The cursed prince
Chapter One: The Cursed Prince
The Kingdom of Elaria had always celebrated the birth of its royal children. Whenever an heir was born, the palace bells echoed across the capital, flowers decorated every street, and the people rejoiced, believing another blessed ruler had entered the world.
But the night Prince Aaron was born was different.
Dark clouds swallowed the moon, and a violent storm raged over the kingdom without warning. Rain lashed against the palace windows while thunder shook the ancient halls. Inside the royal chambers, Queen Evelyn held her newborn son close, exhausted but smiling.
"He has your eyes," she whispered softly to King Cedric.
The king smiled as he reached for his son's tiny hand. "No," he replied. "He has yours."
Their moment of happiness lasted only a few seconds.
The great doors of the chamber creaked open, revealing the kingdom's High Oracle. No guard had announced her arrival, yet no one dared stop her. The elderly woman slowly approached the royal bed, her weathered hands gripping an ancient wooden staff.
Without saying a word, she looked down at the infant.
The smile on her face disappeared.
Queen Evelyn's heart sank.
"...What's wrong?" she asked quietly.
The Oracle remained silent for what felt like an eternity before finally speaking.
"This child will grow into the greatest ruler Elaria has ever known."
King Cedric smiled with pride, but the Oracle's expression never changed.
"But every blessing demands a price."
The room fell silent.
"He shall never know love. His heart will remain untouched, no matter who stands before him. And should fate ever allow him to truly fall in love..."
She tightened her grip on her staff.
"...the kingdom itself will suffer for it."
The room became deathly quiet.
Queen Evelyn clutched Aaron protectively against her chest.
"There must be some mistake," she pleaded.
"There has never been one," the Oracle answered before turning toward the doors. "Whether the prophecy comes to pass... is no longer in my hands."
She left without another word.
Years passed, but the prophecy was never forgotten.
Now, at twenty-seven years old, Prince Aaron had become exactly what everyone expected him to be—disciplined, respected, and feared.
The clang of steel echoed through the palace courtyard as Aaron effortlessly disarmed General Rowan with a single strike. The old general stared at his sword lying several feet away before laughing to himself.
"I trained you too well," Rowan admitted as he retrieved his weapon.
Aaron lowered his own sword and calmly replied, "No, General. You hesitated."
Rowan chuckled. "Still correcting your old teacher, I see."
"It would be disrespectful not to."
The soldiers watching from the sidelines couldn't help exchanging glances. Their prince had just defeated the kingdom's greatest knight without breaking a sweat, yet there wasn't the slightest hint of pride on his face.
He simply handed the practice sword back to a servant and walked away, as though it had been another ordinary morning.
