It was the brightest day the kingdom had seen in decades. The skies above Lysandrel were clear, a crystalline blue unmarred by even a single cloud. A warm breeze drifted across the city, carrying the perfume of white roses and red tulips that bloomed in every window and garden—a rare pairing, symbolizing purity and courage. The palace bells rang with ceremonial grace as banners of gold and crimson fluttered from marble towers.

Today was a day for celebration. Today was the coronation of Princess Elizabeth Alara Lysandrel.

The streets of the capital were bursting with joy. Citizens of every age lined the paths from the palace gates to the cathedral steps, tossing petals, cheering, and waving embroidered handkerchiefs. “Long live Princess Alara!” they shouted, their voices rising with pride. “May the stars light her rule!”

Inside the palace, Elizabeth stood before her mirror in a gown of silk white and soft gold, her dark hair pinned into elegant waves that spilled over her shoulders. Her eyes—silver-gray like the edge of moonlight—watched herself carefully, but something in her gaze seemed distant.

She smiled, she bowed, she spoke graciously to every lady and lord in the court. And yet—beneath it all—there was a strange stillness in her heart. As if the joy of the day reached her ears but not her bones. Something was there, quiet and invisible, like frost behind glass.

“You’re thinking too much,” Queen Meredith said gently, adjusting the circlet that sat upon her daughter’s brow. “Today is for joy.”

Elizabeth offered her a smile. “Yes, Mother.”

The ceremony in the royal chapel was grand. Choirs sang hymns written generations ago, and the high priest of Lysandrel recited sacred verses that only the crown-blooded were permitted to hear. Elizabeth kneeled as tradition dictated, and the ceremonial circlet was touched with incense smoke and kissed by the royal seal.

Still, there was something… wrong. Not visibly. Not in the air. But within her.

As the crowd applauded and the music surged, Elizabeth caught her mother’s eyes from the dais. Queen Meredith was smiling—but it was practiced, still smiling. One that did not quite reach her eyes.

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... That's for this chapter:) ...

Spoiler Alert for Chapter II:

“What am I becoming?”

The door behind her creaked. Queen Meredith stepped through, barefoot, wrapped in a silver-gray cloak. “You can’t sleep either?”

Elizabeth looked up. “I keep dreaming… I think.”

Her mother said nothing for a moment. Then she gestured silently. “Come with me.”

They moved through dark hallways Elizabeth had never entered before. The palace was ancient—older than maps remembered. Queen Meredith led her past servant quarters and armories, past forgotten staircases. At the end of one hallway, she pressed her hand to a wall.

Stone groaned. A hidden door slid open, revealing a staircase spiraling into shadow.

“Where are we going?” Elizabeth asked, though she followed.

Author: This isn't much in one chapter I know, but this is it for now as I already finished the second chapter and will be posting it later.

Okay so as an author who's literally a beginner I'd be lying if I said that I don't care if no one read this story but the whole reason for me writing and posting it is that I want to share this story with some people. So to this amazing person who find this story I hope that you like it and thank you.

The following days were filled with endless preparation. Dresses and jewels. Formal dances. The delivery of gifts from foreign rulers. Elizabeth was given books of old rites, paraded through the village markets, and seated beside officials who offered rehearsed speeches about duty and destiny.

Everyone around her glowed with excitement. Everyone except her.

She wasn’t unhappy. That wasn’t it. But in the depths of her being, something stirred like coals in a dying hearth. At night, she couldn’t sleep. Not from fear—something stranger. She would awaken with her hands cold and eyes burning, with no memory of what she’d dreamed.

On the fifth night after the ceremonial blessing, Elizabeth sat alone on the balcony of her chambers, watching moonlight ripple across the lake below. Her maidservants had long since gone to bed. Her fingertips grazed the edge of her circlet as she whispered to the stars.

“What am I becoming?”

The door behind her creaked. Queen Meredith stepped through, barefoot, wrapped in a silver-gray cloak. “You can’t sleep either?”

Elizabeth looked up. “I keep dreaming… I think.”

Her mother said nothing for a moment. Then she gestured silently. “Come with me.”

They moved through dark hallways Elizabeth had never entered before. The palace was ancient—older than maps remembered. Queen Meredith led her past servant quarters and armories, past forgotten staircases. At the end of one hallway, she pressed her hand to a wall.

Stone groaned. A hidden door slid open, revealing a staircase spiraling into shadow.

“Where are we going?” Elizabeth asked, though she followed.

“To where all queens go before the crown,” her mother said.

They descended in silence, the torchlight flickering along the carved walls. The air smelled of stone and age—like ink that had dried centuries ago. At the bottom, an iron door stood, covered in symbols Elizabeth had never seen.

Queen Meredith whispered something, and the symbols flared with violet light. The door opened.

The chamber beyond was vast.

Tall columns stretched to a vaulted ceiling carved with constellations. Thrones—twelve of them—sat in a half-circle, each bearing a woman dressed in silks of ancient style. And each one… was alive.

Not dead. Not spirits. But still. Preserved. Watching. Breathing.

Elizabeth froze. “What is this?”

Queen Meredith stood beside her. “This is the chamber of the queens. Every woman who has worn the tiara and fulfilled the rite. This is your bloodline.”

Elizabeth’s voice was barely audible. “Fulfilled what rite?”

One of the women on the thrones spoke, her voice soft and sharp as a blade. “The crown demands a price.”

“You will inherit the tiara in three days,” Meredith said, final

“You will inherit the tiara in three days,” Meredith said, finally turning to her daughter. “Once it touches your head, the rite begins.”

“What rite?” Elizabeth asked again. Her voice cracked.

Meredith met her gaze. “You must give the tiara five hundred lives.”

The words fell like glass.

Elizabeth stepped back. “Five hundred… people?”

Another queen answered with an unsettling smile. “Five hundred men who love you. Who want you. Who would follow you anywhere. The tiara feeds on devotion and desire.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “That’s impossible. There aren’t five hundred people like that. Not even in the kingdom.”

“They will come,” one whispered. “They always do.”

“And if they don’t?” she asked.

Queen Meredith’s voice lowered. “Then the tiara will feed on you instead. And everyone you hold dear.”

Elizabeth’s heart thundered. “You… you all did this?”

“We did,” said a queen with eyes as old as stone. “And that is why we live still. Immortal. Bound to the bloodline. Queens eternal.”

Elizabeth stared, frozen in place. The air felt heavier, the fire colder.

“I would rather offer my own life,” she said suddenly, her voice trembling. “If I could die instead of killing… I would.”

There was a pause.

Then all the queens looked at one another, their faces unreadable.

“You cannot,” one said coldly.

Queen Meredith stepped forward quickly, her tone lined with fear. “You must never speak that again.”

“Why not?” Elizabeth asked.

Her mother’s voice was firm. “Because if you die without fulfilling the rite, the kingdom will crumble. The tiara will not stop. It will devour all who live here. Your father and I—we are only alive because of the rite. Without it, the bloodline fails. The magic collapses. Lysandrel will fall.”

Elizabeth’s fists clenched at her sides.

The queens stared at her—twelve lifetimes of royalty, eternal in their thrones.

“You have no choice, Elizabeth Alara,” one of them whispered. “The tiara has chosen you.”

......That's all for this chapter people:) ......

Elizabeth returned to her chambers, her steps careful and her mind still trailing behind in the crypt, haunted by the immortals’ whispers. The torchlight in the hallway cast a trembling glow, as if it too feared the truth she had just learned. When she stepped into her room, she expected silence.

Instead, her father was there.

King Elric stood by the window, back to her, looking over the royal gardens bathed in moonlight. He turned slowly at the sound of the door closing, and smiled.

“My little star,” he said.

She had not heard that name in years. Not since she was a child, tumbling through the courtyards with scraped knees and loud laughter. That name used to make her feel safe. Tonight, it made her uneasy.

“Father,” she greeted, bowing slightly.

He approached and reached for her hands. “Let’s sit.”

But Elizabeth couldn’t help herself. The words came pouring out like a dam shattered.

“Why are there no kings who rule? Why is it only us—the queens? Why does the kingdom demand five hundred lives?” Her voice was low but urgent. “Has no one ever tried to stop it? Has no one ever—”

He raised a hand, not in command, but in quiet surrender. His expression was tired. More tender than she had ever seen.

“Elara…” he murmured, using her middle name with reverence. “I love you. That is all I know. I cannot stop the tides. But tonight, let’s not speak of the sea. Let’s speak of stars. Let’s be father and daughter—for the last time.”

She was stunned. Her father had always been dignified, distant even. But now, there was warmth, sadness, and something else in his eyes. Something final.

So she agreed.

For three days, they shared time like never before. Archery in the old garden. Horse rides through the lower hills. Hours spent playing strategy games he used to teach her as a child. They laughed more in those days than they had in years. She saw the man behind the crown. And for a moment, forgot the crown that waited for her.

But time is unmerciful.

On the fourth day, the bells tolled across the kingdom.

Coronation Day.

Not the celebration from before. That had been pageantry, a prelude. This was the ritual. The final rite.

As the royal orchestra played and banners rose in her honor, Elizabeth entered the ceremonial hall. Princes from across the continent had come—dressed in silk and gold, their eyes fixed on her. Her dress shimmered like blood under the light. Her tiara waited atop the velvet cushion.

She knelt.

The High Matron lifted the tiara, its rubies like frozen hearts, and placed it upon Elizabeth’s head.

A silence fell.

A heartbeat.

Then… applause. Celebration. But Elizabeth was frozen. She looked up and saw how every prince, every man in that room, stared at her—not with awe, but with desire. Unnatural. Hungry. Her skin crawled.

She touched the tiara.

Was this its power?

That night, the ballroom filled with music, wine, and laughter. But Elizabeth did not smile. Something inside her had turned cold.

Later, in her chamber, her mother entered alone. But it wasn’t her mother who spoke.

A voice came from within her own thoughts.

“The first name has been chosen.”

She froze. “What?”

“The one who loved you first. The one who would die for you without hesitation. The one who spent his last days showing you who he truly was.”

“No…” she whispered.

Meredith’s eyes gleamed—not with cruelty, but with quiet resignation.

“It is always the father,” she said.

Elizabeth fell to her knees.

...That's all for this Chapter :) ...