Chapter II: The Shadow Beneath the Gold

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:) ......

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