The royal chamber was dim, lit only by the soft flickering of candlelight. Elizabeth sat on the floor, still in her coronation gown, her hands shaking. The weight of the tiara pressed harder than any crown should—it felt as if the blood of every queen before her had soaked into the gold.
The door creaked open. Queen Meredith entered quietly, her gown flowing like a shadow.
Elizabeth turned, eyes brimming with tears. “Mom…”
But her mother said nothing, only stared down with the unmoving grace of a queen.
“I don’t want to do this,” Elizabeth choked. “I cannot do this. I will not do this.”
Meredith's brows tightened, but she didn’t kneel, didn’t falter. Her hands clasped before her, dignified and cold as stone.
“I know it isn’t fair,” she said, voice steady. “None of it ever was.”
Elizabeth shook her head, desperate. “But why? Why does it have to be like this? Why him? Why any of them? Why can’t we just rule like any other royal family? Why must we carry this curse?”
Silence lingered in the chamber like a blade.
Queen Meredith did not waver. “Because we are not just rulers—we are vessels of a power that demands balance. Blood for peace. Sacrifice for survival.”
Elizabeth’s voice cracked. “But my grandfather—did he…?”
The queen looked away for a moment. Just a flicker. Then, with a trembling breath, she answered—not as a mother, but as a monarch.
“A queen has to do it,” she said. “I had to do it.”
Her eyes turned to Elizabeth—stern, regal, immovable.
“If I hadn’t, this kingdom would have crumbled. And you would have crumbled with it. Your father... will understand.”
She turned, the folds of her gown sweeping behind her as she walked away without another word.
Elizabeth remained frozen. The chamber felt colder now, heavier.
And for the first time, she felt it deep in her bones—she was no longer just a girl.
She was a queen.
But at what cost?
Her chamber was quiet again.
But not for long.
The door creaked open gently, and her father stepped inside, the firelight casting soft shadows across his features. His face was serene, but there was a storm in his eyes.
Elizabeth sat on the edge of her bed, her face tear-streaked. The weight of what was about to happen pressed down on her like a thousand stones. Her mind was a whirlwind of confusion, guilt, and love, but it couldn’t escape the suffocating truth of her fate.
Her father walked over slowly, a small, ceremonial blade in his hand. He didn’t speak immediately. Instead, he stood there, looking at his daughter—his perfect, strong daughter—whose eyes had once been full of innocence and wonder, and now… now they are haunted. He knew what was happening in her heart. He knew how impossible this moment was for her. But he also knew she would carry on. She was the blood of their line. And this was the price.
Taking a seat beside her, he set the blade gently in front of her.
...That's all for this one...
...This is quite long so next:) ...
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