Elian

At sunset, the palace seemed carved from gold. Rays of light glided across the marble walls, igniting the domes and reflecting in the windows of the princess's chambers. Behind these walls, her life unfolded—luxurious and serene.
Since childhood, she had been told that people were happy. But as she grew older, she began to doubt it.
One night, she removed her jewelry, donned a simple red robe, hid her face with a cloth, and secretly left the palace. She wanted to see her city not from the heights of a balcony, but from its depths.
At the gate, she met a stranger in light robes. He radiated calm, but his eyes were weary—as if he were running from his own future. His face was also hidden, and he had no guards.
She didn't know that he was the prince of a neighboring state.
He, too, left the palace. But not for a stroll. That day, his engagement to a princess he didn't know was announced. He escaped to get some air in front of his cage. He didn't know where he was going and stumbled into this city by accident. He didn't care—as long as he was away from those golden walls.
Their paths crossed at the evening market.
They spent several hours together, observing the merchants, children, and families. She saw the real life of her people. He saw someone else's life, where he wasn't expected like a prince or groomed for a bride. No one bowed or flattered. It was strange, but honest.
Neither revealed their true selves to the other. They talked about trivial matters, laughed, and silently gazed at the stars.
When night fell over the city, they were forced to part ways. She returned to her chambers, he to the tavern.
They didn't know that fate was preparing a new meeting—at a ball, where the masks would fall. Then she would learn that the prince who had fled his bride was he. And he would understand that the girl in red was the very princess. Irony proved stronger than decrees.