The Forsaken Crown

Later that night, I replayed the encounter over and over in my mind. His laughter, his words, the way he seemed so unburdened by the weight of the world—it was intoxicating and maddening all at once. That intoxicating moment was shattered when the alarms sounded.

The Ten-Year War began that very night.

It started with whispers—rumors of old grudges reignited and alliances fraying like threads pulled too tightly. By the time the palace alarms rang out, the storm outside was no longer just thunder and rain. It was the sound of a kingdom bracing for battle.

The first to act was the Kingdom of Ilyrria. Their forces marched at dawn, a show of strength that set the entire continent on edge. Evirthnia—our kingdom—was pulled into the conflict by virtue of treaties written long before I was born. What began as a dispute over borders quickly spiraled into chaos, each kingdom drawing swords and spilling blood to stake their claims.

The palace transformed overnight. Nobles fled to their estates, seeking safety away from the capital. The halls that once echoed with music and laughter now rang with the hurried steps of soldiers and the grim voices of advisors. My father, King Oren, became a figure of iron resolve, his every word a command meant to hold the kingdom together. My mother, Queen Aedalia, was a shadow at his side, her quiet strength a balm to those who sought her counsel.

And I… I was told to stay out of the way.

It was infuriating, this enforced helplessness. I wanted to do something, to help in some way, but my position as the princess made me more liability than asset. My days were filled with endless lessons in diplomacy, in how to speak to the emissaries who came bearing news of battles won and lost. My nights were restless, haunted by the thought of what was happening beyond the palace walls.

Lucien left the next morning.

His departure was as sudden as it was inevitable. The Ovkosnian delegation had been recalled, their homeland preparing for war. He came to bid me farewell, his expression a mix of resolve and something softer, something unspoken.

"Will you be safe?" I asked, the words escaping before I could stop them.

Lucien's crooked smile returned, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Safe enough, Princess. And you?"

I wanted to say something clever, something that would hide the ache in my chest, but all I could manage was a nod.

He took my hand then, his touch warm against the chill of the morning air. "We'll meet again," he said, his voice steady. "I promise."

And then he was gone.

The years that followed were a blur of battles and bloodshed, of alliances forged and broken. The Ten-Year War reshaped the continent, its shadow falling over every kingdom, every village, every soul. And through it all, I waited.

I waited for the letters that came less and less frequently. I waited for news of Lucien, for some sign that he was still alive. I waited for an end to the war, for a day when the world might finally know peace.

But the war was relentless, and so was the passage of time. Each year that passed chipped away at the girl I had been, leaving behind someone colder, harder, and more determined to survive.

And yet, even as the years wore on, a part of me clung to the memory of that afternoon under the wisteria tree. A part of me believed that no matter how much the world changed, some things could remain untouched.

I didn't know how wrong I was.