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Outside my chamber, the corridor was lined with opulence:
Tapestries of the royal lineage, golden sconces glowing with gentle flame, and windows flung wide to the morning breeze.
The scent of blooming roses wafted in from the palace gardens.
The sound of cheering—loud, rising, relentless—echoed from the outer courtyard.
The people of Elowen had gathered for their future queen.
And they were ready to love me.
Just beyond the tall doors, standing in solemn anticipation, were the people who knew me best—and perhaps understood me the least.
The King stood with his hands clasped tightly behind his back, eyes unreadable.
He hadn't spoken since arriving at my chambers, lost in his thoughts.
But if one looked closely, they would've seen the subtle glint of emotion in his gaze.
Pride.
Guilt.
Fear.
Beside him, the Queen was radiant in sapphire velvet, her silver hair pinned in regal coils.
Her expression was calmer, colder, perhaps—but her eyes tracked the doors with quiet longing.
Her daughter was no longer a girl.
She was a sovereign.
Rye stood just slightly behind them, flanked by a few high-ranking nobles and advisors.
His garments were sharp, tailored with precision—deep burgundy and black, colors of power.
His black hair was slicked back, his posture regal.
The look on his face was unmistakable:
Pride.
Confidence.
Possession.
He had waited years for this moment.
Trained beside me.
Dined with royalty.
Remained loyal in the eyes of the court.
And soon, very soon, once I wore the crown, I would be his.
Not even I could change that.
Then—
The chamber doors opened.
A hush fell over the corridor like the breath of the kingdom itself had been drawn and held.
I stepped forward.
I looked like something out of legend.
My gown, pale rose and silver, shimmered like starlight.
The soft veil over my shoulders was pinned with delicate moonstones, and my long black hair, woven with silver threads, framed my face like a living portrait.
But it wasn't just the gown or the jewels that struck them all.
It was my presence.
Calm.
Tall.
Collected.
Cold.
My eyes swept over them—not harshly, not cruelly, but like someone who no longer lived among mortals.
Someone who had grown past childhood, past heartbreak, past softness.
Even the King, who had known me since I first breathed, blinked.
His lips parted slightly.
"She looks like…" one noble whispered.
"A true queen," another finished.
The Queen gave the smallest nod, eyes flicking briefly to her husband.
But Rye…
Rye's chest swelled.
His eyes devoured me — slowly, hungrily.
His lips curled into the faintest smile of victory.
'That's mine,' he thought. The future is finally here.
He stepped forward, bowing slightly.
"Evelynne," he said softly,
"you leave the world breathless."
I looked at him, gaze unreadable.
"Then let them learn to breathe again," I replied.
The Queen arched an eyebrow.
The King nearly smiled.
Rye blinked—but recovered quickly.
From beyond the palace walls, the roar of the people grew louder.
Their cheers and chants spilled through the open archways like sunlight.
"Long live Princess Evelynne!"
"Long live the Crown!"
"Long live the Queen!"
I turned my head slightly toward the sound.
And for a flicker of a moment, just a flicker—my eyes shimmered.
But I blinked it away.
My back straightened, my chin lifted.
Without another word, I began walking.
The coronation hall waited.
And so did history.