The cool silk of my dress was a second skin, its chill raising a constellation of goosebumps on my arms. My reflection stared back from the vanity, a stranger with my own face. I dragged a silver-backed brush through a stubborn knot in my hair, the tug a dull echo of the day’s impending anxieties. Amelia needs to hurry, I thought. There are too many threads to untangle alone.

A knock, hard and absolute, shattered the morning quiet. It wasn’t a request; it was a command. Before I could answer, the door swung inward. Two knights filled the frame, their polished plate armor—the King’s own—caging the sunlight and throwing it back in a blinding glare. Their faces were impassive masks of duty, jaws set like iron.

My first instinct was a hot surge of fury, a demand to know by what right they entered my private chambers. But fury was a luxury I couldn’t afford. I placed the brush down as if it were made of spun glass and arranged my face into a placid smile. “Good sirs,” I said, my voice smooth. “How may I be of service?”

“By order of His Majesty, the King,” the taller one intoned, his voice devoid of warmth, “you are summoned to the throne room. Immediately.”

The words hung in the air. A summons. Not a request, never a gentle word. The king only summoned me for a purpose, and his purposes were rarely kind. An icy dread coiled in my stomach, but I kept the tremor from my voice. “Of course. Lead on.”

They turned in perfect, punishing unison, their armored boots striking the marble floors like hammers. As we moved through the corridors, the whispers of the servants curdled into a hostile buzz. One of them, a housemaid whose face I barely knew, broke from the shadows and planted herself in my path.

She jabbed a trembling finger toward me. “Poisoner!” she spat, her voice thick with rage. “I knew it was you who struck down Lord Dolion. You never cared for anyone but yourself!”

My gaze flickered to the nearest knight, a silent plea for intervention. He stared straight ahead, a statue of polished steel and indifference.

A lie, I thought, pulling a mask of cool disinterest over my features. But a useful one for them.

“You let the Foresters take the fall for your wickedness!” she shrieked, her accusation drawing the others closer. Their faces became a gallery of glares, a ring of righteous hatred tightening around me.

“I am sorry that I have caused you such distress,” I said, inclining my head in a gesture of false humility. Stay calm. Do not give them the satisfaction of your fear.

Finally, the knight spoke, his voice a low rumble of annoyance. “The King awaits, Princess. Move.”

The maid scowled but stepped aside, and I walked on, their bitter stares a physical weight upon my shoulders. They forgive my father his rages, his wars, his cruelty. They turn a blind eye to the rot in our family’s core, yet they condemn me for sins I never committed.

We stopped before two towering oak doors. Carvings of forgotten beasts and thorny vines snaked across their surface. I took a deep breath, but it did nothing to calm the frantic bird beating against my ribs.

“Announcing Crown Princess Thalia!” the knight bellowed, the title feeling like a borrowed gown. The heavy doors swung wide.

The throne room was an abyss of marble and light. Colossal pillars, like the bones of ancient giants, supported a vaulted ceiling lost in shadow. Light from the towering arched windows shattered against the thousand crystals of the chandeliers. And in the center of the vast emptiness, on a raised dais, sat the throne. My father always made his advisors stand.

He watched my approach, his face a study in glacial disdain. At his side, Blair leaned against the throne’s arm, a vulture’s smile playing on her lips. The sight of them together sent a rod of ice down my spine.

I stopped ten paces from the dais and sank into a deep, formal curtsey. “Your Majesty,” I said, my voice echoing in the cavernous silence. “Crown Princess Thalia greets you.”

I held the position, my muscles screaming in protest. The silence was his first and most trusted blade, and he wielded it with surgical precision, forcing me to remain in the strained, submissive posture. I could feel their collective gaze on me, a physical pressure. They are enjoying this, I thought, a bitter, metallic taste rising in my throat. My suffering is their favorite pastime.

Just as my spine began to feel like hot iron, he moved. The sharp crack of his boot against the dais shattered the quiet.

“You insolent thing,” he boomed. “On your knees.”

My mind didn’t fracture; it went cold and sharp with a single, ringing question: What have I done? I stumbled forward, my palms meeting the slick, freezing marble of the floor as I sank down. I kept my face aimed at the ground, terrified of the fire I knew I would find in his eyes. His heavy footsteps drew closer, stopping beside me. A tremor began in my hands, a humiliating betrayal of the calm I fought to project.

“You are a flaw in the royal line,” he spat, the words striking me with the force of a backhand.

I pressed my forehead to the floor. “I am sorry, Father.”

“Do not,” he hissed, the words laced with venom, “call me ‘Father.’ You have not earned that right. You will address me as ‘Your Majesty’.”

“Yes,” I whispered, my voice a thread. “I am sorry, Your Majesty.”

He circled me, his steps the slow, deliberate pace of a predator. After an eternity, he returned to his throne. The rustle of his robes was the only sound.

“I have made a decision, Thalia,” he said, his voice deceptively mild. “You are not fit to be Crown Princess.”

“What?” The word escaped me as a choked gasp.

“You dare question me?” His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “I will not repeat myself.”

How can I protect anyone if I lose the last shred of power I hold? Even a title is a shield. Panic clawed at my throat. “Your Majesty, I beg you, reconsider,” I pleaded.

“Tsk, tsk,” Blair’s mocking voice sliced through the air. “Poor, little Thalia. Always such a disappointment. How dare you beg? You are nothing. A bug for him to squash!”

My father waved her to silence. “You have proven yourself useless. Dolion’s poisoning was the final straw. You allowed yourself to be dragged away for a crime you did not commit, unable to protect even yourself. Blair let out a sharp, cruel laugh. “You are unfit to rule,” my father repeated. “Look at me.”

The command was absolute. I lifted my head, my neck stiff, and met a gaze that burned with cold fire.

“I hereby REVOKE your title as Crown Princess!” he roared, the words slamming against the marble walls. “You are a princess in name only. Nothing more.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” I replied, my gaze falling back to the floor. A sudden thought pierced the fog of panic. Maybe this is better. I can move more freely now, without the weight of the crown. At least I’m not in jail.

Jail.

The thought struck me like lightning. An anchor in the maelstrom.

Cassius.

I slammed my forehead back against my hands, biting my lip against the fresh wave of pain. This was it. My only chance.

“Your Majesty,” I said, forcing a new strength into my voice. Please don’t let him kill me for this.

A flicker of cruel amusement danced in his eyes. “A request? How bold. Very well. Let us hear it.”

“There is a prisoner in the dungeons,” I began, my voice steadying with every word. “Since I am, as you say, unable to protect myself, I would like him to be my personal guard.”

“His name?” he spat, the amusement vanishing.

“Cassius,” I said, daring to meet his eyes again. “He is an elf.” My fingers dug into the silk of my dress, the fine fabric a small anchor in the terrifying storm.

Something unreadable flashed across my father’s face—surprise, then annoyance. It was gone in an instant, replaced by a wicked smile. “Ah, the Cursed Elf,” he mused. “The royal records say he’s been rotting down there for centuries. I’m surprised the creature still draws breath.” He leaned forward, his eyes glinting. “He is as useless as you are, Thalia. Thanks to his curse, he cannot wield mana. And a geas prevents him from harming a single drop of royal blood.”

He leaned back, stroking his chin as he glanced at Blair. “What do you think?”

She let out a condescending chuckle. “I think if the useless doll can figure out how to remove his ancient restraints by herself, she can have her broken toy.”

My resolve forged itself into steel in the heat of my humiliation. “I accept your terms,” I said, my voice clear and firm.

My father’s smile faltered. “One last thing,” he commanded, his voice a low growl. “Do not appear before me unless summoned. From this moment on, you will live as if you are dead to me. And if you free that elf, ensure I never lay eyes on him.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” I whispered. “Thank you for your mercy.”

“Now, GET OUT!” he roared.

I rose, not scrambling, but with the deliberate grace of a statue coming to life. My muscles screamed, but I did not falter. I offered one final, mechanical bow. “May Your Majesty be blessed,” I murmured, the traditional words tasting like poison.

I did not run. I walked, feeling their eyes on me with every step. The great doors boomed shut behind me, the sound a final, punctuating crack of thunder. They were sealed in their gilded cage, and I, stripped of everything, was finally free to act.

Now, I had to save Cassius.