The palace halls felt colder. Seraphina was gone, and with her, the warmth Gwendolyn once knew.
Her father, King Aldric, had changed. He was not the same man who had once held her high upon his shoulders, laughing as she clung to his crown. He was not the same father who had promised her that she was special—that one day, she would rule.
Now, he was a man weighed down by grief. And in that grief, Morgana crept closer.
--
Gwendolyn had seen it happen, slow as the rising tide. Morgana's voice replaced Seraphina's absence.
She stood by the king's side more often than before, her gentle voice dripping with sweet poison.
"My king," she sighed one evening, "I worry for Gwendolyn."
Aldric, seated upon his throne, barely looked up. "Why?"
Morgana folded her hands, her expression sorrowful. "She is kind, yes. But is kindness enough to rule? She is reckless, emotional. She moves like a child who does not understand the weight of a crown."
The king's jaw tightened.
"She rides her horse through the city, unguarded," Morgana continued. "She speaks to the commoners as if she is one of them. It is noble, of course, but… is it wise?"
Aldric sighed, rubbing his temple. "She has a good heart."
"But a good heart can be a weakness." Morgana's voice softened. "And a weak ruler is a doomed kingdom."
The words settled like a curse.
Then came the final blow—one she had been preparing for years.
"My king, I know how much you loved Seraphina. And I know you wished for Gwendolyn to take the throne. But… perhaps it is time to consider what is best for Velmora."
Aldric's gaze lifted to her, weary, uncertain.
Morgana hesitated, then knelt beside him. "You have a son. Your first son. The first prince of Velmora."
A long silence stretched between them.
Then, Aldric whispered, "Darius."
---
A Shift in Power
Gwendolyn noticed the changes immediately.
Her father was colder. He called for her less. When she entered the throne room, Morgana was always there, standing too close to him, whispering words that Gwendolyn could never hear.
And worse, Darius—Morgana's son, her half-brother—was beginning to take her place.
It was subtle at first. The king invited him to councils, asking for his opinions on matters of war and trade. Nobles who once spoke only of Gwendolyn now praised Darius's leadership, his strength.
Her stomach twisted when she heard their whispers.
"A strong warrior, unlike the princess."
"He was raised for this."
"He is the king's first son—it is his birthright."
Birthright.
The word burned like fire in her chest.
Had they forgotten? She was the firstborn. She was supposed to rule. But slowly, Morgana was making the world forget.
And her father was letting it happen.
---
One evening, Gwendolyn found herself standing outside the council chambers. The doors were slightly ajar, voices drifting through.
"You must announce it soon, my king," Morgana urged.
Aldric sighed. "Announce what?"
Morgana's voice was soft but insistent. "That Darius will be your heir."
The air left Gwendolyn's lungs.
"I cannot simply cast Gwendolyn aside," Aldric muttered.
"You would not be casting her aside," Morgana soothed. "She would still be a princess. She would still be valuable. But a kingdom must be ruled by strength, not sentiment."
Gwendolyn's fingers clenched into fists.
For years, she had thought Morgana simply hated her. But this was not just hatred—this was a plan.
A plan to erase her. A plan to take everything from her.
For the first time in her life, something dark and unfamiliar twisted in Gwendolyn's chest.
It was not sadness. It was rage.
And for the first time… she wondered if her mother had been right.
"You cannot be soft-hearted."
---
Gwendolyn left before she could hear her father's response. She didn't need to.
It was clear enough. Her throne was slipping from her grasp.
And if she did not act soon… she would lose everything.
---