Chapter Two: Stolen Moments

(Kaelia’s POV)

The kitchens stank of thick, roasted meat and pastries so sweet it was almost sickening—just heavy, suffocating, enough to make your stomach turn. All I wanted was something light, maybe a breath of flowers or fresh air, not this sour, sticky cloud. But nope, not today. Prince Alarion’s thirty-first birthday had everyone in a frenzy—cauldrons bubbling over, tempers flaring, servants barreling past and dropping swears and spices like confetti. Happy birthday, right? Not exactly. It's my birthday too, one of the few things that gladdens my heart, I share the same birthday with the Alpha Prince. But he's turning thirty-one.

Thirty-one years…

A lifetime away from my meager twenty.

I hated the noise. The frenzy. The rough shoves and careless jabs disguised as orders.

“Oi, Beta-girl, watch where you’re going!” Chef Barnaby bellowed, his wide face flushed red as I narrowly avoided colliding with a tray of miniature tarts. I muttered an apology, heart pounding.

Pretending to be a Beta was like wearing someone else’s skin — tight, itchy, never quite right. Every step was a gamble. One misstep, one crack in my mask, one whiff of my true scent and…

No. My goodness, what am I even thinking about? My head sometimes feels like a haunted house, I keep bumping into stuff.

The sun slipped behind those spiky palace rooftops, bleeding the sky with bruised purples and blazing oranges—same wild colors tangled up in the royal banners snapping in the wind. And something kept crawling under my skin, a stubborn itch I just couldn’t scratch, like my insides wouldn’t sit still.

That was when I saw him.

Prince Alarion.

He strode across the courtyard, all carved confidence and quiet power, the gold trim of his royal coat catching the last light like fire. My breath caught.

I had seen him before, from afar — seated on the high dais, guarded by etiquette and reverence. But here, outside, stripped of grandeur, he was more than princely. He was… free. Moving with a purpose that wasn’t rehearsed or political. Like he was chasing something only he could see.

An insane impulse took root in my chest.

I had to follow him.

I blended into the darkness like a ghost, navigating through the rowdy servants and complacent guards, heart racing against my ribs. The forest lay before me — foreboding, ancient, and tempting. A land where rank and title no longer held meaning. A place where even outlawed activities could catch their breath.

He padded as if he were one of the wild, his black coat a wave of night upon the trees. I followed, careful to stay back, careful not to make a sound.

He stood like he’d been carved out of old oak, spine poker-straight, chin lifted to catch the water, acting like the spray might scrub something deeper than grime. After a beat, he peeled off his coat—slow, almost stubborn about it—and flung it across this lumpy boulder, like he couldn’t care less. Then he went for that ridiculous collar, unfastening it and letting it fall open, suddenly exposing the bold slash of his throat.

Meanwhile, I was just a shadow behind the leaves, rooted there, eyes wide, caught like a deer in headlights. No way I was missing a second of this.

In the moonlight, he looked carved from starlight and shadow — regal, but raw. The rigid burden he carried within the palace melted off his shoulders here. He looked younger. Quieter. Almost… lonely.

The Moon Goddess must have poured every drop of her attention into him. From the breadth of his shoulders to the way the moon kissed his brow, he radiated the kind of quiet strength that made people follow without question. He was born to rule. Born to be adored.

And gods, I adored him. Hopelessly. Dangerously.

With a longing so sharp it threatened to cut through the mask I wore.

He stood there forever, or maybe it was only minutes. I watched him breathe, watched him simply exist, and for that moment, it was enough.

Eventually, he turned. Retrieved his coat. And headed back toward the palace.

I followed, quite still.

He didn’t see me. Of course not. Why would he? I was a shadow. A servant. A girl without a future. But just being near him, walking the same path he had tread minutes earlier, that was enough to carry me through the night.

Back in the kitchen, reality snapped shut like a bear trap.

“Where in the seven hells have you been?” Chef Barnaby roared. “Back to work, you lazy girl!”

There would be consequences.

Extra chores. Harsh words. Maybe worse.

But I didn’t care.

I had followed the moon.

I had seen the Prince — not as royalty, but as a man.

And it was worth it.

By the time of midnight, my arms ached, my head pounded, and my fingers were aching. The banquet went on. Nobles celebrated. Wine poured. But I slipped away, my mind on one person: my mother.

Her tiny bedroom in the lower floors was dimly lit, a burning candle throwing warm shadows onto the weathered stone walls. A crooked, small cake stood in the middle of the table — the cake... Honestly looked like it’d lost a bar fight—slouched over, a bit of a disaster, but you could see the love tangled up in every crooked inch.

“Happy birthday, Kaelia,” she muttered, her words heavy with sleep but somehow glowing.

I shot her a lopsided grin. “Happy birthday to me,” I chimed in, the words all wobbly and sparkly, like the cake itself. Hey, imperfect is kinda my thing.

This, this little birthday celebration, It was a ritual. A rebellion.

A birthday in secret — because the world didn’t want me born at all.

I made a wish.

A selfish, foolish wish. For freedom. For love. For a world where I didn’t have to lie to exist. For a world where maybe… just maybe, Prince Alarion could see me. Not the Beta. Not the servant. Me.

I puffed out the candle—tiny ghost of smoke swirling up, like it wanted to stick around.

We sat there, tangled up together. Her arms wrapped tight, her skin smelled like lavender and honey, the kind of scent that soaks into your bones. Seriously, it was like a spell: for a minute, I just got to be her kid, nothing else. Home in a hug.

But, you know, the world doesn’t care about peace.

I kissed her on the forehead—she gave me that look, all love and worry—and I muttered I’d be back. Then off I went, back into the palace’s guts. My steps—ugh, so heavy. The halls, of course, had gone back to their usual circus: music, laughter, too much perfume, and that sharp tang of power floating around, sticky as honey.

Where was he?

Was he out there somewhere, pretending to have fun? Maybe dancing, maybe just rolling his eyes at some lord’s dumb story?

I hated picturing him surrounded by all those giggling Omegas, batting their lashes. They didn’t know him, not really. They never saw the quiet in him—the way he’d disappear into the trees, staring up at the moon like it was an old friend with secrets.

Something in my chest pulled tight. Like gravity, or fate, or just stubborn hope.

I wandered out to the gardens—empty now, painted silver by the moon. And there, half-hidden under the weeping willow, was Prince Alarion. Alone. Silent. The crown prince, aching in the same way I ached.

I didn’t think. I just moved.

Back to the kitchens. I found a teapot. Brewed chamomile tea — soft and soothing — added honey and mint. It wasn’t much, but it was mine. A gift only I could give.

When I returned, he was still there, unmoving. A statue of solitude under the weeping branches.

I stepped forward. “Your Highness?”

He turned. His eyes widened slightly — not with annoyance, but surprise. “Yes?”

My voice trembled. “I… I made you some tea. I thought you might… like something to calm you.”

His gaze lingered on me — searching. Deep. I lowered my eyes, fearing I’d overstepped.

Then, softly, “Thank you. That’s very kind of you.”

My hands shook as I poured the tea into a delicate cup. When I handed it to him, our fingers brushed — skin against skin — and something ignited.

A jolt. A breath.

A spark.

He didn’t seem to notice. But I did. My skin hummed with it.

“Happy birthday, Your Highness,” I whispered, barely above the wind.

He looked at me again. Really looked. And then:

“Thank you, Kaelia.”

He knew my name.

He knew my name!!

He took a sip. His eyes fluttered closed. “This is… perfect.”

Oh heavens, it's almost like the moon took a nosedive straight into my ribcage, and now I’m just standing there, all lit up and not even sure how to breathe. And when he said my name? It wasn’t just a sound, it was this silky, almost magical ribbon twisting around me, making the whole world go kinda soft around the edges.

This stolen moment under the moonlight.

It was enough birthday gift for me... I mean, I got to see his face a little up close.