Wait, My Overpowered Skill is Just… Love?!-Chapter 17 - 16: A Flower Amid Thorns

The carriage rolled steadily along the cobbled royal road, its wheels gliding over the polished stones with a rhythm as precise as the noble expectations awaiting her. Cecilia sat upright in her seat, her back barely touching the cushioned backrest. Her dress—an elegant silk blend in muted rose with embroidered silver patterns—clung more tightly to her form than she preferred. She shifted slightly, trying to loosen the tension around her waist without wrinkling the fabric.

Across from her sat Selene, composed as ever, clad in her formal Knight's attire. The midnight-black uniform was adorned with the Aetherian sigil—a silver phoenix curling into a blade. Her sword rested at her hip, untouched but not forgotten. Her posture was relaxed, one leg over the other, but her eyes never stopped moving—watching Cecilia, the window, the passing guards, the world.

Cecilia folded her hands tightly in her lap and exhaled. "This is ridiculous."

Selene raised a brow. "The dress?"

"All of it," Cecilia muttered. "The clothes, the horses, the titles, the ceremonial nonsense. This isn't a birthday party—it's a political peacocking match."

Selene chuckled softly. "You're not wrong."

Cecilia stared at her. "Wait—you actually agree with me?"

Selene gave a small shrug, her pale blue eyes glinting with mischief. "Just because I wear the uniform doesn't mean I enjoy the parades. This whole event reeks of posturing. But I suppose it's a necessary evil."

"That's rich, coming from the woman who polishes her boots so hard the sun reflects off them," Cecilia said, smirking.

Selene smirked back. "Tactical gleam. Blinds enemies."

Cecilia rolled her eyes but smiled despite herself.

The inside of the carriage grew quiet again, save for the creak of wood and the clatter of wheels. Outside, the streets widened. The crowds thickened—spectators, merchants, commoners peering up to glimpse the nobles in their gilded carriages as the procession made its way toward the palace.

Through the window, Cecilia watched as banners fluttered, each bearing the crests of the noble houses—falcons, lions, roses, moons, dragons—each trying to outdo the others in extravagance. Horses clad in silver. Guards in matching capes. Noble heirs wearing garish jewelry like trophies.

Cecilia's expression darkened.

"All of this... for a sick old man's dying breath," she muttered.

Selene glanced at her.

"The Emperor isn't dead yet," she said quietly.

"He may as well be," Cecilia said. "Everyone's just waiting for the crown to fall. And when it does..." Her voice trailed off.

Selene finished for her, "They'll all fight over the pieces."

Cecilia didn't respond immediately. Her gaze lingered on a group of children waving from a corner, held back by guards.

"I don't want to be a piece," she said finally.

Selene tilted her head. "You're not."

"I feel like one."

Silence again. Then Selene reached into her coat and pulled something out—a small silver hairpin with a crystal-studded flower at its base.

"You missed a strand," she said, gesturing to Cecilia's braid, which had loosened near the end.

Cecilia blinked. "You brought a hairpin?"

"You looked anxious. I came prepared."

Cecilia hesitated as Selene leaned forward and gently tucked the pin in, smoothing her braid with careful fingers. The motion was delicate, almost reverent. For a moment, their eyes met. It wasn't possessive, nor teasing—just... soft.

"You carry it well," Selene said simply.

Cecilia's ears turned pink. She pulled her gaze away. "Y-You don't have to act like I'm some doll you're dressing up."

"You're not a doll," Selene said. "You're the most dangerous thing in this carriage."

That startled Cecilia. She looked up. "Me?"

Selene smiled faintly. "You're kind. People underestimate kindness. It softens others, draws them in... and when they're close enough, you can change the world."

Cecilia swallowed hard, unsure how to reply. She glanced at the system window again.

[Soulmate Affection – Selene von Aetheria: 40/100]

Still unmoving.

What more does it want from me?

The carriage slowed.

She peeked out the window—and gasped.

The Imperial Palace loomed above them, a grand marble structure carved from pale stone veined with gold and obsidian. Towers reached for the sky like spears. Stained-glass murals caught the sun and shattered it into rainbows. Gardens spilled over balconies. A waterfall cascaded down a central pillar into a moat of luminous blue water.

It was both beautiful and terrifying.

A palace built not to welcome—but to remind all who entered where the power lay.

Cecilia's heart thudded in her chest.

The carriage came to a stop. Trumpets blared. Nobles around them were dismounting from their own carriages, each greeted by stewards and servants.

A knock at their door.

"Lady Cecilia von Aetheria," a steward intoned.

Cecilia swallowed. "Here we go."

She stepped out, her boots clicking against the pristine marble. Her skirts rustled with each careful step. The eyes of a dozen nobles turned her way—some curious, some dismissive, some calculating.

And then—

A flicker of movement.

Across the courtyard, half-hidden in the shadows of an archway, stood a girl.

Slim, draped in formal robes of silver and pale blue. Her black hair was tied in a high braid, and a thin veil hung from her shoulders like gossamer wings. She stood perfectly still, watching.

Cecilia blinked.

The girl was gone.

Just the trick of the light?

A chill ran down her spine.

The steward gestured for her to follow, and she stepped into the palace.

---

The Imperial ballroom shimmered like a tapestry of power and pretense.

Cecilia stepped inside, her eyes adjusting to the surreal glow of crystal chandeliers suspended overhead like upside-down stars. The floor beneath her boots gleamed like polished glass, reflecting the swirl of nobles already drifting into their usual orbits—like planets aligning themselves by ancient gravitational rules.

Each family was marked not just by dress, but by their insignia, their color schemes, the servants trailing behind them like banners of wealth and influence. From the corner of her eye, Cecilia saw gold filigree woven into sleeve hems, sapphire pendants larger than eggs, smiles too sharp to be sincere.

She was already tired.

Selene remained close behind her like a shadow—tall, dark, quiet, radiating that same quiet warning that made servants avoid brushing even her cloak.

"Lady Cecilia von Aetheria!" called a voice too slick to be friendly.

Cecilia turned as a nobleman approached, flanked by two sons dressed in absurdly embroidered coats. "Baron Rothwald," he said with a rehearsed bow. "May I introduce my sons, Alric and Damon? Strong boys. Fine swordsmen. And, I daresay, looking for promising matches."

Cecilia blinked. "That's... flattering, Baron, but—"

Selene's eyes narrowed, her presence shifting like a drawn blade. The smile slid from Rothwald's lips as he caught her glare. Within seconds, the baron cleared his throat and quickly dragged his sons away.

Another noble approached. This time a marquise, with powdered hair and a daughter oddly absent. "The Aetherian name carries great weight," she said, tone syrupy. "Perhaps your house would benefit from a strategic marriage. My nephew is of age—brilliant with numbers. Doesn't talk much."

Selene's expression turned flat again. Not a word spoken, just a flicker of frost.

The marquise paled and turned on her heel.

Cecilia sighed, turning to Selene. "Could you not scare every breathing noble in this room?"

Selene blinked. "I didn't say anything."

"That's the problem," Cecilia hissed, poking her lightly in the arm. "You look like you're about to behead anyone who speaks to me. Do you want me to end up single and avoided like a plague victim?"

Th𝓮 most uptodate nov𝑒ls are publish𝒆d on ƒreewebηoveℓ.com.

Selene didn't respond. She just stared, stiff for a moment, and then—her lips dipped into the faintest of pouts.

It was fleeting. Almost imperceptible.

But Cecilia saw it.

Her unshakable knight looked... wounded. Like a kicked puppy. Her pale brows knit, lips pressed tight in unspoken guilt, eyes averted like she had just been scolded by the one person whose opinion mattered.

"...Oh," Cecilia said, caught off guard.

And then—

[System Notification]

+10 Affection with Selene von Aetheria

New Total: 50/100

Cause: You scolded her (gently).

"What?" Cecilia murmured aloud. "That... counts?"

She blinked at the message, then at Selene—who looked away, ears slightly pink.

"You're such a weirdo," Cecilia muttered, rubbing her temple.

"I heard that," Selene said.

"And I meant it."

They made their way to a less crowded corner, settling at a table where servants offered golden goblets and trays of fruit arrangements shaped like mythical beasts. Cecilia politely declined each noble attempt at small talk—dodging invites to "meet a promising son," "join a hunting retreat," or "attend a private tea ceremony."

Finally, they were alone, with only soft music and the murmur of the ballroom around them.

It should've been peaceful.

But then the whispers reached her.

"She's very weird for her age. The princess."

"Oh? The mute one?"

"They say she only speaks to ghosts."

"Or birds."

"I heard she hasn't left her chambers in months. Is she even... sane?"

"She's got no allies. Not even her own father acknowledges her. It just a waste of time to even come here."

Cecilia's fingers curled around her goblet.

The words slithered like vipers. Each one more casual, more cruel than the last. Not one of them spoke with respect—only curiosity laced in venom. It wasn't concern. It was the kind of tone used when admiring a beautifully broken thing.

'What's wrong with these people? Mocking the princess just because no one's standing by her side. Poor girl... she doesn't deserve this.'

Cecilia's chair scraped softly against the floor as she stood.

Selene looked up. "Where are you going?"

"Out," Cecilia muttered. "Just... need some air."

Selene's brow furrowed. "Be careful, Cecilia. The palace is full of vipers"

Cecilia didn't respond. She pushed through the archway toward the gardens, her breath tight in her chest, needing to escape the stench of judgment and civility.

---

The palace gardens were quieter than she expected.

Cecilia walked aimlessly, her footsteps soft against the worn stone paths, every step pulling her further from the ballroom's suffocating splendor. The music and laughter had long faded behind rose-covered archways, drowned out by the hush of night air and the faint rustling of leaves.

She drew in a breath. The coolness helped. Fresh and clean, untouched by perfume, powdered wigs, and prying stares.

It wasn't that she hated politics—she just hated how people used them as excuses to be vile.

Talking behind the back of a girl they barely knew.

A girl who had done nothing but exist in a place that didn't want her.

Cecilia knew how that felt. It stirred something buried in the back of her mind, a distant echo from a past life she remembered.

The moonlight filtered through trellises and the skeletal trees of early spring, silvering the flowers and draping the hedges in ghostly outlines. Everything felt suspended in a kind of unreal quiet—like time itself was holding its breath.

Cecilia needed that.

She needed stillness.

Not out of melancholy or dramatics—but because she genuinely wasn't sure what she was doing here. What she was supposed to be. A noble? A weapon? A girl? A partner?

Too many people expected too many versions of her. And none of them asked what she wanted to be.

She passed a bend in the garden path, hands clasped behind her back, trying to ignore the dull ache in her chest when—

She froze.

Someone was sitting on the stone bench beneath a draping willow tree, half-shrouded by its swaying green curtain. A girl, small and delicate, her dress crumpled around her like petals. Small, wrapped in a flowing pale blue dress that shimmered faintly in the moonlight. Her long, red hair tumbled like ink across her shoulders, covering most of her face. Her shoulders were hunched, head buried in her hands. Her soft crying, nearly silent, was the only sound in the still garden.

Cecilia stood very still.

That kind of crying... it wasn't theatrical. It wasn't performative.

It was raw.

Painful.

Real.

She didn't need to ask what it felt like. She'd felt it before—in herself.

In the dark of her old life, in those moments when no one was watching and nothing made sense, she'd broken down like that. Not from tragedy, not from some grand loss—but from something quieter. Loneliness, maybe. That suffocating weight of not belonging anywhere.

Cecilia glanced around.

No one else was here.

She should've left. Politely. Discreetly.

But her feet moved before her thoughts could protest.

"...Hey," she said, softly, not wanting to startle her.

The girl stiffened.

Cecilia stepped a bit closer, her voice low and hesitant. "Um... Are you okay?"

There was no reply.

Just a few hitched breaths, hastily wiped with the back of a sleeve.

"I'm not trying to bother you," Cecilia added. "You don't have to talk. I just thought... maybe you didn't want to be alone."

Still, the girl didn't speak. She kept her head down, eyes hidden beneath the veil of her long, black hair. But the crying stopped—at least outwardly. Her body went still, as though swallowing the pain again.

Cecilia sat down at the far edge of the bench, not touching her, not pressing.

Just close enough to be... near.

"I know how much that hurts," she said after a moment. "Feeling like you can't show anything. Like if you do, people will use it against you."

The girl flinched, just slightly.

"But you don't have to pretend with me. I won't tell anyone. I'll probably forget this ever happened."

Still no words.

But the girl's head tilted slightly. A single glance—not enough to see her face, but enough to know she was listening.

Cecilia smiled weakly. "It's okay to break sometimes. Doesn't mean you're weak."

The girl blinked hard, then quickly stood. She brushed her dress smooth, her face turned down. And without a word, she walked away. Not hurriedly—but quietly, quickly—vanishing around a hedge-lined path as though the moment had never happened.

Cecilia sat in the silence that followed, staring at the empty space beside her.

That... was strange.

But not unwelcome.

She exhaled, rubbing her thumb against her palm. "Hope she'll be okay."

A trumpet blast echoed faintly in the distance.

Cecilia straightened.

Time to go back.

She rose and returned to the ballroom.

---

The music had shifted to a slower, more ceremonial melody by the time Cecilia stepped back into the ballroom.

Gone was the blinding social clamor. Now, nobles stood in formal lines, forming a wide path down the center of the grand hall. At the far end, atop the gilded steps leading to the throne dais, stood the Emperor's herald in deep crimson robes.

"Presenting—Her Imperial Highness, Princess Aurelia Lys Caelstra," the man boomed, voice echoing through crystal and marble.

Cecilia's attention sharpened.

She barely registered Selene's return to her side, standing guard once more. Her eyes were fixed on the tall doors that slowly opened at the room's edge.

And when they did...

She saw her.

The girl from the garden.

Gone were the tears. Gone was the fragile, slouched form and the pale dress. In its place stood a vision—regal, composed, perfectly still.

Her hair was pinned in elegant waves, a silver circlet resting delicately against her brow. Her gown shimmered with threads of moonlight and white pearl, each step she took so measured it was as if she glided. Her eyes—hidden before—were now clear and cold as winter stars.

It was her. The crying girl.

Cecilia's heart jumped. Her lips parted slightly, stunned.

No one else reacted. No one else seemed to see the contradiction—this girl with a crown and empty eyes, who only moments ago had been someone entirely different.

And yet...

Only Cecilia knew.

Only she had seen her when no one else had.

Then, just as Aurelia reached the dais, she paused.

For the briefest second, her eyes flickered sideways. Across the room.

They met Cecilia's.

Not long.

Not obvious.

But there it was—recognition. A quiet, unreadable glimmer.

Like she'd been seen... and had seen in return.

Cecilia didn't know what to do with that feeling.

But her system did.

---

[System Notification]

Soulmate Detected: Princess Aurelia Lys Caelstra – The Veiled Bloom

Affection: 1/100

Description:

Born beneath the mourning banners of a mother lost in childbirth, Aurelia Lys Caelstra was never the heir the empire wanted—only the daughter it couldn't ignore. Raised in cold corridors and colder courtrooms, she learned silence as both shield and survival. Crowned with duties she didn't choose, trained to hold her tongue rather than her own desires, she became a princess in name... and a prisoner in truth.

She learned that silence was safer than speaking. That stillness invited less scrutiny than struggling. That if she hid well enough behind the mask of an unfeeling princess, she could avoid the worst of their cruelty. A smile could be mistaken for submission. A lowered gaze could be a shield. A heart locked away could not be broken.

But even a rose caged in glass longs for the warmth of the sun.

Aurelia never wished for a throne. She never sought adoration or power. What she yearned for was something far simpler—someone who would look past the crown, past the rumors, past the porcelain mask of duty... and see her. Not as a princess. Not as a tool for political gain. But as a girl. As Aurelia.

Few have dared to reach her.

But will you be the one to gather the scattered pieces of her heart, to show her that she is more than a ghost haunting the palace halls...?

Or will you, like all the others before, turn away and leave her behind, trapped in the silence she has known all her life?

---

Cecilia stared at the message.

Her hand trembled slightly at her side.

"...What the hell"

---

Feel free to let me know what you think of how the stories are going and where it should go. I'm always eager to hear from you. Leave a powerstone or a comment to support me ;).