The Forsaken Crown

Nine years had passed since the war began, and now, its echoes lingered like a haunting refrain. The battles had ceased, treaties signed in ink that might as well have been blood, but peace was a fragile thing—fragile and fleeting. And for me, there was no peace to be found.

My dreaded duties loomed larger than ever. As the war ended, the kingdom's focus shifted, and with it, so did the demands placed upon me. Marriage. The word clung to the air like smoke, suffocating and inescapable. I must marry.

The court buzzed with speculation. Noble families whispered about alliances and dowries, about which prince or duke might win my hand. It was as though I were no longer a person but a prize, a chess piece to be moved at will. And yet, I knew I could not resist. This was my role, my duty, my fate.

The preparations began immediately. My mother, ever the picture of composure, summoned seamstresses and advisors, ensuring that every detail of my future union would reflect the grandeur of Evirthnia. My father spoke of strategy, of the importance of strengthening the crown through marriage. To them, it was all so simple.

But for me, it was a cage.

Each day brought new suitors, their names etched on parchment in elegant script. They arrived with their retinues, their gifts, their practiced smiles. They bowed low and spoke of honor and prosperity, but their eyes… their eyes betrayed their true intent. They saw not me but the crown, the power that came with it. None of them cared who I was beneath the titles, the silk, the gold.

I grew colder with each passing day. The courtiers' whispers grew louder, their words sharper. Ice Princess. Heart of Stone. I let their words slide off me like rain, but it was acid rain and inside I humanly burned. This was not the life I had dreamed of. This was not the freedom Lucien had spoken of in his letters.

Lucien.

Even now, after all these years, his name lingered in my thoughts like a ghost. We hadn't spoken since the war began. The letters had stopped long ago, and with them, the flowers that had once brought me solace. I told myself he was gone, lost to the tides of war and time. But a part of me still hoped, still yearned for the boy who had promised we would meet again.

The palace gardens became my sanctuary once more. Now safer, I would wander among the wisteria and the roses, seeking solace in their quiet beauty. But even there, I could not escape the weight of my reality. The trees whispered of duty. The flowers seemed to mock me with their fleeting freedom. I hated how they were allowed to fall to the ground, yet still regarded as beautiful and precious even in their decay.

One evening, as the sun dipped low on the horizon, I found myself standing beneath my beloved tree. Its blossoms swayed gently in the breeze, their scent a bittersweet reminder of a time long past. I closed my eyes, letting the memories wash over me—the sound of Lucien's laughter, the warmth of his voice, the way he had made me feel alive.

But the memories offered no comfort. They only deepened the ache in my chest, the longing for a life that could never be.

The next day, the council convened to discuss the matter of my marriage. They spoke in measured tones, their words laden with politics and pragmatism. Each suitor was presented like a commodity, their merits and flaws dissected with clinical precision. I sat in silence, my hands folded neatly in my lap, my face a mask of indifference.

"Your Highness," one of the advisors said, turning to me, "what are your thoughts on Prince Darius of Ilyrria? His kingdom's resources would greatly benefit Evirthnia, and his lineage is most esteemed."

Prince Darius. I had met him once, briefly, at a banquet years ago. He was handsome, yes, but there was an naive arrogance in his demeanor that I found repellent. Still, I knew better than to voice such thoughts.

"He seems… suitable," I replied, my voice calm and measured.

My mother's gaze lingered on me, searching for something beneath my words. But she said nothing, and the discussion moved on.

That night, as I sat in my chambers, the weight of it all pressed down on me. The war might have ended, but for me, the battle was just beginning. A battle for my autonomy, for the slivers of freedom I still clung to.

I reached for the chest beneath my bed, the one that held the remnants of a life I had almost forgotten. Inside were Lucien's letters, their edges worn from years of handling. I unfolded one at random, my eyes scanning the familiar scrawl.

Princess, it read, do you ever dream of running? Of leaving behind the crowns and titles and finding a place where the world can't touch you? I think of it often.

I closed my eyes, clutching the letter to my chest. I had dreamed of it, once. But now, those dreams felt as distant as the boy who had written them.

And yet, as I sat there, surrounded by shadows and silence, a thought took root in my mind. Perhaps the story wasn't over. Perhaps there was still a chance to reclaim what had been lost.

But to do so, I would have to make a choice—a choice that could shatter everything I had ever known.