4. The Weight of a Crown

...THE CAPTIVE...

The palace no longer smelled of roses.

It smelled of melted candle wax, damp parchment, and fear.

Servants hurried through the corridors with lowered heads. Knights stood at every entrance, their hands never straying far from their swords. Even the fountains in the royal gardens seemed quieter, as though the kingdom itself had learned to whisper.

I sat beneath the ancient willow tree overlooking the lake, my journal resting on my lap.

When words could not leave my mouth, they found refuge on paper.

I dipped my quill into ink.

If silence could protect the people I love, I would remain silent forever.

A single drop of ink splashed across the page, blurring the last word.

Footsteps approached.

I didn't need to look up. My mother always walked softly.

She sat beside me without speaking. We watched a pair of white swans glide across the water, leaving gentle ripples behind them.

After a while, she finally broke the silence.

"When you were little, you used to chase those swans."

A smile tugged at my lips.

I remembered.

I would run barefoot through the gardens, laughing until the guards struggled to keep up with me.

Back then...

I had a voice.

Mother reached into the folds of her gown and placed a folded letter into my hands.

It bore no royal seal.

Only my name.

I looked at her in confusion.

"I wrote it," she said softly. "Years ago."

My fingers trembled as I unfolded the yellowed paper.

The handwriting was hers.

...----------------...

To my dearest Eirene,

If you are reading this, then you still believe your silence has made you less.

It hasn't.

Your voice was never the most beautiful thing about you.

It was your heart.

Never allow anyone to convince you otherwise.

...----------------...

My vision blurred.

A tear slipped onto the page before I could wipe it away.

Mother gently brushed it off my cheek.

"I hoped you'd never need that letter," she whispered.

I closed my eyes.

If only I could tell her how much those words meant.

Instead, I rested my forehead against hers.

It was enough.

For us, it always had been.

A trumpet echoed across the palace grounds.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Not the war bell.

A messenger's call.

We hurried toward the throne room.

The doors were already open.

Father stood before his council, his face unreadable.

An exhausted scout knelt before the throne, his armor scratched and stained with mud.

"They've crossed the River Aster," he reported.

A murmur spread through the room.

"How far?"

The scout swallowed.

"Three days from the capital... perhaps less."

The room erupted into a panicked discussion.

"Impossible!"

"Our eastern defenses are still unfinished!"

"We must evacuate the villages!"

Father slammed his hand against the arm of his throne.

"Enough!"

Silence fell instantly.

His gaze swept across every noble in the room before stopping on me.

For a heartbeat, something flickered in his eyes.

Not disappointment.

Not frustration.

Regret.

Then he looked away.

"We will not surrender Lysoria," he declared.

"We fight."

The nobles bowed.

"So be it."

As everyone began discussing preparations once more, I noticed something no one else seemed to see.

The scout was still kneeling.

Still trembling.

As if he hadn't finished speaking.

I stepped toward him and held out my notebook.

He glanced at Father, uncertain.

Then, with shaking hands, he took my quill and wrote only one sentence.

The Raven King is not marching alone.

A cold shiver ran through me.

Someone...

Someone had opened our borders from the inside.

The enemy was coming.

And somewhere within these palace walls...

A traitor was waiting.

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