Christmas Eve at the palace was not merely a date; it was a display of the Queen's will, who loved to celebrate every occasion with an opulence that bordered on the sacred. Weeks before the day, the air already smelled of preparations. Carriages arrived at the palace loaded with winter flowers and decorations in triumphant red, gold, and silver. In the center of the grand courtyard, a colossal pine tree stood like a guardian, adorned with silk ribbons, stars made of intertwined branches, and dehydrated fruits that released a sweet, citrus aroma mixed with the warmth of cinnamon.

  The interior was not to be outdone. A red carpet guided guests from the entrance to the courtyard exit, where the true magic awaited. There, on neatly arranged tables, rested candles, pieces of pine bark, and quills with which guests would engrave their most intimate yearnings.

  The tradition was clear and merciless in its symbolism: Candles: A fire to guide those who are no longer here. Tree Bark: Rough wood where desires for oneself are inscribed. Flowers: A living offering for someone you love or desire.

  The party bustled from nine in the evening amidst toasts and laughter, but the atmosphere changed at three in the morning, when the music ceased and the palace plunged into the silence of the "Winter Altar Ceremony."

  Priscila, faithful to her reserved character, felt her usual aversion to celebrations of such magnitude. Though she loathed to admit it, choosing an outfit usually sent her into a state of agitation, but on this occasion, Coral —her loyal friend— had intervened in advance. Knowing the princess loved red but her shyness prevented her from wearing it, she ensured that tonight Priscila would shine with the intensity of the star she had always been to those who truly knew her.

  The dress was a long piece with a fitted silhouette, made of fine, light, and flowing satin that caressed the lines of her body with every movement. The color was an intense red, a deep and elegant tone that demanded immediate attention. The sleeveless design with thin straps featured a straight neckline that left her shoulders bare, providing a delicate sophistication. The most distinctive detail was a floral choker of the same red tone integrated into the neck, creating a romantic and ethereal effect.

  Seeing the final result, Coral could not hide her pride. —You look magnificent, Pri. —Thanks to you —Priscila replied, though her smile was tinged with a familiar melancholy—. I wish you could come down with me and spend the night together. She knew that the rigid class difference made her wish impossible, a reality that often made her long for a different world.

  They continued with the jewelry, selecting romantic-style drop earrings on a soft gold base. At the top, a three-dimensional rose carved in burgundy red mimicked the natural texture of petals, flanked by small golden leaves with an organic feel. Clear crystals and white pearls added a subtle shimmer, culminating in a teardrop-shaped pearl with a satin finish.

  For her neck, they chose a multi-strand choker of perfectly aligned pearls. In the center, an oval setting held an intense, faceted red gem surrounded by a halo of crystals that enhanced the dramatic depth of the stone. The jewelry achieved a classic balance between the purity of the pearls and the fieriness of the ruby.

  Priscila’s hair, her characteristic medium-to-short length, was styled in soft waves that provided volume and movement. On one side, a three-strand braid was delicately integrated, gathering at the nape in a low, unstructured, and airy bun. It wasn't a rigid hairstyle, but one that maintained a relaxed and sophisticated finish, with wavy strands framing her face.

  As a final touch, they placed an aged bronze metal comb in the back, decorated with Baroque filigree. At its center, a deep red oval garnet harmonized with two smaller stones, sealing an image that perfectly combined the authority of her rank with the sensitivity of her soul.

  Priscila looked in the mirror one last time before descending toward the grand courtyard, aware that at three in the morning, the Winter Altar Ceremony awaited her.

  Priscila halted her step just before crossing the threshold leading to the balcony where her grandmother waited. Nervousness flooded her; despite being the future successor to the throne, the magnitude of the events organized by the Queen never ceased to intimidate her, though she knew her sense of duty would not allow her to retreat.

  She took a deep breath and let it out in a slow sigh. That gesture failed to dissipate the tension, but it was her way of accepting that, despite her desire to flee, she had to fulfill her role. Coral, following closely behind, sensed her unease and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. —I’ll be by your side all night; as soon as you want to escape, we will —she murmured in a teasing tone, trying to draw a smile from her.

  Priscila could only respond with a silent smile, as she felt her throat tightening in a knot of anxiety. With a slight gesture, she signaled the guard to open the doors. The light of the ballroom bathed her suddenly as the music, which flowed elegantly, stopped in an expectant silence. There stood Queen Edesia Albani, sitting beside her advisor; sensing her granddaughter's arrival, she turned her face and stood up to take her hands. —You look beautiful, as always —the Queen admired with a smile full of pride. —Coral chose it for me; I don't know what I would do without her —Priscila replied as she squeezed her grandmother's hands, seeking stability amidst her nerves.

  Queen Edesia directed a look of gratitude toward Coral, nodding her head in approval. Then, she guided Priscila to the edge of the balcony, where a guard announced their names with a powerful voice toward the illuminated courtyard: —Queen Edesia Albani and her granddaughter, Princess Priscila Albani.

  From the height, Priscila observed the crowd scanning her with their usual critical gaze. After a few seconds of solemn silence, the guests erupted in fervent applause as the Queen, with a firm and elegant step, began to guide her granddaughter down the stairs toward the heart of the party.

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  The evening passed with astonishing speed. Before Priscila could even process it, the grand clock in the hall marked nearly one in the morning. Her eyes had not stopped searching the room for Máximo; she knew he had to make a short trip and would arrive late, but she never imagined the wait would stretch so long.

  By the time it was one-thirty, resignation began to take hold of her. However, as she turned her gaze toward the entrance for the thousandth time, she saw him appear. Máximo crossed the threshold with his smiling family; they all looked somewhat distressed by the delay, but Máximo’s expression denoted the same desperate urgency Priscila felt to find him.

  As soon as his eyes met the Princess's, he closed the distance almost at a run. He stopped just a few steps away to give an impeccable bow —for, despite their closeness, court rules reminded them she was still his future queen— but after the protocol, a playful smile lit up his face and he stepped closer to wrap her in an embrace. —You look beautiful —he whispered in her ear, holding the hug a second longer than necessary. —Thank you —Priscila replied with a laugh, feeling the tension evaporate—. You, as always, look very elegant and handsome.

  As they pulled apart, they joined the rest of the Valois family. The remaining time of the early morning was filled with the tale of their misadventures: how Rosette had lost track of time trying on dresses, her father's miscalculation of the schedule, and the minor disaster of the clothes that, after being washed, had gotten wet again because they were poorly secured. No one had gathered them because, in a gesture of Christmas kindness, they had sent all the servants to spend the holidays with their families.

  At three in the morning, the festive atmosphere gave way to shared solemnity. Everyone separated to collect the elements of the tradition: a candle, a piece of bark, and a flower.

  The grand courtyard of the palace, guarded by the monumental pine, became the stage for the Winter Altar Ceremony. Queen Edesia stood by the tree and, when the silence was total, she raised her voice to address those present. —My dear ones, as our celebration dictates, we will begin with the candles —the Queen announced before lighting her own, which bore the names of her husband, her daughter, and her son-in-law—. This light is for my husband, a fighter and a beloved man; for my daughter and my son-in-law, whom I will miss every day of my life and for whom, if I could, I would give my own life just so they could be here. Always remember those who have departed, because the only people who truly die are those who fall into oblivion.

  With firm hands, the Queen placed the candle on the ground, marking the beginning of a luminous circle around the pine. One by one, the guests approached to place their own lights, engraved with the names of parents, children, and siblings. Priscila did the same, watching her parents' names carved into the wax. As the flame gained strength, she felt a deep yearning in her chest: she wished that the path she was walking would lead her to the truth, so that next year she would not have to place another candle under the shadow of that tree.

  After the candlelight, it was time for the pine bark. The guests gathered around a bonfire whose warmth contrasted with the freezing early morning air. Queen Edesia, with her imposing presence, took the floor once more: —Next is for us. For what we wish to improve and the best we have achieved. It is time to surrender to the flames what we no longer need and leave the bad behind on this night of joy; humility always finds its way back if it is born from an honest heart.

  One by one, those present engraved their resolutions with bird quills and tossed the wood into the fire, stoking a blaze that seemed to invite introspection and personal growth.

  Finally, the moment for the flowers arrived. Protocol dictated that each person must bring their own, and after a gesture of approval from the Queen to her granddaughter, the exchange began. Priscila had already delivered the corresponding offering to her grandmother, but she still held one flower in her hand, and she knew exactly to whom it belonged.

  However, Máximo had disappeared from her sight. Not even Coral could locate him in the crowd. After an incessant search through the corridors, they found him in one of the side parlors, but he was not alone. Selene Akvis, who had kept a low profile for most of the night, was there, breaking the calm with her dominant voice. —It was simply horrible, my father and his eccentricities... —Selene complained with that conceited tone that characterized her. She had been talking for minutes without pause, but as soon as she spotted Priscila in the distance, a spark of malice lit up in her eyes.

  Máximo looked exhausted, trapped in a conversation he didn't want. —I'm sorry your father is like that, Selene, but... —No "buts" —she interrupted him abruptly as she held out a flower—. This is for you.

  Máximo watched the gift with surprise. He had seen the flower in Selene's hands before, but he assumed someone had given it to her, not that he was the recipient. —Thank you, Selene —he replied with a smile of mere courtesy. —And I assume that one you have there is for me, right? —she asked, pointing with a mixture of eagerness and confidence at the flower Máximo was shielding.

  He let out an involuntary laugh, thinking it was a joke, but Selene's expression remained rigid, waiting. —No, Selene. It's for someone else. —For whom? —she snapped, raising her voice with an irritation bordering on fury. —Are you my mother to question me? —Máximo retorted, annoyed by her aggressiveness. —Is it for her, then? For your sisters? For the Queen? —Selene threw the questions like darts until a heavy silence fell between them—. Is it for... Priscila?

  Máximo did not waver. With a frown, he nodded. He felt no fear in admitting it, though Selene's insistence was becoming increasingly unbearable. In a fit of immaturity, Selene snatched the flower from his hands and threw it to the ground with contempt. —Don't act like a child, Selene —he stated firmly, walking away from her coldly.

  Upon leaving the room, Selene ran straight into Priscila, who had witnessed the scene in shock. —Why Máximo, huh? Couldn't you find someone else? If you weren't the princess, I swear... —Don't say another word, Selene —Priscila cut her off with a gelid voice—. We both know perfectly well what happened at your family's ball. You won't want to test me today.

  Without giving her time to reply, Priscila stepped toward Máximo, trying to erase the bitter taste of the encounter. He, upon seeing her, changed his expression to one of genuine relief. —Pri, I was just about to go look for you.

  Nervously, Priscila held out her flower to him. —For you —she said simply. As soon as the words left her mouth, she wished she had a time machine to have made the delivery in a more solemn way—. I have never given a flower to anyone other than my grandmother. I can't find the right words, but... thank you for being here.

  Máximo took the offering and, in a reciprocal gesture, handed her the flower he had recovered from the ground, or perhaps one he kept in reserve. —I will always be by your side, Pri —he said simply. He knew Priscila appreciated honesty more than long speeches, and he didn't want to pressure her to respond with words her shyness did not yet allow.

  At three in the morning, the chiming of the clock officially closed the festivities. While the guests departed with the satisfaction of a night fulfilled, Priscila, now in the solitude of her room, placed Máximo's flower in a vase. She stood watching it, finally admitting that although she had always shunned romanticism, she was irremediably destined to let herself be struck by its arrow.