Stolen crown, forbidden heart

Rain, again. Not the sweet, storybook kind—nah, this was the heavy stuff. The sort that soaks through your gown and settles into your bones, reminding you every second that nothing, and I mean nothing, really belongs to you. Not crowns. Not futures. Not even your own name, if you’re unlucky. All of Eldhollow glimmered with celebration, but don’t be fooled. Gold ribbons everywhere, like someone tried to dress up a corpse. The marble pillars looked good, sure, but I knew what hid behind them. Musicians went at their lyres as if they could drown out the crackle of nerves in my chest. Tomorrow, I’d be Queen Evelyn big title, big crown, bigger target on my back. And I could barely get air past my ribs. The ballroom was a sea of faces, all slicked with smiles and clinking goblets. You’d think they adored me. But I caught the way their eyes slid sideways, measuring, hungry. At the head table, Isadora my lovely stepmother sat like a spider in silk. Her smile could cut glass, painted lips sharp as a warning. She laughed with the Duke as if she hadn’t spent the last year orchestrating my nightmares. Honestly, I wondered if she even slept, or just lay awake plotting, counting all the ways a princess could die before sunrise. My hand shook on the goblet. Not much, but enough that I noticed. My old tutor used to tell me: Don’t let the wolves scent fear. He meant politics, but he should’ve come to dinner sometime. Then Thomas found me. He always did. My knight, my secret keeper God, I loved him for it, even if I’d never say so out loud. “You look like you want to set something on fire,” he breathed, grinning like a rogue. I tried to smile back. Failed, probably. “I’m fine,” I muttered, which was code for: I’m falling apart, help. He leaned in close, lowering his voice. “She’s doing it again. Switching goblets.” I shot him a look. Of course I’d seen. Isadora never drank first. She watched me like I was a snake she’d rather not touch. Sometimes I wished I was. “She’s waiting for me to mess up,” I said, hating how small my voice sounded. Thomas’s jaw tightened. “Or for someone else to do it for you.” The room felt closer, suddenly. I shoved my chair back loud, on purpose. Let them look. “I need air,” I spat, and stalked out before anyone could stop me. Outside, the world snapped cold. The rain had let up, but the air still tasted of thunder. I wandered through the rose gardens, petals slick and shining in the moonlight. This place beautiful, sure, but only if you didn’t mind bleeding for it. I stopped in front of Mother’s statue. Queen Athena, immortalized in marble. People said I had her eyes, but none of her courage. They weren’t wrong. “I’m not ready,” I told her, voice catching. The night didn’t care. My coronation dress was probably waiting upstairs, all rubies and silk, and all I felt was sick. Then footsteps. Quiet, careful, but not nervous. Someone who belonged, or wanted me to think they did. I spun around quick, fists clenched. There he was a boy, maybe my age, maybe older. Blond hair, scar on his jaw, eyes sharp as broken glass. Dressed like a servant, but holding himself like he owned the dark. “You shouldn’t be out here, Princess,” he said, like he was doing me a favour. I bristled. “Last I checked, the garden wasn’t forbidden.” He smiled, slow and crooked. “Maybe not now. Maybe soon.” Something in my chest went tight. “Who are you?” He bowed too deep, too theatrical. “A friend, if you make it through the night.” Before I could blink, he melted into the shadows. Gone. I bolted back inside, heart banging like a war drum. The ballroom was even louder now music, laughter, all of it too bright and sharp. I glanced at the goblets. Mine still full. Hers, too. Isadora caught my eye. Her smile said everything. It said, I dare you to survive. Sleep? Forget it. I lay awake, counting every chime of the bell, every drop of rain. Tomorrow, the crown. Tonight, the wolves. God, I could almost smell them wet fur and something sharp, like hunger. Maybe it was just the perfume of fear floating around this place, but honestly? Sometimes the ones in silk felt a hell of a lot more dangerous than the ones in the woods. The rain had finally quit, but it left behind this sticky quiet, heavy and weird, like the world was holding its breath. Every sound got louder. My own heartbeat, thumping in my chest like it wanted out. The tick of the old clock. A draft slipping along the floorboards, making the candle flame shiver. Footsteps in the corridor. Not fast, not sneaky just...certain. Like whoever it was didn’t even care if I heard them. I grabbed the blanket, knuckles white, and forced myself not to flinch. You’re not a child. Queens don’t hide. My father’s voice again, echoing inside my skull, all gravel and iron. I glanced at the door locked. I’d double-checked after dinner, even though I told myself it was silly. But now, the steps sounded wrong. Too close. Too inside. My skin crawled. The air felt thick, hard to breathe. Then there. A shape, sliding across the far wall, stretching long and thin in the moonlight. My mouth went dry. I tried to swallow and nearly choked. “Who’s there?” I meant to sound fierce, but the words came out cracked and small. Pathetic. No answer. Just that shadow, moving with this lazy patience, like it had all the time in the world. My hand shot under the pillow, fingers fumbling for the dagger. Cold steel, comfortingly real. Father always insisted. “Even princesses bleed,” he’d said, half-joking. Jokes aren’t so funny now. The shadow hesitated, then stepped forward. My heart stuttered. Isadora. But not Isadora, not really. Her dress was ripped, hanging off one shoulder. Her hands shook so hard I thought she’d drop whatever secret she was carrying. Her eyes Christ, her eyes looked wrong. Wild, desperate, rimmed in red. Like she’d seen something that broke her. She stared at me, breathing fast. I remembered us as kids, hiding under tables during storms, whispering ghost stories. Now, she looked like one. “They chose you,” she said, voice barely more than a rasp. “Run.” And that was it the whole world just tilted, and I sat there, clutching the dagger, too stunned to move. Dear Reader, Stolen Crown, Forbidden Heart A crown she never wanted. A heart she’ll do anything to guard. By Yakanatu Turay 💌 Hey you, So glad you found your way to Stolen Crown, Forbidden Heart. This story? It’s been rattling around in my head forever. Think power struggles, backstabbing, secrets that refuse to stay buried, and a love story that’s more bruises than butterflies at first. Evelyn’s journey isn’t some fairy tale it’s messy, raw, and honestly, sometimes it hurts. But hey, that’s life, right? I hope you get swept up in her chaos and maybe even feel a little wrecked (in a good way). Your thoughts are pure gold to me, so don’t be shy drop a comment, scream into the void, whatever. Thanks for picking up this book and letting me steal a piece of your heart. Let’s get tangled up in the madness together. 💚 Hugs, Yakanatu ⚠️ Heads up: This book dives into some heavy stuff manipulation, betrayal, slow-burn romance, all that palace drama. Just a heads up, okay? Read with care.