The Forsaken Crown

It's hard to remember my life before the facade because it honestly feels as though it has consumed everything I was. My life was never my own. It was laid out for me before I could walk, before I could even speak. Every breath I took felt borrowed, every moment accounted for, every choice already decided. I was born with chains disguised as crowns, my freedom traded for duty, my will smothered beneath expectations that grew heavier with every passing year. I existed not as a person but as a role—a queen-in-waiting, a tool for alliances, a symbol to be admired but never understood.

The weight of it all bore down on me—the perfection demanded, the mistakes I could never make, the dreams I was never allowed to have. I was a princess of gold and shadow, admired from afar but untouched by anything real.

And yet, in the end, I gave it all away anyway. Not to my kingdom, not to my crown… but to myself. To the part of me that craved something more, something true. In seeking to claim my life, I gave away its entirety, as though it had slipped through my fingers like sand while I wasn't looking.

There was only one bright spot in the dark expanse of my childhood. One gleaming thread of rebellion that made it all feel bearable, even for a moment.

That bright spot was Lucien Belialus.

He was my everything. My joy, my rebellion, my escape. I would've given it all to be with him—and ironically, in the end, it felt as though I did. I gave everything I was trying to hold on to him, trying to hold on to us.

We met on the crumbling night…

I was hiding—a princess in silks, crouched behind the towering figure of my mother. The grand hall was ablaze with torches, their flickering light catching on the gilt edges of banners and tapestries. Outside, thunder cracked like the roar of titans, shaking the palace to its roots. I don't know why the moment lingers in my memory so sharply. Perhaps because that was the first time I truly felt something other than the weight of my title.

Lucien arrived as little more than a name on a letter—the son of a minor noble from Ovkosnia, a land where the word "king" was nothing but an insult. Democracy, my father snarled, his lip curling whenever he spoke of Lucien's people. But when I first saw him, I didn't think of politics or alliances or prophecies. I thought only that he looked different—not just in appearance, but in spirit.

He was younger then, all angles and mischief, his lapis hair tousled as though the wind itself followed him indoors. He grinned when he caught my eye—a crooked, unbothered grin that seemed to crack open the stifling air of the royal court. I hid deeper behind my mother's skirts, unsure whether to scorn or admire his audacity.

"This is Lucien Belialus," announced the herald, his voice echoing through the hall. "He has come as an honored guest on behalf of the noble house of Ovkosnia."

Lucien bowed, a little too carelessly, I thought. "It's a pleasure," he said, his voice light and easy—so different from the solemn tones I had grown used to hearing. He looked at me then, as though he could see right through my velvet mask. "And who might you be?"

The hall fell silent. Nobody spoke to me so informally, least of all a guest from a land my father considered savage. My mother stiffened beside me, and I felt her hand press against my shoulder—a warning, a command.

"I am Princess Ophelia Adelae Aveline," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "And you will address me as such."

Lucien's smile widened, as though he found my anger amusing. "A pleasure, Princess."

He held my gaze for a beat too long, and in that moment, something unspoken passed between us—a spark, a promise, a challenge.

I didn't know then that Lucien would become the brightest part of my life. I didn't know he would also become the beginning of my ruin.

~~~

It is hard to remember my life before love, because it feels as though love consumed everything that came after.