The Crown's Lament

The Kingdom of Vestria was known across nearby lands for its abundance and peace. Golden mountains rose in the north, where the skies remained clear almost year-round, while the emerald forests to the south stretched for leagues, like an endless carpet embracing the kingdom's borders. Rivers, always full, reflected the marble towers of the royal castle, where Queen Amaranta had ruled with wisdom and compassion for decades.

It was a prosperous land, where hunger was a forgotten tale and wars nothing more than stories remembered by the elderly. The people of Vestria loved their queen deeply, not just for her fairness but for her kind spirit. She often walked among them, offering words of comfort, resolving disputes, or simply sharing moments of peace. Under her reign, the land flourished, and her legacy was etched into the hearts of all.

But that day, the sky was heavy with leaden clouds, as if the sun itself had chosen to hide from the tragedy engulfing the kingdom. The main square, usually alive with laughter and song, had fallen into a somber silence. Men and women of all ages, dressed in dark tones, crowded the streets leading to the castle. Some wept openly, while others bowed their heads in muted grief.

Queen Amaranta was dead.

Before the castle, a long procession moved slowly forward. At its center, a crystal coffin adorned with lilies rested atop a carriage draped in purple velvet. Through the glass, the queen's serene face was visible, as though she were merely sleeping—but the truth was undeniable. Her once-vibrant, warm skin was now cold and pale. Around the carriage, royal guards marched solemnly, their armor gleaming faintly in the dim light.

On the castle steps, the princess stood motionless, clad in mourning as dark as the night. Her golden hair, so like her mother's, fell loosely over her shoulders. Her eyes, usually brimming with life, were red from crying. She barely registered the murmurs around her, the hushed whispers of the gathered crowd. What hurt most, though, was the crushing loneliness wrapping around her like a shroud.

Beside her, King Leonar stood firm, his face impassive, hands clasped behind his back. He resembled a marble statue more than a man who had just lost his wife. No one could discern his emotions. Cedric, the crown prince, stood at the king's side. Though his posture was solemn, there was something unsettling about his stillness—something only she seemed to notice.

Her mind drifted to the last moment she’d shared with her mother. A simple conversation, nothing extraordinary—talk of studies and the upcoming harvest festival. So much left unsaid. Now, it was too late.

The bishop began his eulogy by the coffin, speaking of the queen's achievements: the peace, prosperity, and justice of her reign. But every word felt like a dagger. How could life go on without her? How could the kingdom continue when its heart was gone?

When the bishop mentioned the queen's "sudden death," something inside Vaiolet tensed. She had overheard the royal physicians whispering about a "strange illness," but nothing made sense. Her mother had always been strong, healthy. Even in recent weeks, she hadn’t seemed gravely ill.

Vaiolet clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms to hold back tears. A gnawing doubt began to sprout in her mind, though this wasn’t the moment to confront it. Not yet.

The procession moved toward the royal crypt. As they descended, she felt a shift in the air. Someone was watching her. She looked up and met Cedric’s gaze. He smiled—but it wasn’t a comforting smile. It was darker, colder, like a silent promise. A shiver ran down her spine.

That moment changed everything.

After the ceremony, Vaiolet retreated into the castle. The air felt heavy, almost suffocating. Compassionate looks from others pierced through her, making her feel more invisible in her grief.

As the great marble doors closed behind her, she realized how vast and empty the castle felt without her mother. The royal chambers, once filled with Amaranta’s warmth and laughter, were now hollow, as if her passing had drained the life from them.

Leonar disappeared quickly into the corridors, his advisors trailing after him, already discussing treaties and policies. His footsteps echoed until he turned a corner, leaving her alone. Not a word of comfort, no empathetic gesture. To him, mourning was merely an obstacle to his duties as king.

Vaiolet hadn’t expected affection from him in years. Their exchanges were always cold, centered on the responsibilities he believed she should bear. The queen’s death had changed nothing between them.

Seeking solace, she walked to the castle gardens—a place where she and her mother had once found peace together. The rose bushes Amaranta had tended swayed gently in the breeze, though even the flowers seemed wilted today.

By the stone fountain, memories of her childhood overwhelmed her. She remembered walking hand-in-hand with her mother, laughing and dreaming of the kingdom’s future. Back then, anything had seemed possible.

Now, only a deep sense of loss remained. Her fingers brushed the fountain’s cold surface as the tears she had been holding back all day began to fall.

Behind her, footsteps broke the silence. She didn’t need to turn to know it was Cedric.

—You shouldn’t be here alone —he said softly, though she knew the condescension hidden in his tone.

—Do you care? —she replied without looking at him. The air between them was thick with unspoken tension. As the favored heir, Cedric had always been closer to their father. Their seemingly polite relationship masked years of rivalry and mistrust.

He stayed silent for a moment. She finally turned, expecting a sharp retort or some justification for his indifference during the funeral. Instead, his expression was as cold and distant as ever, devoid of any real feeling.

—The kingdom needs its leaders —he said finally—. We don’t have the luxury of dwelling on grief. The people are already restless.

Vaiolet stared at him in disbelief. Their mother had just been buried, and all he could think about was the kingdom and power. How could he be so unfeeling?

—I can’t believe you... —she began but stopped, unwilling to show more vulnerability in front of him.

—We don’t have time, Vaiolet —Cedric interrupted, stepping closer—. Mother is gone. Now we must focus on what lies ahead, not what’s behind.

Anger flared within her. To him, everything was about politics and power. Their mother was no more than a figure in history, a piece on the board to be replaced.

—You and Father... you never truly cared for her, did you? —she whispered bitterly. She didn’t expect him to answer, but his lack of response spoke volumes.

Without another word, Cedric turned and left, his footsteps fading into the distance. Vaiolet remained by the fountain, the cold seeping into her skin, more biting than the wind.

For the first time, doubt took root in her heart—not just about her place in the kingdom but about the circumstances surrounding her mother’s death.

Cedric and the king seemed too detached, too focused on the future to truly mourn. Something didn’t add up.

Her grief began to mix with suspicion. Was there more to Amaranta’s death? Was there something her father and brother were hiding?

As she gazed up at the castle towers rising above her, the grandeur of the kingdom felt more like a prison. The family that had once symbolized unity was broken.

And deep down, Vaiolet knew this was just the beginning of a dark journey—one that would lead her to uncover secrets she never wanted to know.