Prologue: The Prophecy of the Fallen Heir
The temple was draped in shadows, the flickering torchlight casting eerie shapes against the ancient stone walls. The scent of burning myrrh filled the air, thick and suffocating, as the High Priest stood at the center of the sacred chamber. His sightless eyes were turned toward the heavens, his wrinkled hands gripping a golden staff carved with symbols of fate. Before him knelt the King and his council, their faces tight with expectation.
The old priest's voice trembled as he spoke, yet it carried the weight of destiny itself.
"The firstborn of the King shall rise with the dawn, yet be cast into the abyss by those who fear her light."
Murmurs rippled through the room. The King's expression hardened. "What does this mean?"
The priest took a slow breath, his blind gaze unfocused yet piercing.
"Betrayed by blood, she will fall before her time. But the spirit of the forsaken never rests. She will return."
The King clenched his fists, his heart pounding. "And if she does?"
"When she does, the throne will tremble, the heavens will weep, and the kingdom will never be the same again."
A chill swept through the chamber. The Queen, her belly round with child, pressed a hand to her stomach, feeling the tiny heartbeat within. She did not yet know that her daughter's fate had already been written in the stars.
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The palace was alive with celebration. Golden banners fluttered in the warm breeze, and music filled the air, blending with the joyous cheers of nobles and commoners alike. The grand courtyard, decorated with blooming lilies and lanterns, had never looked more beautiful. Today was the wedding of King Aldric and his chosen queen, Lady Seraphina of Velmora.
King Aldric stood tall at the altar, his regal presence commanding attention. His dark hair was woven with golden threads, a symbol of his royal bloodline, and his emerald eyes held the fire of a ruler destined for greatness. Yet today, those fierce eyes softened with love as he watched Seraphina approach, draped in silks of white and gold.
She was breathtaking—her beauty unmatched, but it was her unwavering spirit that had captured Aldric's heart. Unlike the women who clawed for his throne, Seraphina had never sought power. She had only sought him.
When their hands met, it was as if the gods themselves had blessed their union.
"I vow to stand by your side, through storms and sunshine alike," Seraphina whispered as she placed her hand in his.
"And I vow to cherish you above all else," Aldric replied, his voice firm with devotion.
The high priest bound their hands with a silk ribbon, sealing their vows before the kingdom. The crowd erupted in cheers as the newly crowned Queen Seraphina took her place beside her King.
---
Months passed, and their love only deepened. Seraphina was no ordinary queen—she was Aldric's equal in mind and heart. She sat beside him in council, offering wisdom that many men twice her age lacked. She walked among the people, listening to their struggles, earning their love in a way no other queen had before.
But not everyone rejoiced in her presence.
The six other wives of the King, each of noble birth, watched with simmering resentment. They had been chosen for political alliances, bound to Aldric not by love, but by duty. Yet here was Seraphina, the woman he had married by choice, basking in the affection they had never received.
Among them, one seethed the most—Lady Morgana, the mother of Prince Darius, Aldric's second child. She had always believed her son was destined for the throne, despite knowing that the firstborn, regardless of gender, was the rightful heir.
And then came the announcement that shattered her hopes.
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The Heir is Born
A royal decree was sent across the kingdom—Queen Seraphina was with child. The people celebrated, for this child would be the future ruler of Velmora. The King declared that, boy or girl, the child would inherit the throne.
In the golden halls of the palace, Seraphina glowed with happiness, her hands resting on her growing belly. The King held her close, whispering promises of a bright future for their child.
But beyond the palace walls, in the dimly lit chambers of Lady Morgana, shadows whispered of something far darker.
---
The labor was long and painful. Storms raged outside the palace as if the heavens themselves fought against fate. After what felt like an eternity, a cry pierced the night—the first breath of the future ruler.
"A girl," the midwife whispered in awe, holding the newborn up for the Queen to see.
Seraphina's exhausted eyes filled with tears as she reached for her daughter, cradling her against her chest. The baby had her father's emerald eyes, yet there was something fierce in them—as if she already knew the weight of the world she had been born into.
King Aldric stepped forward, his gaze unwavering as he gently touched his daughter's tiny hand. "She shall be called Gwendolyn," he declared. "The future Queen of Velmora."
The announcement echoed through the palace, and the people rejoiced. But in the shadows, Lady Morgana clenched her fists.
"A girl," she spat, her lips curling in disgust. "A girl shall never sit on the throne."
And thus, the first seeds of betrayal were sown.
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In the nursery, Queen Seraphina sang softly, rocking Gwendolyn in her arms. She pressed a gentle kiss to her daughter's forehead. "You are destined for greatness, my love."
But in the depths of the palace, Morgana knelt before a hooded figure.
"This child is a threat," she whispered. "She must never grow strong enough to rule."
The hooded figure chuckled darkly. "Then we shall ensure she never does."
And just like that, fate had begun to weave its cruel tapestry.
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