The most eagerly awaited day for the queen—and the least eagerly awaited for Priscilla—had arrived: her birthday, which marked her coming of age. It was a date celebrated with enthusiasm throughout the kingdom, not only because it was the birthday of the crown princess, but also because, following a tradition established by the queen herself, on that day sweets, gifts, and letters of gratitude were distributed among the citizens. For the people, it was a celebration. For Priscilla, it was an obligation.

  She hated that day. She had said so many times. Not because she detested having a birthday, but because of everything it entailed: the exposure, the forced smiles, the empty speeches, and, above all, that feeling of playing a role she never chose.

  Even so, the castle servants—who knew her well and respected her deeply—did everything they could to cheer her up from the very first moment. And that morning was no exception.

  She woke up with a start when she felt someone gently shaking her. When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was a huge cake with lit candles, just a few inches from her face. To her right was her grandmother, smiling warmly. To her left was Máximo, looking at her with an expression that was a mixture of patience and complicity. As she sat up in bed, she also saw Máximo's family and her closest servants.

  Everyone began to sing “Happy Birthday” with contagious enthusiasm. Priscilla, red with embarrassment, covered her face with her hands as she giggled. Maximo gave her a look that clearly said, “I understand”... or perhaps, “I swear I asked them not to do this.”

  When the singing ended, Priscilla quickly blew out the candles, wishing the moment would pass quickly.

  —You're my big girl now. — said the queen tenderly, caressing her face.

  —I'll always be your little girl. — replied Priscilla, half smiling.

  —Why don't we let her get up, take a shower, and then...?

  —And then come the surprises! — interrupted the queen, excited like a little girl.

  —Surprises? — repeated Priscilla, frowning.

  —Yes... — said Máximo, with that enigmatic tone of someone who clearly knows more than he is saying.

  —Get ready and put on something comfortable, my girl. — said the queen, kissing her on the forehead.

  —Happy birthday, Your Majesty. — said Máximo's family and the servants in unison, before leaving.

  —Happy birthday, Pri. — whispered Máximo, handing her a small box wrapped in a dark blue ribbon.

  —Thank you, husband. — she joked, as she often did, while curiously untied the ribbon.

  Priscila took the little doll between her fingers with an involuntary tenderness. Her eyes scanned it: the braided brown hair, the sky-blue dress like the one she used to wear as a child, the eyes embroidered with dark thread... and a small but comforting smile. Then she took the brooch and turned it between her fingers. It was silver, delicate, with petals that seemed to move slightly with the light. In the center was a clear, polished stone, as if it held a small ray of moonlight trapped inside.

  —It's... beautiful. Did you make it? —

  —The doll, yes. Not the brooch. But I chose it because I knew you would like it. — Máximo replied, putting his hands in his pockets, somewhat uncomfortable with such an intimate gesture. — It's a symbol of transformation, you know? That flower blooms once a year. Just like you.

  Priscila laughed softly, her heart feeling a little lighter. She stood up, still holding the box in her hands.

  —You'll have to explain to me how you managed to make that smile so similar to mine... the mocking one, I mean.

  —I studied years of science and irony to achieve it. — he replied, with a slight exaggerated bow that made Priscilla shake her head, laughing.

  Priscila hugged the doll tightly for a few seconds, as if that would keep the peace in her chest a little longer. Then she placed it carefully on the table, put the brooch on one side of her hair, and stood up.

  —All right. I'm going to take a shower. I'll get dressed. And then... let the surprises begin.

  Maximo bowed exaggeratedly.

  —At your service, Your Majesty.

  She snorted with amusement and left the room with a gesture that finally resembled a real smile.

  In her bathroom, under the hot water, Priscilla thought about many things. About what was coming. About parties, about responsibilities. About the recent trip and the words that still made her shudder. But above all, she thought about a little wool doll that looked like her... and a silver flower that now sparkled on her hair as if it had always been part of her.

  When she left her room, Coral was waiting for her with a restrained smile.

  —Ready, miss?

  —Coral, what are they up to?

  —I don't know anything... I'm just following orders from the queen and the ‘husband.’

  —Don't call him that again! — Priscilla laughed, giving her a slight push with her shoulder as they walked down the corridor.

  They took her to the palace's inner courtyard, where a carriage decorated with wildflowers awaited her. Máximo was already seated, wearing an expression that was both knowing and mysterious.

  —Shall we go? — he asked, offering her his hand.

  —Where's my grandmother?

  —She'll see us at the main event. This is... before the chaos.

  —Chaos?

  —Your coming-of-age day. Were you expecting tranquility?

  Priscila sighed but accepted his hand. She climbed into the carriage, and it began to move, leaving the palace behind.

  During the journey, the morning air filled the cabin with the scent of the city in celebration. From the streets, people waved handkerchiefs and shouted congratulations. Priscilla smiled shyly back at many of them, although she knew that what she liked most about these celebrations were the gifts her grandmother sent to the citizens. She didn't like being the center of attention.

  After a short ride, the carriage stopped in front of a small private garden that Priscilla did not remember visiting before. Maximo got out first, then helped her down.

  —What is this?

  —Your first surprise. But we have to go inside to find out.

  The wrought-iron gate opened with a slight creak, revealing a glass greenhouse covered in ivy, and inside, flowers that did not seem to belong in Rome. The walls were covered with purple vines, and in the center, a small table with two chairs... and a scroll rolled up on a cushion.

  —This...?

  —Don't touch it yet.— said Máximo, becoming serious for a moment. — The queen asked me to bring it when you were ready.

  —Ready for what?

  —To read something your mother wrote before she died.

  Priscila froze. Her gaze shifted between the scroll, Máximo, and the flowers, which suddenly seemed blurrier.

  —Are you sure you want to read it now?

  She didn't answer right away. Her heart was pounding in her chest and temples. Finally, she nodded slightly and took a step forward, her hands trembling, just like that time on the island.

  Priscila sat down in front of the cushion. The parchment awaited her with solemn stillness, as if even the air inside the greenhouse were holding its breath.

  Máximo did not sit down. He stood to one side, his hands clasped behind his back, respecting the moment with the distance of someone who understands that it is not about him, even though his presence was indispensable.

  Priscila delicately broke the seal. It was the emblem of the Albani family, but older, with a design that had not been used for generations. She unrolled the parchment, and elegant, curved, firm calligraphy filled her field of vision.

  Her mother was speaking to her.

  My dear daughter:

  When you read this, you will have reached the day I most feared and most longed for. I feared not being with you, I feared not being able to hold your hand as you became a woman. But I longed for you to reach this day knowing that, even from the other side of time, I am with you.

  I will not speak to you as a queen. You will have enough of that. I will speak to you as a mother, as the woman who dreamed of you every day since she knew you would come into the world.

  Our lineage, which is yours by right, has been full of glory... and secrets. I don't want you to become the heiress without knowing what that title really means. There is a story they didn't tell you. A betrayal. A broken pact. And a line that only you can correct.

  This garden was the only place where I felt free. I secretly reclaimed it, filled it with flowers I brought from other kingdoms, flowers that no one else would recognize. Here I cried, laughed, and wrote this. Here I decided that you, and not the council, would have the power to decide whether the truth should come to light.

  Under this table, in a hidden compartment, there is a second scroll. One that holds what I did not dare to say out loud.

  My love for you is endless, and so is my trust in you. Forgive me for not being there, but if you are reading this, it is because you are ready.

  With eternal love,

  Your mother, Aurelia.

  When she finished reading, Priscilla couldn't speak. She closed her eyes for a moment, and a silent tear rolled down her cheek. Maximo approached silently and knelt in front of her, gently taking her hand.

  —I'm here. — he said simply.

  Priscilla nodded. With slow movements, she also knelt in front of the table and felt the underside. Just as her mother had said, a board gave way with a soft click, and from inside she pulled out a second scroll, shorter, sealed with black wax.

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  The symbol on it was not real... but forbidden.

  A shield split in two. A snake entwined with a broken crown.

  Priscila held it in her hands.

  —This... is the real secret. — she whispered.

  Maximo looked at her with a mixture of fear and respect.

  —Should we open it?

  —Not yet. Not here. I need to think. If my mother was afraid... then I must be careful.

  They fell silent. Around them, the greenhouse vibrated with light, but inside, everything had become denser, more real.

  She stood up slowly, as if the weight of the object were more than physical. Maximo gave her a supportive look, but asked no questions. He knew. He too understood that this was something sacred.

  —Let's move on to the next surprise. — said Priscilla, her voice still somewhat broken, but firm.

  —Are you sure? We can wait. —

  —I'm sure. If I stay here too long... I won't want to leave.

  Maximo nodded, and together they left the greenhouse. Outside, the sun was already shining brightly, the blue sky stretched over Rome like a festive blanket, and from the palace came the first melodies of strings being tuned. The streets were beginning to fill with people in colorful clothes, and banners with the symbol of the Albani waved at every corner.

  When they reached the main courtyard of the palace, Priscilla stopped short.

  A row of white horses awaited them, all with gold-embroidered breastplates and garlands of flowers. In the center, a taller one with silver fur stood out from the rest.

  —What is this?

  —The next surprise. — said Coral, appearing magically with a knowing smile. — The queen asked that the citizens see their princess tour the city... as she deserves.

  —In a procession?

  —Not exactly. Today you are not just a princess... today you are the official heir. And that means making yourself seen. It's tradition.

  —I didn't know the tradition included horses with better braids than mine. — she joked, albeit with a resigned smile.

  Maximo laughed softly.

  —There's also another detail... The town is waiting for you in the Plaza del Sol to hear the ‘Speech of the Majority.’

  —Speech?

  —Your grandmother and I wrote it last night. It's just symbolic. You can improvise.

  Priscila put her hand to her forehead.

  —This really is a birthday punishment.

  But as she said it, her eyes sparkled. Maybe it wasn't the birthday she would have chosen... but it wasn't so bad either. She looked at Máximo, at Coral, at the servants waiting with contained excitement. For a moment, she felt loved, not for being a princess, but for being herself.

  —All right. But after this... I want an hour of absolute silence in my room. No dresses, no music, no people.

  —We have a deal. — said Maximo, offering her his hand to help her onto the horse.

  And so, with the Roman sun shining on her back and applause beginning to be heard from the nearby streets, Priscilla set off on her journey to the village. Not as a child. Not as a decorative figure.

  But as someone who, for the first time, was beginning to bear the weight of a truth that would change her story.

  And only at nightfall, in solitude, would she discover how profound that truth was.

  The Plaza del Sol was packed. Ivory-colored fabrics hung from the balconies, children waved golden ribbons, and musicians played a soft melody that seemed to blend with the murmur of the town. When the carriage escorted by white horses arrived, a reverent silence fell over the place.

  Priscila descended with innate elegance, her dress simple, white, and loose, with floral details on the edges, more befitting a traveler than an heiress. Queen Edesia was already waiting for her on the stage, with a smile as proud as it was discreet. Máximo offered her a fleeting glance from the back of the stage. Everything was ready.

  The young princess walked slowly forward, the notes of the royal anthem closing the entrance. When she reached the center, she took a deep breath. In her hand she held the parchment with the words written by her grandmother and reviewed by Maximo... but she did not open it.

  She let the wind rock it in her fingers and looked up at the crowd. Her voice came out clear, without trembling.

  —Dear people of Rome... today I turn eighteen. And although that means many things for the kingdom, I want you to know what it means for me.

  She paused. No one spoke. Even the children seemed to have held their breath.

  —It means responsibility. It means accepting that what lies ahead will not always be easy. That the truth, however painful, is preferable to ignorance. And that the heart. — he glanced at Maximo for a second. — Sometimes finds peace in the most unexpected places.

  The murmurs intensified a little. The queen nodded, as if giving him permission to continue in his own way.

  —Today I am not only celebrating another year... but the opportunity to see you, to be with you. Not because of the title I was given, but because I care about you. Because if I am to rule one day, it will be with truth. And with my heart.

  A pause. Priscilla took a deep breath and finally said:

  —Thank you... for trusting me, even when I am still learning to do so myself.

  The applause was spontaneous. Nothing forced, nothing out of duty. It was real. And among all the people cheering her on, Priscilla saw only one.

  Maximo.

  The ceremony gradually dissolved amid toasts, smiles, greetings, and petals thrown from the balconies. But as the sun began to set, Coral approached Priscilla with an enigmatic smile.

  —Your Highness... the ‘husband’ wishes to see you.

  —Another surprise?

  —A... special one.

  She led her down a side corridor of the palace to one of the old towers that was no longer in use. The spiral staircase was decorated with small wildflowers stuck to the stone, and a row of candles marked the way.

  Priscila didn't ask any questions. She climbed silently, her heart beating fast.

  When she reached the top, an old wooden door was ajar. She pushed it open carefully.

  Inside, she found a corner she had never seen before: the glass ceiling allowed her to see the sky tinged with pink and violet. In the center, a white linen blanket, cushions, and a tray with sweets and freshly baked bread. And next to all that... a wooden box carved with ancient symbols. Máximo was standing there waiting for her, his expression a mixture of tenderness and nervousness.

  —I thought that after all... you might want a moment without crowns or speeches.

  She approached slowly, exhaling through her nose.

  —This is the best gift.

  —You haven't even opened it.

  —I'm not talking about the box.

  Maximo blushed slightly, something that rarely happened.

  She sat down and opened the box. Inside was a small leather notebook with blank pages and an antique pen.

  —Is it for writing?

  —It's your own logbook. — he said. — In case one day you want to leave your own words for someone else... like your mother did for you.

  Priscila felt tears welling up again, but not from sadness. She leaned in and, without saying another word, rested her head on his shoulder.

  —Thank you... husband. —

  Maximo let out a soft laugh.

  —You're starting to enjoy this.

  —Maybe a little.

  And there, in that forgotten tower, with the sky fading above them, the princess and her best friend shared the only moment of the day that did not belong to the kingdom, or to obligations, or even to blood.

  —What would you write first? — asked Máximo, playing with a petal between his fingers as the sun melted into golden tones.

  Priscila did not answer immediately. Her gaze was fixed on the notebook, her fingers running over the leather spine as if she could absorb its contents before filling it.

  —Perhaps... that I finally understand why my mother left words on paper. — she murmured. —Sometimes saying something out loud is very difficult. But writing it down... is something else.

  Maximo watched her in silence, allowing her that space.

  —And you, what would you write if you were me?

  He smiled with a touch of irony, but answered sincerely.

  —Today was the day I wanted the least, but needed the most.

  Priscila looked at him with raised eyebrows.

  —Since when are you a poet?

  —Since I've known you.

  She let out a soft laugh, almost in surprise, and lowered her gaze. She said nothing, but the blush on her cheeks spoke for her.

  The moment seemed eternal, suspended in that forgotten corner of the world. A bubble containing something sacred. Until...

  —Miss Priscilla! — Coral shouted from the bottom of the stairs. —They're looking for you to change costumes! There are less than two hours until your royal presentation!

  They both jumped. The bubble burst.

  —Now? — Priscila asked, frustrated, looking toward the door.

  —Right now! The queen said that if she found you with your hands dirty from cake, she would disinherit you for a day.

  Maximo chuckled softly, picking up the empty box.

  —You must go. The kingdom awaits you, princess.

  Priscila reluctantly stood up, smoothing her dress without looking at Máximo.

  —Thank you... for this. I won't forget it.

  He approached her and, before she stepped down, delicately placed the flower-shaped brooch in her hair, tucking a loose strand behind her ear.

  —You're ready.

  She looked at him, her eyes shining not with the excitement of the event, but with something more intimate.

  —Stay close tonight, okay?

  —Always.

  And with that word, Priscilla descended the tower, leaving behind the trace of a moment that no dance or crown could match.

  Night had fallen and guests began arriving in large numbers. Nobles and workers alike gathered, sharing laughter and conversation with the clear awareness that, despite their differences, they all depended on each other and respected one another. The palace doors would close promptly at nine, just in time for Priscilla's arrival.

  In her room, Priscilla carefully tried on her dress. It was a dark blue velvet piece, elegant and understated, accompanied by a small cape that fell from the middle of her back to the floor. She wore white gloves that matched the delicacy of the ensemble. While her hair was being styled in soft waves, Coral appeared with a box in her hands.

  —What do you have there? — Priscila asked curiously.

  —Your accessories, miss.

  —I just want to wear the brooch Máximo gave me today, nothing else.

  —As you wish. — Coral replied with a smile, as if hiding a secret.

  With the finishing touches done, Priscila stood looking at herself in the mirror.

  ...and for a moment she didn't recognize herself.

  The reflection in the mirror was not that of the stubborn girl who complained in the mornings or the one who practiced fencing in secret. It was that of a woman. An heiress. A figure who, from that night on, would be seen with different eyes throughout the kingdom.

  Priscila ran a hand over her waist, smoothing her dress as if she wanted to smooth out her emotions as well. The flower-shaped brooch that Máximo had given her adorned her hair, simple and shiny, but with more meaning than any crown.

  —You look beautiful, miss. — Coral said softly, sweetly.

  —Thank you... Coral, can I ask you something?

  —Of course.

  —Do you think I'll be a good Queen?

  Coral didn't hesitate for a second.

  —You already are. All that's left is for the world to see it.

  Priscila nodded with a small smile that she could barely hold. She took a deep breath and turned toward the door.

  —Then let's give them a show.

  She walked down the grand corridor of the north wing, her footsteps muffled by the royal carpet. The sounds of music, laughter, and toasts reached her like distant echoes. She paused for a few seconds before crossing the large doors of the main hall. On the other side, her world was about to change forever.

  The palace bell rang nine times.

  The heralds opened the doors.

  And Priscilla, her chin held high and her heart beating so hard it seemed to push her forward, entered.

  All eyes turned to her as if time had stopped. Some bowed, others applauded fervently. The queen was waiting for her at the top of the staircase leading to the hall. And among the crowd, Maximo eyes rose to meet hers, as if the invisible thread that bound them together had suddenly tightened.

  They made a toast in honor of Priscilla, and without further ado, the party began. However, she found it exhausting to have to greet each guest one by one, a never-ending task given the number of people present.

  For a long time, she went from person to person, trying to smile and maintain her composure, until the dancing began. That's when Máximo rescued her, approaching her and asking her to dance with him.

  —Thank you, I still had a lot of people to greet. — she said, relieved.

  —You're welcome. — he replied with a smile.

  —Didn't Selene come?

  —No one has bothered me, so I guess not. Although I did say hello to her mother and father; I had never seen Mr. Akvis before, he's a sinister guy.

  —He is, although they say that if you talk to him, he's a good person... more so than his wife.

  —Where did Selene get so much evil from then?

  They both laughed as they continued dancing. When they finished, they bowed to each other, but were interrupted by a familiar voice.

  —My girl! — exclaimed the queen from a distance, catching Priscilla's attention and gesturing for her to come closer.

  Maximo offered her his arm to accompany her. As they walked, they encountered a new figure: a tall, blond man dressed in a navy blue uniform, standing next to the queen.

  When they reached her, the queen spoke before Priscilla or Maximo could ask any questions.

  —This is Duke Amadeo, he came from Spain.

  —It's a pleasure to meet you, princess. — said the duke, taking Priscilla's hand and kissing it politely, which made her feel uncomfortable for no apparent reason.

  —What do you think of Rome? What are you doing in these parts?

  —I like to travel, that's why I'm a sailor, miss. — he replied, looking away toward Maximo and extending his hand to greet him. —Amadeo, you are...

  —Maximo Valois, future Viscount Valois. — he introduced himself, shaking the duke's hand firmly.

  —I suppose you two are engaged, aren't you?

  Priscila and Máximo laughed quietly, remembering the joke they had made on the ship, but then shook their heads.

  —We're good friends.

  —I see. In that case, would you grant me a dance?

  —Happy to…— she replied.

  Without further ado, she followed the duke to the dance floor, while Máximo watched her from a distance.

  —You seem a little restless. — the queen remarked to Máximo, without taking her eyes off the dance floor.

  —Why do you say that? — he replied, trying to appear unconcerned.

  —You know why. — she added, smiling subtly, just before receiving a small sealed envelope that a page discreetly handed her.

  Meanwhile, Priscilla danced with Duke Amadeo, who maintained a proper demeanor, although his smile seemed strangely studied.

  —Tell me, what do you like to do? — he asked curiously.

  —I keep fit and study... nothing very interesting.

  —Any specific sports?

  —What is Spain like? — said Priscilla, skillfully diverting the conversation.

  —Hot. I love enjoying the beaches and fresh fruit. — he replied nostalgically.

  —Ah... — she commented, without much enthusiasm or anything to add.

  —You look great tonight. I almost forgot, happy birthday. You're turning 18, right?

  —Did my grandmother tell you?

  —I guessed. — he said with a shrug.

  —Hmm... — She looked at him suspiciously. — You seem like a know-it-all.

  —Let's just say I know a lot about you. — he replied at the end of the dance, in an enigmatic tone.

  —Excuse me? — she said, stopping short.

  —Priscila! There's mail for you. — the queen shouted from across the room.

  —Happy birthday, princess. — said the duke with a slight bow, but his mocking tone and the fixed stare he gave her at the end made Priscilla freeze.

  Confused, she walked over to where her grandmother was waiting for her with an envelope in her hand. As soon as she read the sender's name, she felt her stomach tighten.

  “To Priscilla, from Leandro.”

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