The royal palace of Velmora was filled with echoes of laughter, whispers of power, and the constant clash of ambition. But beneath the surface, tension brewed like a storm waiting to break.
Gwendolyn was no longer just a princess. She was a threat.
For years, she had believed herself to be the rightful heir—the one born out of love, the daughter of a queen. But blood alone did not determine power in Velmora. There were eleven others who shared the king's blood, and some of them would rather see her dead than on the throne.
Especially Darius.
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Though Gwendolyn was often called the "First Child," it was a title of politics, not birth.
Her father had twelve children in total, born to six different women. But of all his wives, only one had been a true queen. The others were concubines, women of rank and beauty, chosen to secure alliances or strengthen the king's influence.
Their children were assets, not heirs.
But that did not mean they would stand by and let her take the throne.
Especially Darius.
The firstborn son. The child Morgana had raised for the kingdom.
To the world, he was the eldest prince, the one with the strongest claim to power. He was the son who had trained in warfare, the one who had sat beside their father in councils, learning how to rule.
He was everything Gwendolyn was not. Or so they thought.
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Darius and his brothers had tolerated her when they were young. She was just a girl, after all. Beautiful, yes. Kind, yes. But harmless.
Then, they had watched as she grew.
They saw how the people adored her. They saw how her name was whispered in the streets, not theirs. They saw how, despite their father's silence, there were still nobles who believed in her claim.
And Darius saw something else—something more dangerous than her charm.
He saw her will.
She was no longer a sweet, obedient princess. She was learning, growing, fighting. She was becoming.
And that could not be allowed.
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The Clash of Heirs
It started small.
Darius tested her. Every time she spoke in court, he would challenge her.
"Do you truly believe a woman could lead an army, sister?" he had laughed once, as nobles listened.
"What will you do when enemies come? Talk them into surrender?"
She had smiled, unfazed.
"No. I will do what my father has done for years—make them bow or break them."
The nobles had laughed. But Darius had not.
Then came the fights.
It was no secret that the royal children trained in combat. It was a necessity. Even a princess had to learn self-defense. But Gwendolyn took it more seriously than they expected.
And one day, Darius challenged her.
A duel, in the palace courtyard. No real weapons—just wooden swords. A game, or so it seemed.
But the moment their swords clashed, it became war.
Darius was strong. He had trained his whole life, honed his skills through years of battle practice.
But Gwendolyn was faster.
She dodged, twisted, struck where he least expected. She was relentless, fueled by the rage he had planted in her heart.
For a moment, he faltered.
And in that moment, she knocked him to the ground, the tip of her sword at his throat.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Darius's pride was shattered.
He had been raised as the king's son, trained to rule, yet in front of their brothers, the knights, and the nobles watching…
He lost.
To a girl.
To the one person Morgana had warned him to destroy.
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From that moment on, there was no peace.
The brothers who once saw her as nothing more than a sister now saw her as a rival.
The court, once filled with whispers of support, now whispered in fear.
Morgana saw it all and smiled.
Because she knew—this was just the beginning.
And Gwendolyn was running out of time.
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