The princess was only five, but her eyes saw more than most adults.
She moved through the palace like a shadow, quiet but always watching. She memorized faces, listened to voices behind doors, and repeated full conversations to her mother by night.
"She said you're too strong for a queen," Lyra whispered once, curled beside Queen Selene in bed.
Selene brushed her daughter's hair gently. "That's what they say when they're afraid, my love."
Lyra thought for a moment. "Good. I want them to be afraid."
Selene laughed softly—but it wasn't a laugh of amusement. It was pride. And worry.
In the courtyard, Lyra trained daily with the palace guards. While noble girls practiced embroidery, she practiced balance, sword forms, and archery. Some of the older men grumbled.
"A girl should be in the nursery, not on the battlefield."
But Captain Lirael corrected them sharply. "She's more royal than most of you will ever be."
And she was.
By age six, Lyra spoke three languages, could read ancient scrolls, and memorized battle strategies older than the throne itself. She asked hard questions in court chambers and once publicly corrected a nobleman's lie with perfect composure.
"She's not just smart," Lord Venn said quietly to Selene. "She's dangerous. Like you."
Selene replied, "Good. She will need to be."
But the people… they weren't ready.
"She's clever," they whispered in the markets, "but she's not a son."
"She'll never rule."
"She's just a girl."
And the council began speaking again—this time more cautiously.
"What if the king's next child is another daughter?" they asked Darian.
He didn't answer.
But Queen Selene had already heard the words—twice, from two different mouths. And that was enough.
One night, as Lyra sat reading beside her mother's chair, she asked:
"Will they ever love me like they would a prince?"
Selene looked down, heart aching. "No. Not all of them."
Lyra looked up, expression calm. "Then I'll make them fear me instead."
Selene didn't scold her. She didn't say, "No, you must be soft." She simply nodded.
Because she had learned the same truth once:
In a world that worshipped crowns, love was never freely given. It had to be earned—or taken.
Meanwhile, Lady Miranna's plans had not died.
Her allies in the south were spreading quiet lies:
"Selene can only bear daughters."
"The throne is cursed."
"The bloodline is broken."
A new rumor began: "A queen from another land is being considered—one who can bring a son."
The whispers reached even Selene's most trusted allies. They began to ask themselves:
"What if it's true?"
"What if a son never comes?"
"Wouldn't it be safer to replace her?"
Selene knew what was coming.
And she was ready.