The Forsaken Crown

The morning sun streamed through the palace windows, gilding the halls in golden light that felt unearned. The day seemed almost too perfect, as if mocking the storm brewing beneath the surface. I had barely risen when Octavian stormed into my chambers, his face a mask of fury I had never seen before.

"You've gone too far this time, Ophelia," he snapped, slamming the door behind him. His voice cut through the quiet like a blade.

I turned slowly, taken aback by the sheer intensity of his tone. Octavian, my younger brother, had always been the carefree one—the jester of our family, unburdened by the weight of the crown. But today, there was no trace of that boy.

"Good morning to you too," I replied, feigning calm as I pulled a shawl around my shoulders. "What's the cause of these dramatics?"

"You know exactly why I'm here," he said, stepping closer. His hands were clenched into fists, his knuckles charged with fire. "This absurd plan of yours. Me marrying Princess Deliah? You marrying Lucien? Have you completely lost your mind?"

"Careful, Octavian," I said coolly. "You wouldn't want to raise your voice too much. Someone might think you've taken an interest in royal affairs for once."

His eyes blazed. "Don't twist this, Ophelia. You're playing with people's lives. Do you even care what this will do to me?"

"To you?" I repeated, narrowing my eyes. "You've spent your life avoiding responsibility. Why does this suddenly matter to you now?"

Octavian hesitated, his jaw tightening. For a moment, I saw something flicker in his expression—fear, vulnerability. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

"You don't understand," he said, his voice quieter now, almost desperate. "You're forcing me into something I don't want. You're… you're tearing us apart."

"Us?" The word hung in the air, heavy with implication. I studied him carefully, the pieces of a puzzle I hadn't even realized existed slowly falling into place. "What aren't you telling me, Octavian?"

He turned away, running a hand through his hair. "It doesn't matter. Just stop this madness, Ophelia. Find another way."

"There is no other way," I said firmly, stepping toward him. "Do you think I want this? Do you think I enjoy being a pawn in these games? I'm trying to protect this kingdom, Octavian. To protect all of us."

"At what cost?" he shot back, spinning to face me again. His voice cracked, the anger giving way to something raw and pained. "You don't see it, do you? You're so focused on your schemes and your sacrifices that you can't see the damage you're doing to the people around you."

"Then enlighten me," I challenged, my patience fraying. "Tell me what's so important that you felt the need to burst into my chambers like this."

He hesitated again, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of his secrets was finally too much to bear. "I can't… I can't tell you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Can't or won't?" I pressed.

"Both."

The silence between us was deafening. For the first time, I saw my brother not as the carefree boy who shirked his lessons and charmed the maids, but as someone carrying a burden I couldn't begin to understand.

"Octavian," I said softly, my tone shifting. "Whatever it is, you can tell me. I—"

"No, I can't!" he interrupted, his voice rising again. "Because you wouldn't understand. You wouldn't approve. You and your cold, calculated plans. You'd ruin it, just like you ruin everything else."

The words struck like a slap. I opened my mouth to respond, but he didn't give me the chance. He turned on his heel and strode toward the door, his movements sharp and angry.

"Wait," I called after him, but he was already gone, the door slamming shut behind him.

I stood there for a long time, staring at the door he had just stormed through. My mind raced, replaying every word, every expression, every hint of something deeper. What was he hiding? And why did it feel as though I had just lost something precious without even knowing what it was?

But there was no time to dwell on Octavian's outburst. The day's duties awaited, the council's decisions loomed, and my gambit with Lucien and Octavian was far from over. Whatever secrets my brother held, they would have to wait.

For now, I had a kingdom to save.

That evening, as the palace quieted into the hum of muted conversations and distant footsteps, I found myself back beneath the wisteria tree. Its blossoms swayed gently in the breeze, their faint perfume filling the air. This had been my refuge for as long as I could remember, but tonight, it felt different. The world beyond these walls was shifting, and so was the world within them.

Octavian's anger echoed in my mind, his words circling like crows over a battlefield. At what cost? The question lingered, a thorn I couldn't remove. What cost was too high? Was I truly blind to the damage I caused, or was it the necessary price for survival?

"Deep in thought, Princess?"

The voice startled me. I turned to see Lucien stepping out of the shadows, his usual crooked smile softened by the pale moonlight. He carried a single flower in his hand, its petals a delicate shade of white.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, my tone sharper than intended.

He raised an eyebrow. "Avoiding the banquet. I never could stomach all the dull conversation. And you? Plotting your next move?"

I sighed, lowering my gaze. "Something like that."

Lucien moved closer, extending the flower toward me. "A peace offering," he said lightly. "Gardenia. It means purity, I believe."

I hesitated before taking it, my fingers brushing against his. "Purity," I echoed with a faint smile. "I think I lost that a long time ago."

"Perhaps," he said, his voice softer now. "But that doesn't mean you can't find it again."

I looked up at him, searching for sincerity in his expression. For a moment, the weight of the day lifted, and the world seemed a little less harsh.

But only for a moment.

Lucien stepped back, his smile returning to its usual roguish charm. But then reality settled back in, and the air around me grew still. The realization hit me like a chill—Lucien wasn't there. He hadn't been there. It was nothing more than my imagination, a cruel trick my weary mind had played.

I clutched the gardenia tightly, its petals soft against my skin. The flower was real enough, picked from the gardens earlier that day. And yet, for a fleeting moment, I had allowed myself to believe in the impossible.

I sighed, sinking down onto the stone bench beneath the wisteria. Alone again, I let the silence settle around me, heavier than before. I clutched the gardenia tightly, its petals soft against my skin.

And for the first time in a long while, I let myself hope...