The Prince of Peculiar Plights

The Unflappable Lady Veyrana

The doors swung shut, cutting off the sound of Osric’s screaming, but the image of her stayed burned into Valerian’s mind.

Caelum didn’t stop moving until they were deep within the labyrinthine halls of the secondary wing, far from the prying eyes of the nobility. He finally let go of Valerian’s arm, leaning against a stone pillar and exhaling a breath that sounded like a deflating balloon.

“Neon glitter, Val? Really? That’s what we’re doing now?”

Valerian leaned his head against the cool dampness of the wall, his chest still heaving. “I didn't pick the color, Caelum. It just... happened.”

“The pheasant looked like it was made of crushed stars. I think I saw a Duchess try to eat a piece of the blue gelatin before the guards moved in.” Caelum shook his head, a lopsided grin tugging at his lips. “It was a disaster. A beautiful, glowing, absolute mess of a disaster.”

“My father is going to exile me,” Valerian muttered, staring at his boots. “Or worse. He might actually talk to me just to tell me how much he hates me.”

“He won’t exile you yet. You’re still the Morcant heir, even if you are a walking firework show.” Caelum pushed off the pillar and started walking toward the Royal Library. “Come on. We need to hide out until the heat dies down. Plus, you’ve got that look in your eye.”

“What look?”

“The ‘I’ve found a new obsession’ look. You were staring at that woman in the blue dress like she was the secret to the universe.”

Valerian followed him, his pace quickening. “Did you see her, Caelum? She didn’t flinch. Everyone else was diving for cover or pointing fingers, and she just... stood there. She was looking at me like I was a math problem.”

“Maybe she just likes neon,” Caelum joked, though he went straight for the genealogy records once they slipped into the dim, parchment-scented silence of the library. “Veyrana, you said? Blue dress, silver combs?”

“Yeah. Midnight blue.” Valerian began pulling scrolls from the ‘V’ section with frantic energy. “Isolde Veyrana.”

“Here,” Caelum said, tapping a heavy leather-bound ledger. “Isolde Veyrana. Daughter of Count Veyrana from the Northern Reach. They’re an old house, but quiet. Mostly scholars and mages who specialize in stabilization fields. No wonder she didn't jump. She probably thought you were a lab experiment gone wrong.”

Valerian traced the name on the page. “Stabilization fields? You mean they cancel out magic?”

“In theory. But usually, it takes a whole circle of them to dampen a Morcant-level surge. If she’s just a girl in a dress, she shouldn’t have been that calm.” Caelum looked at Valerian, his expression softening. “Val, don't get your hopes up. Just because she didn't scream doesn't mean she can fix whatever is broken inside you.”

“I don’t want her to fix it,” Valerian lied, already heading for the exit. “I just want to know why she didn't look at me with disgust.”

“Where are you going?”

“The gardens. The gala guests are still filtering out through the terrace. If I’m lucky, she hasn't left yet.”

“Val! You’re still covered in glitter!” Caelum called out, but Valerian was already gone.

The night air in the royal gardens was thick with the scent of jasmine and the distant, muffled sounds of the cleanup crew back in the banquet hall. Valerian moved through the shadows, avoiding the main paths until he saw her.

She was standing by the White Rose fountain, her silhouette sharp against the moonlight. She wasn't holding a drink or talking to a suitor. She was simply watching the water fall.

Valerian hesitated, his heart hammering against his ribs. He smoothed his jacket, realized he was indeed still shimmering with a fine dusting of orange glitter, and decided there was no point in trying to look cool now. He stepped into the light.

“It’s actually supposed to be lemon-poppyseed,” he said, his voice cracking slightly.

Isolde didn’t jump. She turned slowly, her gaze sweeping over him before settling on his eyes. “The pheasant? Or the rolls?”

“The rolls. The pheasant was definitely not supposed to be iridescent violet.” Valerian stopped a few feet away. “I’m Valerian. But I guess you heard everyone screaming that earlier.”

“I heard a lot of things,” Isolde said. Her voice was cool, like the fountain water. “I also saw a very talented mage lose his temper because a brat with a loud mouth poked him.”

“Talented?” Valerian let out a hollow laugh. “Most people use words like 'unstable' or 'cursed.' Or 'walking disaster.'”

“People are generally idiots,” she replied simply. She stepped closer, and Valerian instinctively flinched back.

“Careful,” he warned. “The static... it’s still there. I don't want to turn your dress into bubbles.”

Isolde didn't stop. She walked right into his personal space, stopping only when they were inches apart. “You think you’re so dangerous, Valerian Morcant. You think the world is a glass house and you’re a jagged stone.”

“I am,” he whispered.

“Let’s see.” She reached out.

“Wait, don’t—”

Her fingers brushed his forearm, resting lightly on the fabric of his sleeve.

Valerian froze. Usually, when he was this agitated, the magic felt like a pressurized steam engine ready to blow. The moment her skin made contact—even through the layers of his clothes—the roar in his head stopped. It didn't just fade; it vanished. The constant, buzzing vibration that had lived under his skin since his Awakening went silent.

He gasped, his knees buckling slightly. For the first time in years, the world felt... quiet.

“What did you do?” he breathed, staring at her hand.

“I didn't do anything,” Isolde said, her brow furrowing. “I’m just standing here.”

“No, you don’t understand. It’s gone. The pressure. I can’t feel the static.”

A small, vibrant blue butterfly, attracted by the enchanted lanterns nearby, fluttered between them. It danced through the air before landing right on the tip of Valerian’s nose.

His eyes crossed. His nostrils flared. “Oh no.”

“What?” Isolde asked.

“I’m... I’m gonna...”

Valerian’s sneezes were legendary for being the primary trigger for his "accidents." The last time he’d sneezed in a library, the books had begun to fly and recite their contents backward.

“A-choo!”

He doubled over with the force of it. He closed his eyes, bracing for the sound of the fountain exploding or the rosebushes turning into glass. He waited for the scream of magic tearing through the air.

Silence.

He opened one eye. The fountain was still flowing. The roses were still petals and thorns. The butterfly had flown off, completely unharmed.

Isolde was still holding his arm, watching him with an expression that was now very much intrigued.

“No glitter?” she asked, a tiny smirk playing at the corner of her mouth.

“Nothing,” Valerian said, his voice trembling with a mix of shock and pure, unadulterated joy. “Nothing happened. Isolde, you’re... you’re a miracle.”

He grabbed her hand with both of his, his eyes wide. “You have to stay with me. Just for a bit. Do you have any idea what this means? I could walk through a room without breaking anything. I could have a conversation! I could actually eat a meal without it turning into a chemistry project!”

Isolde looked down at their joined hands, then back up at him. The softness in her expression vanished, replaced by a sharp, icy clarity. She pulled her hand back, breaking the contact.

Immediately, the static rushed back into Valerian’s veins like a flood. The buzzing returned, louder than before, making his teeth ache.

“Hey, wait!” he reached for her again, but she stepped back.

“I’m a miracle now, am I?” Isolde asked, her tone dry. “And what happens tomorrow? Do I follow you to your classes? Do I sit at your dinner table while you hide behind me like a shield?”

“I didn't mean it like that,” Valerian stammered, the sudden return of the magic making him feel dizzy. “It’s just... it’s the first time I’ve felt normal. Since I was twelve.”

“Normal is a luxury, Valerian. Not a right,” she said, crossing her arms. “I’m here to study the ancient archives, not to be a portable dampening field for a noble who can't control his feelings.”

“I can control them! It’s just... the magic is different. It’s reactive.”

“Then learn to react differently.” Isolde turned to leave, her blue skirts swishing against the stone.

“Please,” Valerian called out, desperation bleeding into his voice. “Just tell me how you did it. Is it a spell? An artifact?”

Isolde stopped and looked over her shoulder. The moonlight caught the silver combs in her hair, making them shine like daggers.

“I didn't do anything, Valerian. And that’s the problem. You’re looking for a cure, but I’m just a person. I have my own life, my own goals, and none of them involve being your human leash.”

“Isolde, wait!”

“Goodnight, Lord Morcant,” she said, her voice echoing in the quiet garden. “Try not to explode on your way to bed.”

She disappeared into the shadows of the hedge maze, leaving Valerian standing alone by the fountain. The static was roaring in his ears again, the pressure behind his eyes returning with a vengeance. He looked at his hand—the one that had held hers—and saw a faint, lingering spark of neon orange flicker out.

He was a mountain again. But for a few seconds, he had been a man. And as he watched the spot where she had vanished, he knew one thing for certain.

He wasn't going to let his only chance at a normal life walk away that easily. Even if he had to turn the whole palace into glitter to find her again.