Fated For The Crown

Chapter Ten: The Court’s Silence (part 2)

Natalia didn’t mention the letter to Anya or anyone else.

She kept it hidden in the folds of her pillow, folded beneath a layer of cotton. She’d read it a dozen more times, memorized the words. When the prince returns, it will begin. Be ready. The words echoed through her mind as the sun rose and fell again across the days.

The strange thing was—she felt it too. Something in the wind. A gathering of weight in her chest. As if the world itself was holding its breath.

Still, the court moved on, oblivious in its glittering distractions. Balls were held, celebrations arranged, and meetings convened where she was no longer invited. Natalia remained on the periphery—watched, judged, and slowly being pushed out of favor.

Lady Viera seized the opportunity like a hawk spotting wounded prey.

“Oh dear,” she said sweetly one morning as Natalia passed her near the west terrace. “Do be careful near the fountains. I’ve heard strange things happen to girls who walk alone with cursed blood.”

Natalia didn’t respond. But her shoulders stiffened. She’d grown used to Viera’s sharp tongue—but this was something new. It wasn’t just gossip. It was accusation. And it was spreading.

In the following days, whispers turned into avoidance. Servants paused when she approached. One of the guards even refused to meet her eyes. Lady Alenya, once indifferent, openly referred to her as “that girl from the crypt.”

The loneliness pressed down like winter frost.

And yet strangely—Natalia grew steadier with every insult. Where fear had once stirred, now something else began to rise. A kind of quiet strength. If she was to be hunted, she would not run. If they feared her, they could watch her stand tall.

Still, the nights were the hardest.

Her dreams became more vivid. More urgent. The voice came clearer. You must listen. The path is not safe, but it is yours. Blood will be the price.

One night, the dream was different.

She stood at the edge of the crypt again but this time, she wasn’t alone. A shadowed figure stepped toward her from within the dark corridor. Not monstrous. Not ghostly. A man. Cloaked in royal blue and silver.

Kalen.

But his eyes glowed gold, unnatural, unreadable.

You must choose, he said. Before I do.

Natalia woke gasping, her sheets twisted around her limbs, heart pounding like a drum. Her mark was warm again—pulsing in rhythm with something ancient she could not name.

She dressed and left her chamber, unable to sit still. The halls were quiet, moonlight pouring in through stained glass. Her steps echoed as she passed the crypt doors once more—sealed, guarded, untouched.

But something shifted.

A sound—faint but real—came from within.

A soft whisper. Her name.

She didn’t wait. She ran—back to the main wing, up the marble staircase, until she reached the private royal corridor.

She wasn’t sure what she was doing there.

She wasn’t allowed near the prince’s chambers. And he wasn’t even here. But she stopped at his door, breathing hard, one hand resting on the cold wood.

And in that silence, she realized what she felt.

Not fear. Not confusion.

Longing.

For understanding. For answers. For him.

The next morning, a new summons arrived.

From the King.

She stood before the throne, alone.

The court was not present. Only the king and his inner circle. He watched her with eyes the color of frozen steel, unreadable as ever. Beside him stood Commander Alric and Lady Giselle.

“You’ve caused quite a stir, girl,” the king said at last.

Natalia bowed her head. “I never meant to.”

“Perhaps not,” the king replied. “But meaning is irrelevant to consequence. The crypt is ancient. Guarded. Sealed by runes older than the throne itself. And yet, the night you walked by, it cracked.”

“I didn’t do anything—”

“Didn’t you?” the king cut in, rising. “You come from nowhere. You bear a mark that glows with forgotten magic. And now, you dream of voices and shadows?”

Natalia’s lips parted, stunned. How does he know about the dreams?

“Lady Giselle believes you may be… significant,” he said, voice tight with caution. “But significance can be either a blessing or a threat. So I will offer you a choice.”

She looked up slowly.

“Stay,” the king said. “Remain in the palace. Under observation. Under watch. You will be tested—gently, at first. But you will remain.”

Natalia’s throat tightened. “And if I refuse?”

“Then you are free to go. To vanish back into the villages. But if you do—do not expect our protection should the darkness come again.”

A quiet silence stretched between them.

Natalia thought of her dreams. Of the crypt. Of the voice that called her name. And of Kalen. The way he’d looked at her. The unspoken question in his eyes.

“I’ll stay,” she said quietly.

The king didn’t smile. But his eyes flickered with something like interest.

Later that day, she returned to the gardens. The air was cooler now, clouds brewing above the treetops.

She sat on the stone bench beneath the weeping willow where Kalen had once stood beside her. She closed her eyes and let the wind touch her face.

And when she opened them again, a rider was approaching in the distance—his banner dark blue and gold.

Kalen was home.

And with him… everything would begin.

The gates of Valerius opened at dawn.

A quiet hush fell over the courtyard as hooves struck the cobblestones—slow, measured, deliberate. The royal guards flanked the procession, their dark blue armor dusted with travel and mud. But it wasn’t the returning soldiers that held the attention of the court gathering above on the terrace.

It was him.

Kalen.