The lights were too bright. Always too bright. They burned against my skin, hot and clinical, making the silk of my dress itch against bandaged ribs. The podium gleamed like it wanted to swallow me whole.

It had taken a few days to set this circus up — the logistics, the wards, the guards. Enough time for my ribs to stop feeling like open wounds. Not enough to stop the fire under my skin.

Cassie’s hand was on my left, warm and steady, her thumb grazing my knuckles once like a secret signal. On my right, just behind me, I could feel the molten weight of my mother’s gaze, the cedar-steady presence of my father. Pillars. Walls. Watchers.

But it was me the cameras wanted.

Dozens of them blinked red from the press pit, their lenses like insect eyes, glassy and unblinking. A wall of microphones jutted toward me, catching the low hum of whispered speculation. My stomach twisted. My fire itched beneath my skin, begging to flare, to break me out of this human shape. Not here. Not now.

I adjusted the papers in my hands. They felt heavier than they should, crisp edges digging into my palms. My handwriting wasn’t on them — the Fairborn media team had polished this statement until it gleamed — but my voice was the one about to break over the airwaves.

The murmur of the room dimmed when I stepped to the mic. My ribs screamed at the motion, but I refused to let my voice shake.

“Good afternoon.”

The words echoed, swallowed by the high ceiling and thrown back at me by a hundred hungry ears. I forced my shoulders straight, let my fire coil tight and still inside.

“For those who may not know me, my name is Princess Mira Firebrand of Eversea, daughter of Queen Seara Firebrand and Councilman Elias Quinveil. My sister, Princess Selene Firebrand, is heir to Eversea, and my younger half-brother, Lucien Quinveil, is also with us today.”

Selene’s name caught in my throat for a beat — the weight of always being second, always being lesser — but I said it clean. Lucien’s too. My little brother deserved to be named, to be seen.

“I am joined as well by my wife, Princess Consort Cassandra Firebrand.”

I didn’t need to look left to feel the way Cassie’s spine straightened, the faintest squeeze of her hand into mine. Cameras clicked, flashes flaring. Mine.

“Together, we are addressing what is already known: my anonymity is gone. I will be returning to Ravenrest Heights Academy openly, as myself, and with the protection that such visibility now requires.”

My ribs tightened. The word anonymity tasted like ash. I’d clung to it for years, hid inside it. Now I spoke of it like it was a relic, something dead and buried.

“I ask for respect as I do so. My wife and I deserve to walk the halls, take our classes, and live our lives without constant disruption.”

I let the pause stretch just long enough for the cameras to click again. Cassie’s perfume — citrus, sharp and sweet — cut through the sterile heat of the lights. I breathed it in, steadied myself.

“That said, I also understand what I represent — both to Eversea and to Dominveil. I will no longer be invisible. I will step into the public sphere with responsibility. You will see me more often. I will give interviews and make appearances, because I want to build trust with this community. But I also need space to be a student, a sister, a daughter, and a wife.”

The words were smooth, measured. Too measured. My tongue itched to lace them with bite, with the real Mira. But I held. This wasn’t the time for sharpness. Not yet.

“This is not about hiding. This is about balance. I will not shrink from who I am, but I will not let it take everything from me either.”

My mother’s presence pressed close behind me, heat radiating like a quiet flame. Pride, or warning, I couldn’t tell.

“And for those wondering what it means for my return to school — I’d prefer if you treat me like every other seventeen-year-old. Which mostly means I’ll still be stressing over exams, forgetting my homework, and probably sneaking snacks into class.”

The room shifted. A ripple of laughter broke the tension, polite but real. That was mine — my line, not the media team’s polish. A hook of personality to keep them guessing.

“Thank you.”

My voice didn’t waver. Not once.

The applause came quick, polite, a controlled storm against the walls. I let out a slow breath, my fingers trembling faintly where no one could see. Cassie leaned just close enough that her shoulder brushed mine, grounding me.

Then my mother stepped forward, her voice molten steel poured clean over the crowd.

“Questions may now be asked.”

And the microphones lunged closer.

The microphones leaned toward me like hungry mouths, red lights blinking. My ribs ached with every breath, but I squared my shoulders. If this was the price of stepping out of the shadows, then fine — let them take their fill.

“Princess Mira, why have you been kept out of the public eye until now?”

My throat tightened. The truth was complicated — the Veil, the secrecy, the years of pretending. But mortals didn’t get that truth.

“I grew up privately because my mother wanted me safe,” I said, careful, even. The paper-polite answer. “Because she wanted me to have a childhood outside of the spotlight. I’m grateful for that time. It gave me space to grow before the rest of you were… invited in.”

A ripple of chuckles followed the phrasing. My mother’s hand hovered, almost approving, over the back of my chair.

“And what does your return mean for the Kingdom of Eversea?”

Heat pooled in my chest. “It means you’ll see me,” I said simply. “Not just the idea of me. I intend to be present — not just as a title, but as a person who lives here, who learns here, who cares about this community.” I let my eyes sweep the room, holding a few stares until they flinched. “Eversea isn’t some distant dream. It breathes right alongside Dominveil.”

“Will you and Princess Selene share duties, or do you have different roles?”

That one almost made me smile. Selene, with her crystal laugh and perfect posture, would have delivered a flawless diplomatic answer. I wasn’t Selene.

“My sister has her own strengths. And trust me, she’ll keep me in line where she thinks I need it.” I caught Selene’s faint, fond smirk in the corner of my eye. “But we’re different people. I’ll learn what my role is as I grow into it — and until then, she’s stuck with me as her shadow.”

Laughter rippled again, warmer this time.

“When you turn eighteen, you’ll be equal in succession until Queen Seara decides otherwise. How do you feel about that responsibility?”

My ribs clenched, but I held my mother’s molten gaze a beat before answering. “It’s weighty,” I admitted. “But responsibility doesn’t scare me. Wasting the chance to do something good does. My mother and my sister have carried this crown for me until now. When it’s my turn, I’ll be ready.”

“Councilman Quinveil, how does your role on the City Council factor into cooperation between Dominveil and Eversea?”

Father leaned closer to his mic before I could answer, his voice calm as cedar smoke. “I serve the city first. But Eversea and Dominveil share lifeblood — trade, education, safety. My daughter’s return to school is one step toward proving we can walk those ties openly.” He let his eyes flick toward me, the crease at his mouth softening. “It’s my job to ensure she has a city worth walking in.”

My throat burned. Daddy. Always knowing exactly when to step in.

“Princess Mira, how do you plan to balance life as a student with your role as a public princess?”

That, at least, I had ready. “Badly,” I deadpanned, and the room cracked with laughter. Then, softer: “But seriously — by remembering I’m seventeen. I’ll still stress over exams, forget assignments, and probably sneak snacks into class. My life as a student doesn’t disappear just because my title is louder now. I intend to keep both — because I need both.”

Cassie leaned into her mic, smirking. “Translation: she’ll still cram the night before an exam.”

I shot her a glare, heat rising in my cheeks. “And still pass,” I muttered, which only made the flashes burst harder.

“Now that you’ve married, what responsibilities fall to you as part of the royal family?”

I inhaled slow, feeling Cassie’s hand ghost against mine. “Marriage doesn’t change my duty. It strengthens it. I have someone beside me now who sees the parts of me none of you do. That makes me steadier. Stronger. What responsibilities fall to me are the same as before — only now, I carry them with her.”

And gods, the look Cassie gave me right then — smug and soft all at once — nearly undid me at the podium.

A hand shot up in the second row. “Will Princess Consort Cassandra play an active role in Eversea, or will her life remain focused on Dominveil?”

Cassie cleared her throat, voice cool and certain. “I didn’t marry into this family to be ornamental. My roots are in Dominveil, yes, but my loyalty is to Mira — and by extension, to Eversea. Whatever role she takes, I’ll walk it with her.”

My chest tightened. MINE pulsed warm under my ribs.

“Will you be expected to take on charity work or leadership initiatives in the city? If so, which causes matter most to you personally?”

“Yes,” I said without hesitation. “And I’ll choose causes that matter to me, not just ones handed to me. Education, healthcare access, especially for young people. No one should feel like they’re invisible or disposable. If my voice carries weight, I’ll use it where it counts.”

“Do you anticipate being more present at civic events in Dominveil moving forward, or will most of your duties remain within Eversea?”

“I live in both worlds,” I said simply. “You’ll see me at city events, schools, festivals — not just court halls. If I expect people to accept me, they need to actually know me.”

“How do you intend to represent the younger generation of Eversea’s royal family to both Dominveil citizens and the world at large? What values do you most want people to associate with you as a princess?”

Every flashbulb seemed to pause mid-air. My throat burned, but I kept my voice steady. “I want to be known for resilience. For honesty. For the fire to fight when it’s needed, and the grace to listen when it’s not. I may not always get it right, but I will always try. If that’s what people see when they look at me, then I’ve done my job.”

Silence held a beat too long before the next question, the weight of it settling like a crown on my shoulders.

A younger reporter, nerves bright in his voice, called out: “Princess Mira, how does it feel to be returning to Ravenrest Heights Academy after everything that has happened?”

The microphone felt heavier than my ribs, but I forced my shoulders square. “Terrifying,” I admitted, and the room laughed, relieved. “But also? Necessary. Ravenrest is my school. My friends, my teachers, my late-night cram sessions — they’re part of me. I want them back. I won’t let fear erase that.”

Flashes popped, chasing the honesty.

“Do you expect your daily school life to change now that everyone knows you’re a princess?”

“Yes,” I said bluntly, then softened. “But I hope not too much. I’ll still show up to class, still get called on when I don’t know the answer, still forget half my locker combination. If people only see the crown, they’ll miss the girl wearing it — and that girl still hates Mondays.”

Cassie leaned into her mic, deadpan. “And mornings. And gym.”

I nudged her knee under the table, heat creeping up my neck. “Unnecessary commentary, Princess Consort.”

“What subjects do you enjoy most at Ravenrest? Which ones do you struggle with?”

I bit the inside of my cheek. “History. I love history. Math, though? It hates me. Entirely personal grudge, I’m convinced.”

Cassie’s smirk widened. “She’s not exaggerating. I’ve watched her break three pencils on one algebra test.”

Gasps of laughter rolled through the room. I lifted my chin. “The pencils were defective.”

“How do you plan to balance your studies with your royal duties?”

I exhaled through my nose. “With difficulty. But school isn’t something I’m willing to trade away. I’ll study when I can, I’ll show up when I should, and when duty pulls me away, I’ll make it up later. Balance isn’t about perfection. It’s about refusing to give up either side of myself.”

“Will you still participate in extracurriculars like cheerleading?”

That earned a flicker of a smile. “Yes. Absolutely. Cheer is family, too — and I’m not giving it up. Not for a crown, not for fear, not for anyone.”

Cassie’s eyes softened at that, pride sparking through the bond that pulsed between us.

“What are your goals for your senior year?”

The words sat heavy in my chest. “To graduate with my friends. To walk that stage like every other student, no matter what else the world demands of me.”

“Do you think your friendships at school will change now that your identity is public?”

“Yes,” I said honestly. “But real friends? They’ll see the same Mira. And I’ll fight to keep it that way.”

“How do you want your classmates to see you — as a princess, or just another student?”

I smirked faint, the answer easier. “Both. I can’t un-claim either. But if you asked me in the cafeteria line, I’d say: student first. Always.”

“What advice has your sister, Princess Selene, given you about balancing public responsibility with your personal life?”

A smile tugged my mouth. “To breathe. To remember that I’m more than duty. Selene carries weight I can barely fathom, and she still makes space to live. That’s what I want to learn from her.”

“Will your younger brother, Lucien, still be a classmate you walk the halls with, or will things change between you now that the world knows your family ties?”

Lucien groaned audibly behind me. The press laughed, delighted. I grinned over my shoulder. “We’ll still argue in the halls. He’ll still steal my pens. Some things are eternal.”

He muttered, “You’re not wrong,” which only made the room laugh harder.

“Are there any traditions at Ravenrest you’re especially excited to experience again this year?”

“Yes,” I said, voice brightening. “Homecoming. Pep rallies. Finals—well, not finals.” Laughter again. “But the normal rhythm of school. The things that remind me I’m not just a headline.”

The last question in the volley rose: “If you could be remembered for one thing at school outside of being a princess, what would it be?”

The words sat sharp but sure on my tongue. “As a friend. As someone who showed up when it mattered. If that’s all they remember, I’ll take it.”

The next volley came softer, the edge of politics slipping aside for curiosity.

“Princess Mira, what was your childhood like, growing up so privately?”

For a second I almost laughed. “Boring,” I said, which made the room chuckle. “Or at least, it felt boring when I was little. A lot of tutors, a lot of reading, a lot of being told no, you can’t go there. But in hindsight? It was safe. And I think my parents did the best they could with what they had.” I glanced back at them — my mother’s molten gaze steady, my father’s nod a quiet anchor — and felt that truth settle warmer than I expected.

Another hand shot up. “Did you always know you were a princess, or was it something you had to grow into?”

“I always knew the title existed. Growing into it?” I blew out a breath. “Still working on that part. Titles don’t come with instruction manuals.”

Cassie muttered into her mic, “Or common sense.”

I elbowed her lightly. “Careful, Princess Consort.” The cameras ate it alive.

“What do you most look forward to now that you’re living openly?”

“Being able to stop pretending.” The words slipped sharper than planned, but I didn’t take them back. “Pretending I wasn’t me, wasn’t royal, wasn’t different. I’m ready to own it — even if it scares me.”

A softer question followed: “What are your favorite hobbies when you’re not studying or at official events?”

My smile tugged before I could stop it. “Cooking. Baking. Anything in the kitchen. My fire behaves there, usually. Cross-stitch, sometimes, when I need my hands busy. Reading. And cheering, obviously.”

Cassie snorted. “And collecting ridiculous hobbies she’ll abandon in a week.”

I lifted my chin. “Better than doom-scrolling like you.”

The crowd roared at that.

“Do you and your brother Lucien fight like normal siblings? Who usually wins?”

Lucien groaned audibly from behind me. “Define normal.”

I grinned over my shoulder. “We argue about everything. He thinks he wins. He doesn’t.”

“Liar,” he hissed, and the room laughed harder.

“Who is your role model — your mother as Queen, your sister as Princess, or your father as a councilman?”

That one landed heavy. I breathed once, twice. “All of them. My sister for her grace under pressure. My father for his grounding. My mother for… being the strongest person I know.” My throat tightened, but I didn’t look away from the flashes.

“What’s one thing about you the public might be surprised to know?”

I smirked. “That I’m obsessed with otters.” Laughter rippled, confused but charmed. “They don’t even exist here, which is probably why I’m so fascinated. But if I ever find one, it’s coming home with me.”

“Do you cook, or is palace dining always this elaborate?”

“Oh, I cook. Trust me, palace food doesn’t compare to my brownies.”

Cassie leaned closer. “Or her disasters. Last week she set a pan on fire.”

I glared. “Controlled burn.”

The press laughed so hard the flashes blurred.

“If you could spend a whole day with no royal expectations, how would you spend it?”

The answer was instant. “In sweatpants. With my pets. And maybe one of those shows where nothing happens except people renovate kitchens.”

Cassie hummed, mock-offended. “Not with me?”

“With you,” I said quickly, heat rising in my cheeks. “Obviously with you.”

The room melted.

“Do you see yourself as more like your mother or your father?”

I froze for half a heartbeat. “Both,” I said finally. “My fire is hers. My grounding is his. And if I’m lucky, I’ll keep learning from both.”

“Did you and Princess Selene have a typical big-sister/little-sister rivalry growing up?”

“Yes,” I said dryly. “Except instead of fighting over clothes, she out-lectured me. Constantly.” Selene’s soft laugh rang from behind me; I grinned. “But she also carried me when I fell. So rivalry, yes. But love, always.”

“Do you ever wish you could have stayed anonymous a little longer, or are you excited to step into the spotlight?”

The air hitched in my lungs. “Both. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss anonymity. But I also know hiding was eating me alive. So now? I’ll step into the light. And I’ll make it count.”

“Who keeps you grounded when life feels overwhelming?”

Cassie’s hand slid over mine before I even answered. “Her,” I said simply, and the press swooned.

“What’s one book, movie, or piece of music that you love and that might surprise people?”

I thought about lying. Gods, I almost did. But the words slipped anyway. “Spicy romance novels.”

The room erupted — gasps, laughter, shutters snapping like lightning. My ears burned. I clutched the edge of the podium as if I could melt into it.

Cassie’s grin turned positively predatory. “You’re going to have to be more specific than that, Firefly.”

“Next question,” I blurted, desperate.

But of course, the reporters weren’t letting me off. Someone shouted, “Which one’s your favorite, Princess?”

My face was fire. “Fine. The Court of Ash and Ember. Happy?”

More gasps, this time with laughter tangled in. “Because the heroine is angry, messy, and refuses to stay down,” I added quickly, rushing the words. “Not because of the, um, wingspan commentary.”

Cassie’s laugh rang through the room like a bell. “She rereads the training scenes three times over, don’t let her pretend otherwise.”

“Shut up.” I elbowed her, heat climbing higher into my cheeks.

“And The Iron Wing,” I muttered, trying to salvage dignity. “Because… dragons. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Cassie echoed, smirk sharp enough to cut.

“And the Glass Throne Saga,” I added quickly. “Not spicy, but it raised me. Feral queens, impossible choices, blades and blood. It’s… part of why I fight the way I do.”

Cassie hummed, sly. “See? Dramatic heroine since page one.”

I groaned, but pushed on. “And, fine, The Moonspire Chronicles.” A few murmurs rippled — the name carried weight. “Because sometimes a story about a modern city drowning in secrets and grief feels too close to home. And because the ending wrecked me.”

Cassie pounced. “She sobbed through it. Twice.”

My head snapped toward her. “You sobbed through it too! Don’t think I didn’t see you reread the last chapter.”

The flashes exploded harder, the room delighted. I groaned into the microphone. “Gods help me.”

Behind us, Mother’s sigh was molten steel, Father’s laugh a low rumble he failed to smother.

Another reporter seized the opening. “If you weren’t a princess, what career or dream would you chase?”

That one was blessedly easier. “Chef. No question.”

Cassie’s smirk softened, turning devastatingly earnest. “And she’d be incredible at it.”

The flashbulbs nearly blinded me, but I didn’t flinch. Not when the warmth in her voice was louder than the chaos around us.

“How did you and Princess Consort Cassandra first meet?”

Cassie smirked. “Chemistry class. She sat in the back row like she wanted to vanish. I found that unacceptable.”

I rolled my eyes. “She found it amusing to throw paper balls at me until I snapped.”

“You liked the attention.”

“I plotted your downfall.”

“And yet,” she said sweetly, “here we are.”

Flashes burst as the press laughed.

“Princess Mira, when did you realize you were in love?”

I groaned. “Gods, must we?”

“Yes,” Cassie purred.

The truth itched in my throat. “When she drove me so insane I couldn’t imagine life without her. Which, unfortunately, was early.”

Cassie leaned closer, smug. “She tried to fight it. Failed spectacularly.”

“Did you have a private wedding ceremony, or are there plans for a public one?”

“Private,” I said quickly. “Very private.”

Cassie’s grin sharpened. “If you can call shouting vows across a dinner table private.”

My ears burned. “It was romantic in a chaos-gremlin sort of way.”

“Which is our brand,” she added, proud.

“Princess Consort Cassandra, what has been the biggest adjustment in becoming part of the royal family?”

“Learning how not to swear into microphones,” she deadpanned, earning laughter. Then, softer: “And realizing I wasn’t just marrying Mira, I was marrying the fire, the spotlight, the weight. Took a minute to stop flinching. But she’s worth it.”

Heat prickled my eyes before I smothered it under a glare. “You’re still not excused from swearing.”

“Princess Mira, how would you describe your wife in one word?”

“Infuriating,” I said instantly.

Cassie gasped. “Excuse you!”

I smirked. “Infuriatingly loyal. Infuriatingly stubborn. Infuriatingly… mine.”

That shut her up. Briefly.

“Princess Consort Cassandra, what is something about Mira that makes her feel less like a princess and more like ‘just Mira’?”

Cassie didn’t miss a beat. “When she’s in sweatpants, hair a mess, cursing at her oven like it personally betrayed her.”

The press howled. My face flamed. “It does betray me!”

“Do you plan to appear together at public charity events or royal duties as a couple?”

“Yes,” I said firmly.

“No,” Cassie countered, grinning.

We glared. The flashes went wild.

Then I sighed. “Yes, because I drag her.”

“And no, because she bribes me with food,” Cassie amended.

“Princess Mira, how does it feel to balance being both a student and a newlywed?”

“Like chaos.” I gestured at Cassie. “Exhibit A.”

She elbowed me. “She loves it. She forgets homework; I remember it. She burns dinner; I order pizza. We’re a system.”

“Princess Consort Cassandra, how has your family reacted to your new role in the royal family?”

She smirked, sharp as glass. “They tried to warn me off her.”

My jaw dropped. “They what—”

She leaned in, kissed my cheek just to shut me up. “Didn’t work.”

The room melted.

“Do you plan to have children someday?”

Mother’s molten voice sliced the air. “That is not a question for today.”

Father added his low rumble: “Move on.”

But Cassie—of course—leaned forward. “Probably twins. It runs in her family.”

“Cass!” I hissed, scandalized.

The room erupted in laughter. Even Selene’s sigh was audible behind us.

“What do you do to keep your relationship normal, despite all the attention?”

“Board games,” I said. “She cheats.”

“I do not!”

“Explain twelve wins at cards.”

Her grin was pure wolf. “Talent.”

The press roared.

“Do you ever argue — and if so, who usually wins?”

“Yes,” we both said at once.

“Me,” I insisted.

“Me,” she shot back.

We glared. Broke. Laughed. The room lost it with us.

“What’s the most ordinary, everyday thing the two of you enjoy doing together?”

“Cooking,” I said softly. “Music too loud. She steals bites when she thinks I’m not looking.”

Cassie leaned closer, voice velvet. “She always knows. She lets me anyway.”

I swallowed hard. For a moment, the chaos stilled. “Because if I don’t, she pouts.”

Her smirk gentled. “And you love it.”

A last voice called over the noise: “Princess Mira, Princess Consort Cassandra — what’s the one thing you most want people to understand about your relationship?”

For once, Cassie didn’t smirk. She leaned into her mic, voice steady. “That we chose each other. Not because of titles, not because of crowns — because even when we were at each other’s throats, I knew I didn’t want a life that didn’t have her in it.”

My throat closed. Heat blurred the edges of the flashing cameras. I swallowed hard and let the truth slip, raw and unvarnished. “That she sees me when I’m not a princess. When I’m not fire or light or anything worth writing about. She sees just… me. And still says I’m enough.”

The press quieted, shutters stuttering slow, as if even they knew better than to ruin it.

Cassie’s hand found mine beneath the podium, fingers twining firm, anchor-solid. I pressed back.

I cleared my throat. “That’s the last one. No more questions tonight. We have school in the morning, and that comes first — always.”

A ripple of laughter, surprised but warm. Then the room broke into chaos — chairs scraping, reporters calling out, cameras flashing harder.

The sound hit too fast. Lights, bodies, voices — a riot slamming straight into my ribs, faster than my fire could burn it down. My breath snagged. My fingers twitched, wanting to stim, wanting to fold, wanting out.

Cassie caught it first, of course. Her hand slid from mine to my wrist, thumb drawing lazy, infinite loops. Her perfume — citrus and vanilla — cut through the scorched air. Her heartbeat, steady and fierce, threaded through the noise until I caught it, matched it, breathed it.

Mother’s molten presence was a wall at my back, Father’s cedar weight a grounding shadow. But it was Cassie who steadied me — Cassie who leaned in, voice low enough that only I could hear: “Breathe, Firefly. I’ve got you.”

I did.

And when the storm of the press finally spilled outward, when the room thinned to a manageable hum, I still had her hand in mine. Still had her heartbeat to anchor me.