The human queen

Kiana – POV,

I wake to sunlight.

It slips through the tall windows and settles across my skin, warm and soft, like it knows me. For a moment, I stay where I am, listening to the quiet hum of the palace waking, to distant voices, to the calm rhythm of a day that already feels familiar.

The scent of jasmine drifts in from the gardens below, carried on the morning breeze. I breathe it in slowly, stretching beneath the silk covers.

Then I hear it.

“Kiana!”

Nyara.

I smile before I even rise.

“I’m coming!” I call, though I know she will not wait. She never waits.

I slip out of bed, barefoot, and make my way through the halls. The stone is cool beneath my feet, sending a small shiver up my legs. I like the feeling. It makes me feel awake, alive.

The palace is already stirring.

Servants move quickly along the corridors, carrying trays of fruit and pitchers of fresh water. Some bow as I pass, their movements graceful and practiced. I return their bows with small smiles, sometimes a quiet greeting.

“Good morning,” I tell one of the younger servants balancing a tray of figs.

She looks surprised that I speak to her, but her face softens.

“Good morning, Princess.”

By the time I reach the gardens, Nyara is already there, arms crossed, pretending to be annoyed.

“You are slow,” she says.

“I just woke up,” I reply, laughing softly.

“That sounds like an excuse.”

“It is.”

She tries not to smile, but she fails. Nyara never stays annoyed for long. Her moods shift like wind over water, quick, sharp, and gone before you can truly notice.

I am the second-born. My elder sister Arielle is already married. She moves with a kind of grace I have never been able to imitate, her voice always calm, her presence steady. When she visits, everything feels balanced.

Then there is me.

I do not sit still for long. I laugh too easily. I speak when I should probably stay quiet.

Nyara grabs my hand suddenly.

“Race me.”

“To where?”

“The river.”

“You are going to lose.”

“I never lose.”

“You do. You just forget.”

She gasps, offended, and takes off before I can say anything else. I laugh and follow.

The path to the river is one I know by heart. The grass brushes against my legs as I run, soft and cool with morning dew. Tiny droplets cling to my ankles, leaving cold trails behind as I move.

Birds scatter into the air when we pass, their wings beating sharply against the quiet morning. The breeze lifts my hair behind me like a banner.

I do not think about anything. Not lessons, not expectations, not responsibilities waiting somewhere beyond these moments. Just this. Just now. Just the sound of Nyara laughing ahead of me.

I push harder, my breath coming faster, my feet pounding against the earth.

I reach the water first, of course. I step in without hesitation, the coolness wrapping around my feet and ankles. A soft gasp escapes me before I can stop it. I let out a slow breath and laugh.

“It is perfect!” I call.

Nyara arrives a second later, breathless and dramatic, clutching her side as though she might collapse.

“You cheated,” she accuses.

“How?”

“You always do.”

“That is not an answer.”

She splashes water at me without warning.

“Kiana!”

I splash her back immediately, laughing harder. Water arcs through the sunlight, glittering like scattered glass before falling back into the river.

Nyara shrieks, pretending outrage. Selene joins us more slowly, careful with her steps, lifting her dress just enough to keep it dry. She always moves with quiet caution, as though every motion is measured before it happens

“You two are impossible,” she says, smiling warm and soft

“You love us,” I reply.

She sighs dramatically.

“I tolerate you.”

Nyara snorts.

“That is love.”

Selene shakes her head, but her smile gives her away.

We stay there longer than we should. Laughing. Talking. Doing nothing at all. Nyara tells stories that grow wilder with every sentence, each version more unbelievable than the last. Selene listens patiently, correcting details when they become too outrageous. And I laugh. I laugh until my sides ache, until my chest feels light, until the world feels simple again. Somehow, it feels like everything.

When I return to the palace, the sun is higher, warmer. My dress clings damply to my legs, and I know my mother will notice immediately. She notices everything.

I go to the gardens again. I always do. Rows of flowers stretch before me, reds, golds, violets, blues. Their petals sway gently in the breeze, nodding as though greeting me. I kneel beside them, brushing my fingers lightly across their surfaces. The petals feel delicate beneath my touch, softer than silk.

“You are here again.”

I do not need to turn to know it is my mother.

“They missed me,” I say.

“Or you missed them.”

I smile.

“Maybe both.”

She steps closer, watching as I adjust a stem, careful not to bend it too much.

“You treat them like they matter,” she says.

“They do.”

She studies me for a moment, her eyes thoughtful.

“And people?”

I glance up at her, my expression soft.

“They matter too.”

She hums quietly, as if considering my answer, then places a gentle hand on my shoulder.

“Come. Dinner will begin soon.”

Dinner is louder than usual. Arielle is visiting. I spot her the moment I enter the hall, seated beside her husband, posture straight, hands folded gracefully in her lap. She looks exactly as I remember, calm, composed, radiant in a way that feels effortless.

Nyara refuses to let anyone speak without interrupting. Selene laughs quietly beside me, her voice barely louder than the clinking of cups. I find myself smiling more than speaking. I like watching them. I like moments like this, when everything feels full, warm, and easy.

Arielle notices me staring and raises an eyebrow.

“What?” she asks.

“Nothing,” I reply quickly.

She narrows her eyes, suspicious.

“You are thinking something.”

“I am always thinking something.”

Nyara leans forward eagerly.

“What is it? Tell us.”

I hesitate, then shrug.

“I just like when we are all together.”

For a moment, no one speaks. Then Selene reaches beneath the table and squeezes my hand. Nyara rolls her eyes dramatically.

“You are sentimental.”

“Only sometimes,” I reply.

Later, when the palace quiets and the candles burn low, I sit by my window. The night air is cool, brushing softly against my skin. The moon hangs high above the palace walls, silver light spilling across the rooftops like water.

Somewhere in the distance, I hear faint laughter. Maybe from the guards. Maybe from servants finishing their work. Maybe from someone who refuses to sleep.

I close my eyes and smile. The world feels safe. Simple. Whole.

Until a shadow stretches across the garden below. Slow. Intentional.

And I know, without moving, that someone is watching me.