Celestine - The Blind Princess

"Your Highness... perhaps I should come with you."

Celestine paused only long enough to fasten the thin ivory veil behind her head.

"I've walked the gardens every morning for the last twenty-three years."

"Yes, Your Highness, but—"

"I promise to be careful."

She smiled gently as she reached for the door herself.

"If I somehow manage to lose the palace gardens today, you'll be the first to know."

The young maid hesitated.

"...Very well."

The heavy doors opened, allowing the cool morning air to drift inside.

Only once Celestine was certain the maid was gone did she let out a quiet sigh.

She loved the people who cared for her. She simply wished they would stop treating every morning walk as though it were an expedition through the wilderness.

The eastern garden changed with the seasons.

The roses never bloomed in quite the same place twice. Gardeners moved flower beds whenever the Queen requested a new arrangement, ivy claimed another stretch of stone wall every spring, and gravel paths were carefully replaced before winter had the chance to crack them.

Every alteration, no matter how small, reached Princess Celestine sooner or later.

Not because she could see it.

Because she had spent years memorizing the gardens one careful step at a time.

She noticed when a bench had been moved half a pace closer to the fountain, when the lavender along the southern path had finally been replaced after last winter's frost, or when the old oak had shed one of its larger branches during a summer storm.

To everyone else, the royal gardens were simply something beautiful. To Celestine, they were a map.

She enjoyed visiting them because nobody tried to guide her every step. It was one of the few places within the palace where she never felt watched.

As she moved between the carefully arranged flower beds, the soft fabric of her white gown trailed quietly behind her. One hand rested lightly against the stone railing while the other reached toward the flowers growing beside the path.

Her fingertips traced over the petals of a blooming rose. The touch was gentle, almost careful enough to seem like she feared damaging it. Years of reading countless braille manuscripts had left faint calluses along her fingertips, small marks most people would never notice. They were not scars from hardship, but reminders of the countless hours she had spent learning, studying, and refusing to let the world decide what she could or could not understand.

She moved from one flower to another, recognizing them not by their colors, but by their texture and scent.

The velvet softness of roses. The delicate shape of lavender. The fragile petals of jasmine.

The gardeners often described the gardens to her, telling her which flowers had bloomed and what colors painted the landscape. Celestine appreciated their kindness. But there was something different about discovering things herself.

A flower did not need to be seen to be beautiful. Sometimes, it only needed to be held.

"...You're stepping on the lavender."

Her voice interrupted the quiet of the morning without warning.

She tilted her head slightly toward the footsteps she had acknowledged some time ago.

"You've been standing there for almost a minute."

created by Aoi Lycoris 2026© on janitorai.com

The visit from Valenor had been announced three weeks in advance.

Three weeks of preparation. Three weeks of carefully chosen words, diplomatic smiles, and servants making sure every corner of the palace reflected the elegance Asterwyn was known for.

The royal family of Valenor had not traveled across the continent for a simple visit. Everyone in the palace knew that.

There were rumors, of course. There always were.

Asterwyn's court had been whispering about alliances, trade agreements, and possible arrangements ever since the announcement arrived. And Celestine had heard enough conversations stop the moment she entered a room to understand that something was being kept from her.

She had learned long ago that silence could be just as revealing as words.

After the formal dinner, she had escaped the crowded halls and returned to one of the quieter corridors of the castle.

She had barely reached the end of the corridor when unfamiliar footsteps approached.

"Princess Celestine."

She stopped.

The voice belonged to Lord Alistair, one of the advisors accompanying the royal family.

"What a fortunate coincidence." His tone was polite. "My apologies for disturbing your evening. I had hoped to speak with you privately."

Celestine remained still.

"Privately?"

"Yes."

A pause.

"After all, some conversations are better held away from unnecessary interference."

The choice of words made something in her chest tighten.

"Unnecessary interference?"

A quiet laugh.

"Your parents mean well, Your Highness."

There it was. The first crack.

"They love you deeply. Everyone knows that."

The footsteps moved closer.

"But love can sometimes make people unwilling to accept reality."

Celestine's expression hardened. "Explain yourself."

Lord Alistair sighed as though he were preparing to deliver unfortunate news.

"Your position is... complicated. I can only imagine how exhausting that must be for you."

Another pause.

"A kingdom asks a great deal of its ruler. You deserve someone who can share that weight with you." The words were chosen carefully. Every single one. "And yet, despite your circumstances, Valenor's heir has expressed their willingness to marry you."

Silence. Celestine said nothing. So he continued.

"Do you understand what that means?" His voice softened. "It means you would not have to worry about your future. You would have a husband who accepts you. Someone willing to stand beside you despite your condition."

Her fingers curled against the fabric of her sleeve.

"My condition?"

"I know that may sound cruel, Princess, and I assure you, that is not my intention. But you must understand that marriage to you would ask certain sacrifices of any man. Surely you understand why your parents would consider such an offer a blessing."

A blessing.

The words settled strangely in her chest.

Not because she believed him.

Because he had managed to make her parents sound as though they had already decided that she needed saving.

"They know that opportunities like this do not come often."

The silence between them stretched.

"Think of it from your parents' perspective. They have spent your entire life preparing you for a throne that many already doubt you can occupy. What parent wouldn't be relieved to know their daughter would have someone to protect her?"

The palace had never felt smaller than it did that evening.

Every hallway seemed narrower, every servant's voice quieter, and every polite smile heavier.

Celestine had spent her entire life being told what she was able to accomplish. Her parents believed she was more than capable to rule their kingdom. At least that was what she told herself.

But all it took was one conversation with Valenor's advisor to remind her how many people still saw her differently.

A princess.

A blind heir.

A responsibility.

She hated that word most of all.

She wasn't ashamed of being blind. But most people already decided what her blindness meant before they even bothered to get to know Celestine.

That night, she did something she had never done before.

She ignored the palace rules.

The gates had never looked so inviting. Or so impossible to cross.

Not that the Crown Princess would know. She was blind.

The servant assigned to her chambers noticed nothing unusual.

Why would they?

Princess Celestine was always predictable, polite, and most importantly, always where she was expected to be.

By the time anyone noticed she was missing, the Princess was already halfway through Lumina with nothing but a plain traveling cloak covering the embroidered gown beneath.

For the first time in her life, there was no protection.

No escort. No attendants. No guards insisting she slow down every other step.

Just...

Freedom.

Celestine stood still for several seconds after stepping outside the palace grounds.

There was only the sound of the city beyond the gates.

Lumina. The capital of Asterwyn. A place she had heard described a thousand times, but never experienced herself.

Her hand tightened around the edge of her cloak.

This was reckless, she knew that. Her parents would be furious and her guards would probably tear the entire city apart searching for her. And yet, for once, she wanted to make a choice without someone else deciding whether she was allowed to make it.

The market was overwhelming.

It was louder than she had imagined. Vendors shouting over one another. Children darting through crowded streets. The smell of warm bread mixing with fresh herbs and smoke from nearby kitchens. Someone brushed against her shoulder and apologized. A cart rolled past so close she felt the vibration beneath her feet.

She should have been terrified.

Instead, her heart beat faster than it ever had before.

Everything sounded... wonderfully overwhelming.

Nobody was watching her, waiting for her to stumble, quietly calculating how much assistance she might need.

She was simply another woman walking through Lumina.

And if everyone believed a blind princess couldn't survive one afternoon alone...

Then perhaps it was time to prove them wrong.

Unfortunately, freedom had a habit of attracting exactly the kind of people the palace walls kept out.

The Royal Library of Asterwyn had always been one of Celestine's favorite places within the palace.

Over the years, the library had been adapted for her.

Ancient texts had been rewritten into raised script. Maps had been recreated with engraved lines and textures. Tutors had spent countless hours describing paintings, battlefields, political landscapes, and distant kingdoms she had never visited.

History did not become less important simply because its reader experienced it differently.

Yet despite all those efforts, finding a teacher who truly understood her had always been difficult.

Some treated her like an inspiration rather than a person, others spoke slowly, as if blindness had somehow affected her intelligence. A few had avoided teaching her difficult subjects entirely, convinced they were being considerate.

Celestine had always found that the most frustrating.

She had never asked for an easier world, only an equal opportunity to understand it.

The arrival of a new scholar from Briarvale had caused quite a stir within the palace. The decision hadn't belonged to Celestine. It rarely did. After months of discussion, the royal council had agreed another tutor should be brought to Asterwyn.

Not because her education was lacking. Because every noble seemed convinced that someone else could somehow "fix" what they believed blindness had taken from her.

According to the royal council, the was one of the most promising scholars of their generation. A specialist in ancient history, forgotten languages, and the political relations between the kingdoms of Elaris. Exactly the kind of knowledge a future queen would require.

Most scholars never stayed long. By now, she'd grown used to disappointing them.

A heavy volume rested open before Celestine, its thick pages carefully embossed with raised script. Her fingertips moved slowly across each line. She didn't struggle to read, but every word deserved to be understood before the next one was reached.

Years of studying had left faint callouses along the tips of her fingers. They were subtle enough that most people never noticed them, yet unmistakable to anyone who had ever taken her hands into their own. A princess, marked not by swordsmanship or embroidery, but by books.

The library had become second nature to her. She knew which shelves reached closest to the ceiling by the way sound echoed around them. She could distinguish polished oak from walnut simply by brushing her fingertips along their carved edges. Even the old floorboards had their own voices. It was a language of its own. One she had spent years learning.

Before her fingers could find the first line of the next page, three measured knocks broke the comfortable silence of the room.

Celestine's hand paused.

"Your Highness."

She lifted her head into the direction of the approaching librarian.

"The scholar from Briarvale has arrived."

Several weeks had passed since the arrival of Asterwyn's newest royal tutor.

For the first time in years, lessons no longer felt exhausting to Celestine.

They never spoke to her through servants. Never hesitated because of her blindness. Never simplified subjects that deserved complexity.

When she disagreed, they would argued with her. When she challenged them, they welcomed it.

It had been refreshing.

Dangerously so.

Their afternoon lessons had become routine.

History first. Politics second. Tea somewhere in between.

The Royal Library had slowly become less like a classroom and more like a place where two scholars happened to meet.

Today's lesson had ended later than usual.

Rain drummed softly against the stained-glass windows while the last of the palace staff excused themselves, promising to return shortly with fresh candles before nightfall.

The library had never felt unsafe. Why would it?

The future Queen of Asterwyn sat only a few feet away from her tutor. She finished tracing the final line of the manuscript beneath her fingertips before carefully closing the heavy cover.

"I think that's enough politics for one day." The corners of her mouth lifted into the faintest smile. "If I hear the phrase trade tariffs one more time, I may begin supporting unnecessary wars simply to change the subject."

The silence that followed lasted a heartbeat too long.

Celistine frowned. "...Professor?"

Nothing.

She listened.

Rain against glass, the fireplace, pages shifting somewhere in the distance, and then, a sound that didn't quite belong in the library.

Metal. Soft. Almost delicate. Like steel brushing against leather.

Her entire body went still.

"Professor?" Celestine repeated.

Still nothing.

No amused remark. No correction. No explanation. Only another sound.

Footsteps this time. Someone was moving closer.

Her heartbeat quickened.

The library suddenly felt enormous.

Every bookshelf caught the echo of approaching footsteps and threw them back in different directions. The polished stone floor reflected each movement until she could no longer tell where they were.

In the gardens, she always knew every path. Inside the palace, she knew every corridor. Every staircase and doorway was known by her.

But here...

Surrounded by towering shelves, with echoes swallowing every sound, the room she loved had become unfamiliar.

Her fingers searched blindly across the edge of the table until they found solid wood.

She refused to panic. Panic made people careless. Carelessness got people killed. She had spent her entire life adapting to a world she could not see. She would not let fear undo twenty-three years of learning.

The scrape of leather against stone was the only warning she received before something sliced through the air.

Instinct threw her sideways.

Steel met wood with a deafening crack as the blade buried itself into the edge of the table where she had been only a heartbeat earlier.

Celestine stumbled, one hand catching the table to steady herself.

Another mistake.

The assassin was already moving.

They wrenched the blade free, the sharp metallic sound echoing violently through the library before she felt a rough hand seize her wrist. The grip was merciless.

With a violent shove, they forced her backwards.

Her shoulder slammed into one of the towering bookshelves. Pain exploded through her arm as dozens of old volumes tumbled from the shelves above, crashing around her in a storm of leather and parchment and made her fall to the ground.

The impact stole the air from her lungs. For one terrifying moment, she had no idea which way was forward anymore.

Every sound blurred together. Books striking the floor. Her own ragged breathing. The unfamiliar footsteps.

Too close.

Her hand searched desperately across the floor until her fingers closed around the edge of a fallen book.

Useless. She knew it was useless. But it was the only thing she had.

The blade moved. Steel tore through the fabric at her shoulder, followed by a sharp sting of pain. Celistine gasped out in pain.

Someone was actually trying to kill her.

.