had been pulled out of the room—and somehow replaced with light. He wasn't just glowing. He radiated. Every step, every glance, every delicate smile—it was effortless. Enchanting. And frankly? Unsettling.
By his side walked a knight.
Some whispered—
"That's Cedric, isn't it? Only fifteen and already a knight."
"Mm-hmm. They say his swordsmanship is unmatched for his age. His build too—far too solid for a fifteen-year-old. Almost unnatural."
"Not just that—he was personally chosen to protect the Oracle. What an honour..."
"He completed his knight training in just two years. Most take five."
"Worthy of standing at the Oracle's side, indeed."
Oracle. Right. I kept forgetting that's what Damien was. He looked more like a prince than a prophet. He smiled like he knew things—like everything and everyone was just a little bit amusing to him.
The crowd parted as he walked ahead, and then—he stopped. Before a throne. A real one. High, gold-lined, set above the rest.
A man stepped forward.
The prince of the empire.
Tall, noble, everything I thought royalty was supposed to look like. He extended a hand toward Damien.
I saw Cedric move—as if to offer his hand—but stopped midway. He pulled it back.
Something tightened between them. The air.
Damien didn't seem to notice—or maybe he just didn't care. He accepted the prince's hand with a delicate, practiced grip and was led up to the throne.
His throne.
Wait—his?
I blinked. I thought the seat belonged to the prince. But everyone around me was already kneeling. I followed, hesitating for just a beat too long.
Marianne leaned over. "It's Damien's birthday today. The celebration is for him."
That didn't help. He looked like a boy. A really pretty one—but still a boy. And yet, he sat there like he belonged, while the prince remained standing beside him.
He's respected more than the prince…?
I sighed. This is what happens when you aren't attentive in the lessons of history and politics , I thought bitterly. But can you really blame me? When your life's already been written in stone, why bother cramming in lessons?
The crowd slowly rose to their feet, murmurs returning as the weight of reverence lifted from the room.
A noble servant approached, holding a transparent glass filled with rose-tinted liquid. He bowed low, offering it to Damien with both hands.
"Is that wine?" I whispered.
Lira nodded. "It is. No one else can drink until the Oracle does. It's tradition. Once he takes the first sip, everyone can cheer and toast."
I frowned. "That's disgusting," I muttered. "He looks barely older than me. Like a teenage boy."
Damien took the glass with an elegance I couldn't understand. Tilted it to his lips, sipped, and smiled.
"Well," he said softly, his voice carrying with eerie grace, "I feel a little too young for this... but I suppose this will do."
He raised the glass in the air.
The room burst into cheers.
"Long life and wisdom to the Oracle."
It echoed off the crystal walls and stained-glass windows.
I didn't even realize I was staring until Marianne elbowed me. "You okay?"
I nodded quickly, but my eyes remained on Damien. The prince—the prince—stood at his side, always looking down at him with a strange softness. Occasionally saying something that made Damien chuckle.
I watched as nobles surrounded him now—men and women from high houses, all waiting to offer words and admiration.
There was even a lady standing on the other side of the throne—a noblewoman with long black hair and striking navy-blue eyes. Her expression was unreadable, but something in the slight furrow of her brow and the tight line of her lips hinted at... restrained discontent.
A small plate of delicate food was placed in front of Damien, some imperial specialty I couldn't name. He took a bite, slow and graceful—and left a few golden crumbs at the corner of his mouth.
The prince leaned forward and—gently, casually—wiped them away with a handkerchief.
My eyes widened.
The knight—still standing below the stairs—lowered his head, face unreadable.
"Look how much the royal family respects the temple," someone whispered behind me.
"The prince is so kind-hearted…"
"So graceful…"
But another whisper followed, barely audible, just a breath:
"Don't you think they're… a bit too close?"
I didn't know what to think. It was all too surreal. Too dazzling. Too controlled.
Eventually, the music picked up again. The nobles began to pair off. Some danced. Others gathered near the dessert tables or chatted along the balconies. Even I found myself on the dance floor, following the rhythm of a waltz with a boy from another noble house. I smiled. I twirled. I did everything expected of me.
But my mind?
It was lost.
Somewhere high above the dance floor, perched on a throne not even the prince dared touch.
When I returned to my friends, Lira nudged me with a smirk.
"You've been dazed all evening."
"I haven't," I said, far too quickly.
Marianne giggled. "Don't worry. Everyone looks like that the first time they see Damien. He's enchanting, isn't he?"
"You're not the first to fall under his spell, when I saw the oracle even I was lost for words and I remember , I also heard that when Marianne saw him she fell in a pool of water while she was busy admiring him" Lira added dramatically.
"Did you really have to tell her that ?" Marianne said .
I opened my mouth to protest—but then the words slipped out before I could stop them.
"…No. I think I'm just jealous of him."
Silence.
Then laughter.
They thought I was joking.
I wasn't.