The Fallen Princess

Two

Zakai had surrendered any realistic claim to the throne when he was still a boy, long before he understood the full weight of what that choice would cost him.

Even now, grown and hardened and forced to become a man inside a palace that ate boys for sport, he never once regretted it. He wanted no part of it.

Only Cecil still insisted on calling him Prince. To her, he would always be the quiet, serious child she’d tended since childhood. The one who never cried unless he thought no one could hear him, the one who learned early how to stand very still and look very calm while danger circled.

She had cared for them both, him and Zaria, with the unwavering devotion of someone who had long ago chosen them over her own safety.

Politics had offered Zakai nothing but teeth. Knighthood—brutal, demanding, exhausting—made far more sense. Steel was honest where courtiers were not, and a sword had a simpler language than smiles ever did.

Even now he still positioned himself between Zaria and any door before he realized he’d done it, a reflex carved into bone, as if he could block the past with his body. In a world where he and his sister had grown up as targets, better he learn to wield a blade than learn to charm a room.

Zaria split her modest royal allowance with him; the only true benefit she received for remaining tied to the crown. Their mother’s lineage had granted them beauty, but little else.

In return for her quiet generosity, Zakai became her unofficial, unyielding guardian. The one who absorbed threats before Zaria even saw them, the one who learned every corridor’s blind corner and every servant’s loyalties.

He shielded her from the Queen’s calculated traps, from the vipers nesting in their father’s harem, and from the men who looked at her with hunger rather than respect.

For all their father’s titles—King of the Southern Continent, Lord of the Hallowed Sands—his reputation wasn’t defined by conquest. It was defined by women. Beautiful women. Hundreds of them.

Some he coveted for their looks. Others for their magic. And others simply because he could take them, and taking was a power the King wielded freely, without shame, without consequence. The court dressed it in silk and ceremony. The victims carried it in their eyes.

The Queen retaliated in her own quiet, ruthless fashion. She manipulated the concubines beneath her, selected the most ambitious among them, and orchestrated the demise of the loveliest. No screams, no witnesses, no trace. Just poison and the palace’s practiced forgetting.

Zakai remembered the first time he understood what that meant. A girl with pearl combs in her hair had smiled at him in the corridor—sweet, nervous, hopeful—and vanished by supper. Servants scrubbed her name from their mouths as if speaking it could earn them the same fate.

It was the palace’s way: erase the body, erase the memory, erase the question. The truth was worse. Most of the harem had not come willingly. They were war prizes or stolen from their homelands, dragged across borders and renamed into silence.

Zaria’s and Zakai’s own mother had suffered the same fate—taken, used, and finally put to death by the Queen’s order. She had survived long enough to raise them to nine. Long enough to teach them where to hide, what not to say, and how to read danger by the sound of footsteps.

Children born to the King’s harem were granted titles for the sake of alliances, traded as tokens to earn favor, or positioned as courtesans to please visiting nobles. Beauty was currency. Existence was leverage.

And that was how the world named their father, even if the court pretended not to hear it. The Lewd King.

And yet, some mornings the palace pretended it was gentle. Zaria stepped into the front garden with the sun warming her pale skin and the scent of jasmine drifting on the breeze, so sweet it almost felt cruel. Tiny feet pattered across the stones.

“Zaria!” her little half-sisters squealed, charging toward her in a flutter of bright dresses and messy braids. “Hello, my beautiful sisters.” Warmth softened Zaria’s mouth as she kissed her fingertips and tapped each girl lightly on the head—one, two, three, four—a greeting that had become theirs alone.

Zakai barely had time to turn before they barreled into him, four small bodies colliding with his legs. He stiffened instantly, then patted their backs with awkward care, as if afraid his hands might break them.

The oldest was ten, the youngest barely four, all of them carrying the soft features and frightened eyes of children who had already seen too much.

For Zakai and Zaria, surviving childhood had been nearly impossible. After their mother’s death, half the palace had wanted the twins to follow her into the grave. They were too pretty, too elven, too threatening to the Queen’s influence.

Less than a year after their mother’s murder, someone slipped poison into their food. The two children were dragged to the far edge of the castle gardens like discarded refuse and left in the shadow of the outer wall.

But Cecil found them. And somehow—miracle, stubbornness, or elven blood thick in their veins—the twins lived.

Years later, fate repeated itself. Zakai discovered the four little girls now clinging to him in the same pitiful state. Abandoned. Unnoticed. Nearly lost forever.

He carried them to his sister without hesitation, and Zaria nursed each one back to health—only to learn their mothers had been “removed” from the harem. With no one else left in the world, Zaria and Zakai became their shield.

“Come, children.” Zaria brightened her voice the way she always did, as if cheer could make the world behave. “Put on your cloaks and let’s go. Today, our dear brother is escorting us to Saint Lia’s orphanage, where you may play.”

The girls erupted into delighted squeals, scrambling to fetch their cloaks. The orphanage, just outside the castle grounds, was one of the only places where they could be ordinary children.

Unburdened by palace politics, unmarked by their father’s appetite, allowed to laugh without immediately checking who was listening.

They made their way through stone corridors toward the knights’ quarters, sunlight filtering through high glass windows in fractured beams. Several young knights waited on horseback, ready to escort them into town.

Hooves scuffed stone. Leather creaked. Sunlight flashed off buckles and bridles. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.” Aldric’s voice carried an easy tease as they approached. He swung a boot against his stirrup with exaggerated suffering. “I skipped breakfast to be here, you know.”

Aldric had been Zakai’s friend since they were boys training in the sparring yard, long before Zakai abandoned his formal post to devote himself to protecting Zaria. Their bond had endured late-night drills, bruises, heartbreak, and countless disciplinary lectures.

Aldric turned his full attention toward Zaria, a familiar glint in his eye. “Princess. You look radiant as always.” He hopped down from his horse with theatrical grace, took her hand, and kissed the back of it—lingering just long enough to spark annoyance in Zakai’s stare and a reluctant grin at the corner of Zaria’s mouth.

Zakai stepped forward with a sharp exhale and shoved Aldric’s shoulder. “One of these days, I’ll do more than that.” Aldric laughed like the threat delighted him. “I look forward to it, my friend.”

Then his attention shifted to the girls peeking from behind Zaria’s skirt. “Oh my!” He dropped into a sweeping bow. “Zakai, tell me you didn’t steal these lovely little fairies from the forest. We must hurry and return them before they curse us.”

The youngest shrieked with laughter when Aldric scooped her up and spun her around. He chased the others across the clearing, pretending to stumble and fall while they dissolved into delighted giggles.

Zaria smiled, heart softening despite herself. These small moments, she thought. These are what make life bearable.

“I hate him,” Zakai muttered, falling into step beside her. “You do not.” Zaria bumped him lightly with her elbow. “He’s a good man.” The admission came out grudging, and Zakai scowled as if the words tasted bitter. “Which only makes it worse.”

Zaria arched a brow. “And what grudge could you possibly have against him?” Zakai hesitated, a rare thing for him, then answered in a low voice, eyes tracking Aldric across the lawn. “I think he would be a suitable husband for you.”

He exhaled, the sound sharp with everything he didn’t want to want. “He’d protect you without making you feel caged. He’s strong enough to stand beside you when things turn ugly.” His jaw flexed. “And I both love and hate him for it.”

Zaria blinked, startled. “Aldric? And me?” She turned the possibility over—strange, half ridiculous, faintly comforting. “Well… handsome as he is, he’s married to the knightage. He has no desire to settle down.”

Then a smirk tipped her mouth. “Honestly, I think he’d make a far better husband for you, dear brother.” Zakai turned to her with utter disbelief. “How so?” “He only uses me to irritate you.” Her grin widened. “Whenever it suits him.”

“You must be drunk.” Zakai folded his arms, unimpressed. Zaria nudged him again. He refused to smile, but she caught the twitch at the corner of his mouth. They grew quiet for a moment, watching Aldric finally collapse onto the grass as the girls clambered over him like victorious warriors.

“The fairies…” Aldric gasped dramatically as he stumbled toward them. “They have overpowered me. I am defeated. Please carry on in my stead.” He bowed deeply to Zakai, then winked. “If I must,” Zakai grumbled, stalking toward the girls in exaggerated resignation.

“Jester at heart, that one,” Aldric remarked, nodding toward him. Zaria laughed harder than she intended, warmth blooming in her chest. “Leave him be, Aldric. He’s doing his best.”

Aldric shifted, the usual brightness dimming. His expression turned serious for the first time all morning. “Zaria, I’ve been meaning to speak with you about something—”

“Sir.” Another knight cut in urgently. “Pardon the interruption, but if we don’t leave soon, we won’t return in time for the meeting with the Corporal.”

Aldric dragged a hand through his golden hair and sighed like duty had personally offended him. “Yes. You’re right. Perfect timing.” The words came flat, but the pause that followed carried weight, Aldric’s unfinished thought lingering in the air like a thread left uncut.

“I’ll gather the girls,” Zaria offered quickly, stepping away from the heaviness and toward the sound of laughter before it could sour.