The Crown's Deception

Rain slicked the palace stones as I ran, the cold seeping through my soaked slippers and chilling my skin. The crown burned faintly in my palm—not from heat, but from the heavy weight of responsibility it carried. I didn’t want it. I never wanted to be the princess trapped beneath endless rules and blood-stained alliances. Yet here I was, clutching the very symbol of a throne I was supposed to inherit. My breath came in ragged bursts. The stone walls of the palace loomed on either side, towering and silent, their shadows swallowing me whole. Every footstep echoed in my ears—mine, theirs. The guards. Hours ago, I had overheard the terrible plan: an arranged marriage to the Prince of Draven, my father’s desperate gamble to keep peace with our enemy. I barely recognized the coldness in his voice as he spoke: "The wedding will be at dawn. There is no other way." My heart twisted. The prince wasn’t just an enemy; he was a nightmare wrapped in a smile. His hands were stained with the blood of my people’s villages, his name cursed in whispers from the lowliest farmers to the highest lords. I pressed myself into a narrow alcove as two guards passed by, their torches flickering in the mist. If they caught me now—if they even suspected—I’d be dragged back, chained to a fate I refused to accept. Then, the quietest whisper broke the silence—Lysa’s voice, soft and urgent as she pressed the crown into my hand. "You have to leave, Elara. Tonight." My maid’s eyes were wide with fear, but her grip was steady. “If they find you gone,” she said, “the city will be searched. You’ll need proof of who you are if you ever want to reclaim your throne.” I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. I was just a girl on the run, but this crown—this small golden circle—was my only proof that I was more than a fugitive. A sudden movement near the stables caught my eye. A figure cloaked in shadows leaned casually against the archway, face hidden beneath a deep hood. His gaze fixed on me, unreadable and steady. “Going somewhere, Your Highness?” The voice was low and calm, but beneath it simmered something dangerous. My breath caught. No one was supposed to know. I spun away, heart pounding. But before I could disappear into the night, a strong hand caught my arm—firm, but not cruel. “If you want to live,” the stranger said, “come with me. Now.” Lightning split the sky, illuminating his sharp jawline and piercing eyes for the first time. He wasn’t the Prince of Draven. He was something else entirely—more dangerous. I hesitated, every instinct screaming to run, yet something in his voice held a promise—a sliver of hope. The rain thickened around us as the palace bells tolled midnight. This was no longer just a flight for freedom. It was the start of a war—one that would decide not only my fate, but the fate of Lysara itself.