Dearest reader,
Every kingdom is a tape of secrets, stitched with threads of blood and bound by the heaviness of its crown. And yet, it is not silver, nor gold that keeps a kingdom steady, it is fear.
Fear of betrayal, fear of scandal, fear of what may rise when it's given breath.
In this realm, witches are the embodiment of such fear. Their very existence is treason. Their touch, brings corruption. And so, the kingdom answers with fire, for fire cleanses, fire silences, fire burns away all doubt.
It was on such a morning, when the bells of the great cathedral tolled with grim finality, that the crowns gathered to witness justice. The burning of a witch. Mothers pressed their children's faces into their skirts, noble men lifted their chins as though the sight were beneath them, and yet none turned away. For nothing is more entertaining for a kingdom more than the destruction of that which is feared.
High above, in the balcony reserved for the crown, the queen sipped delicately at her cup of tea, her jeweled fingers unmoved by the cries rising from below.
A queen must never trembled. A queen must never flinch.
And somewhere in the shadows of the court stood a young girl, her heart beating not with excitement, nor horror, but with something else entirely. For as the flames licked higher and the condemned witch screamed her final curse, the girl felt it, a stirring deep within her, a power she did not yet understand, whispering. "You are not like them, you are not one of them".
But patience, dear reader. For the story of this girl, her secrets, her crown, and the knights sworn to protect her has only begun.
KINGDOM OF CROWNS
The fires of the square had long since burned to ash when the palace doors opened to a different kind of spectacle.
That evening, the queen held court within her grand hall. It was a chamber so vast that candle light struggled to reach it's corners, the vaulted ceiling painted with constellations in gold leaf, glimmering faintly in the glow of countless torches. Silk banners of the Royal crest hung heavy against the stone walls, while the polished floor mirrored the flicker of flame.
Upon the throne of carved ivory and guilt sat the queen, regal as the moon, her jeweled crown catching every stray light. At her side, upon smaller seats, rested her two daughters, princesses of flawless posture and carefully schooled smiles, their gowns a cascade of pearls and velvet.
And to the right, that the length of the dinning table, sat Lilura, the adopted daughter, her place apart from the royal line. With her, four wards of the court kept their quiet vigil, their youth granting them neither the privilege of the throne nor the weight of its burden. They whispered among themselves, wide eyed at the splendor, though Lilura gaze lingered on the feast, but they were lost.
Minstrels strummed lutes and harps, their music weaving through the air like threads of silver. Juggler tossed gilded cups, their laughter clashing with the solemnity of the court. Servants moved swiftly in practiced silence, pouring streaming tea into porcelain cups, the fragrance of spiced leaves mingling with roasted meat and honey cakes.
It was not a celebration, nor was it mourning. It was, as all things in the palace were, a performance. The queen smiled when she must, nodded when she ought, and drank her tea though the world beyond her gilded hall did not burn.
When the minstrel's music softened and the juggler s withdrew a hush fell upon the hall. One of the visiting princesses, clothed in silk, the colour of midnight,rose gracefully from her seat. The jewels in her hair trembled with each measured step as she came to stand before the queen and her court.
She lowered herself in a deep curtsy, her voice carrying the polished sweetness of practiced courtesy.
"Your majesty", she began, her time laced with reverence. "and noble daughters of this crown. On behalf of we, the princesses invited, and the gentle maidens of common birth who are honored to sit in your presence this evening, I extend our deepest gratitude. To be summoned within these sacred walls, to share in the grace of your table, is no light gift. It is a treasure we shall carry back to our lands, lands that, by the Almighty's Mercy, may remain steady fast and never falter".
At that, a ripple moved among the gathered girls, for all knew the fae of kingdoms too weak to defend themselves, their daughters became wards, seated humbly at the tables edge, their titles lost, their futures tethered to the mercy of another's crown.
Yet the princess did not falter. Her smile was steady, her eyes bright as she lifted her goblet toward the throne.
"We are delighted, most gracious queen, to partake of your hospitality. May this night be remembered not for the ashes that the day left behind, but for the joy and harmony of daughters gathered beneath one roof. And now...." She paused, her voice rising clear as a bell, "let the special presentation begin".
At the princesses's closing words, the chamber stirred with anticipation. The musicians struck a gentle chord, and the special presentations began.
One by one, the young ladies rose from their seats to display their talents. A princess of the eastern coast lifted her voice in song, clear as crystal, weaving a ballad of home lands seas. Another took up the harp, her slender fingers dancing over the strings until the hall filled with silence melody. Still another whirled in a graceful dance, her silken sleeves catching the light like wings of flame.
The queen watched with a measured smile, her jeweled hand resting lightly upon her cup, nodding now and then at each display. Applause fluttered from the guests like little rain, never too loud, never too soft.
At last, the turn fell to Lilura. She rose quietly, her dark gown pooling her like shadow, and stepped forward. A hush fell, for though she was called daughter of the crown, all in the hall knew she was not born of the Queen's womb.
Lilura inclined her head respectfully. "If it please your majesty, I shall_"
But before she could name her offering, the queen lifted a single hand.
"That will not be necessary"!
The words fell sharp as a blade. A murmur rippled through the gathering, quickly stifled. The Queen's smile did not falter as she continued, her voice carrying easily across the hall. "We have seen enough talent for one night. Let us speak now if tomorrow's hunt, and the festival preparations. Bring more wine"!
Just like that, the moment was dismissed.
Lilura bowed her head to mask the flush upon her cheeks. A stone heavy in her chest as she turned away from the table. She felt the eyes of the wards upon her, some filled with pity, others with relief that it was not them who the queen had humiliated.
Without a word, Lilura skipped from the hall, her steps echoing in the vast corridor as she made her way to the solitude of her chamber. The laughter and music resumed behind her, but to her ears it was distant, muffled, as though the palace itself conspired to push her further into silence.
And in that silence, for the first time, she wondered if the whispers in her head were true
Lilura sat upon the edge of her bed, the dim of a single candle casting long shadows across the chamber walls. Her fingers twisted at the hem of her gown, her thoughts heavy, her heart heavier still.
"Lilura"
The voice was gentle, familiar. Her father, the king, entered in his night robes, his crown exchanged for a simple band of gold that gleamed faintly in the candle light. He closed the door softly behind him, as though to shield her sorrow from the rest of the castle without a word, he Crossed the chamber and drew her into his arms. His embrace was firm, warm, steady, and she buried her face against his shoulder, unwilling to break though her heart longed for answers.
He knew, he knew his wife would not be kind. So he stayed in the court room waiting, to his not surprised guess, he heard her steps in the hall.
Lilura pulled back, searching his face. Her voice cracked as the question slipped free. "Why?"
The king's gaze faltered, shadows darkening his eyes. At last he spoke, but the words gave no comfort. "Some things, my daughter, cannot be explained at all"
Her lips trembled, anger sparking beneath her sorrow. She wrenched herself from his embrace, her face filled with anger.
How can she despise her so much? The woman she has known her mother all her life, yet she looks upon her as though she was nothing more than ash in her path. For what reason?, for what crime she never committed?.
The king's hand lifted, then fell helplessly to his side. Silence stretched between them, as stone.
Lilura clenched her fists, her anger burning against her ribs, begging to be spoken, to be hurled into the night. But she swallowed it down, her voice trembling Instead.
"I would rest now father. Please....leave me so I may change"
He hesitated, sorrow carving lines upon his noble face. His eyes lingered on her, heavy with guilt he could not confess. At last, with a slow nod, he turned and left her chamber. The door closed with a soft thud, leaving Lilura alone in the hush of flickering shadows, her heart a storm of questions no answer could still.