Chapter 1
Cindara sat around of the carved ivory vanity, her spine straight, her lips pressed in a tight, polite line. The scent of rosewater drifted from a silver basin nearby, but it did little to mask the bitter edge in the air. Letita, the young maid assigned to her, yanked the brush through her thick, raven-black hair with a force that nearly made her wince.
Nearly.
She was royalty, after all.
Still, the pain bit down her neck, and her composure began to crack.
“Letita,” she said through clenched teeth, her voice sharp and commanding. “I’ve spoken to you about this before. You always cause me pain. Why?”
Letita’s hand faltered for just a moment before continuing the same rough motions. She kept her eyes on the mirror, carefully avoiding Cindara’s gaze.
“Sorry, Your Majesty,” she said curtly. “But I’m afraid your hair has gotten a knot.”
Cindara reached up and touched her hair, her fingers gliding smoothly through the tresses. “I don’t feel anything.”
“That’s because I brushed it out,” Letita replied flatly.
Cindara narrowed her eyes. “You did it on purpose. Again.”
Letita dipped her head, her mouth tight with barely concealed resentment. “Of course not, Your Majesty. I would never.”
But she would. And she had.
Cindara stood, smoothing down the golden skirts of her gown. “You’re dismissed.”
“But I haven’t finished—”
“I said you’re dismissed.”
Letita dropped into a curtsy with a stiffness that might as well have been a slap to the face. Without a word, she turned and left the room, the brush clutched tightly in her hand like a weapon.
The moment the door clicked shut, Cindara exhaled slowly. She pressed her fingers to her temples.
The whispers of the court, the glances from her ladies-in-waiting, the coldness from her own maids—she knew what they all thought.
Cindara the Awaited. The pure princess promised to a prince she’d never met. The girl everyone watched, weighed, judged.
No one loved her. Not really.
She stepped out of her chamber and made her way down the long corridor of polished marble and stained glass. The golden banners bearing her family’s crest fluttered slightly from the breeze slipping in through arched windows. It was meant to be a joyous day.
But joy did not live here.
She reached the Queen’s solar, where a fire crackled warmly beneath a marble hearth. Queen Elenora sat poised in a high-backed chair, her embroidery work delicate and meticulous. Across the room, lounging on a chaise with a crown of fresh peonies woven into her golden hair, sat Cindara’s older sister.
“Mother,” Cindara began, her voice still brittle from anger, “Letita is being deliberately cruel again.”
Queen Elenora did not look up from her embroidery. “Letita is a loyal servant.”
“She’s also a brute with a brush.”
Her sister, Alura, let out a melodious laugh and twirled a lock of her golden curl around one finger. “Cindara, must you always find something to complain about? It’s my birthday.”
“And?” Cindara arched a brow.
“And,” Alura said, drawing out the word with relish, “you could try not being the storm cloud today. Everything is already perfect.”
Cindara crossed her arms. “Perfect, is it? You do realize she does it because I’m me.”
Queen Elenora finally looked up, her gaze calm but tired. “Cindara, darling, not everything is about you.”
“It never is,” Cindara whispered, bitterness crawling in her throat.
Alura stood and swept across the room, her skirts swishing like petals on water. “You’re always so serious, sister. Maybe the prince would have preferred you, if you smiled once in a while.”
Cindara’s heart thudded. “What prince?”
Alura beamed, spinning in a circle. “He’s arriving today. Prince Kaelen of Vesmond. Tall, charming, rich, and most importantly, looking for a bride.”
“You think he’s here to marry you?”
“I know he is.”
Queen Elenora rose to stand beside Alura. “Enough bickering. Today is about celebration, not rivalry. Prince Kaelen will attend the feast tonight. We shall all be on our best behavior.”
Cindara’s retort died on her tongue.
“Let’s just hope he’s not scared away by your sour face,” Alura added with a smirk.
Cindara felt the heat rise in her chest but said nothing. Instead, she turned on her heel and strode away, determined to bury her frustrations beneath composure.
By twilight, the castle had transformed. Tapestries of rich crimson and gold draped the walls, and hundreds of candles flickered in towering candelabras. Nobles from across the realm had arrived to celebrate Princess Alura’s nineteenth birthday. The grand hall shimmered with splendor.
Cindara stood off to the side, half hidden by a column, her gown of deep amethyst a stark contrast to Alura’s bright pink ensemble. Servants bustled to and from, laying out platters of roasted boar, glazed fruits, and jewel-toned cakes.
The herald at the entrance lifted his staff.
“Announcing, His Highness, Prince Kaelen of Vesmond!”
Gasps and soft murmurs rippled through the hall as the prince entered. He was tall and poised, with jet-black hair that fell to his shoulders, eyes like liquid gold, and a smile that made several ladies swoon. A hush fell as he approached the dais where Alura and Queen Elenora awaited.
Alura rose, her cheeks flushed. She curtsied low, then extended her hand. Kaelen took it—but only briefly. His gaze drifted past her, drawn like a magnet to the girl in the shadows.
Cindara.
Without a word, he descended the dais and walked straight toward her. The crowd parted in stunned silence. Alura’s smile faltered. Elenora arched a brow.
Kaelen stopped before Cindara and took her hand gently. “My lady,” he said, his voice smooth and rich, “you are the very embodiment of the twilight sky—mysterious, radiant, and hauntingly beautiful.”
Cindara blinked. “You honor me, Your Highness.”
He held her gaze. “I have heard tales of your kingdom, of its splendor and charm. But none ever mentioned a princess with such eyes.”
“Perhaps they feared you’d fall in love,” she said, only half-joking.
“Too late,” he whispered.
Alura stood frozen, her expression unreadable. Queen Elenora, after a long pause, clapped her hands with forced delight.
“Well! It seems Prince Kaelen has made his choice. And while our dear Cindara is not yet of age, she will be in a year and a half. Until then, they shall court and become well-acquainted.”
She turned to the visiting King and Queen of Vesmond, giving them a graceful bow. “We are honored by your presence. May our kingdoms prosper together.”
Alura stepped forward. “But Mother—”
Elenora waved a dismissive hand. “Now, let the feast begin!”
Just as the musicians struck their first note, the grand hall doors slammed open.
A gust of wind and chaos burst into the room with the towering figure of King Thorne. His cloak flapped behind him like a torn sail, and his eyes—wild, bloodshot, frenzied—swept the room without focus.
“Thorne!” Queen Elenora rushed toward him, horrified.
“Father?” Alura asked, voice trembling.
But Cindara could only stare. Her father, the man she had last seen a month ago heading out to sea with a fleet and promises of prosperity, looked as though he had wrestled death and barely returned.
“The sea,” King Thorne bellowed. “The sea is lost! The tides betrayed us!”
“Thorne, what are you saying?” Elenora clutched his arm.
“Demons,” he rasped. “Not men—monsters—they came from the fog… we tried to barter; to trade… but they only wanted blood. Blood!”
“Someone fetch the physician!” Alura screamed.
“They’re here! In the dark! The stars—they’re bleeding!”
“Father?” Cindara whispered, horrified.
But it was too late.
With one last, broken breath, King Thorne fell forward. Queen Elenora screamed. His body hit the marble floor with a crack that echoed like thunder.
Cindara dropped to her knees.
Guards rushed toward them.
Thorne, King of Altheria, lay lifeless before them.
Cindara knelt beside her father, her hands trembling as she touched his face.
It was cold.
“No,” she whispered. “No, please...”
Behind her, Alura shrieked.
The guards bowed their heads, lifting the fallen king carefully into their arms. His eyes were still open, wide with horror, staring into something only he had seen. His mouth was slack, frozen mid-scream.
The hall remained silent.
And then—
A sound broke it.
Sobbing.
Cindara.
She was still on her knees, her hands clasped to her mouth as she gasped for air. Her sobs came in uneven waves, and her eyes were wild, not only from grief—but from something else. Something dark. Something cold that had settled over her bones the moment her father’s body hit the stone floor.
Prince Kaelen, stunned moments ago, knelt beside her. “Cindara…” His voice was soft, uncertain, but his hand came to rest on her back with care. “I’m here.”
“I—I saw something,” she gasped, her voice trembling. “His face, Kaelen… the way he looked at me. It was like he… he knew something. He was trying to say something!”
Kaelen looked into her eyes and didn’t question it.
Instead, he pulled her gently into his chest, wrapping his arms around her. “You don’t have to explain it to anyone. Not right now.”
Up on the dais, Queen Elenora stood tall, her face as smooth and unreadable as the polished obsidian stone embedded into the throne behind her.
She did not cry.
She did not flinch.
“My people,” she began, her voice calm and strangely level, “this is a great loss. But King Thorne would not want this night to fall into ruin.”
A ripple of gasps flowed across the room.
“Your Majesty—” Duke Faren stepped forward, brows furrowed. “With all due respect, the king—”
“—Would want this celebration to continue,” Queen Elenora cut him off sharply, her tone now bearing the weight of a monarch not to be tested. “We shall mourn him in the light of morning. But tonight…” she turned slowly to face the room, her golden gown pooling at her feet like molten fire, “Tonight, we honor the alliance he sought to preserve.”
She turned her attention to the center of the room, to where Cindara and Kaelen knelt.
“Cindara the Awaited shall—”
“Mother!” Alura’s voice rang out, sharper than anyone expected. “Have you lost your mind?”
Queen Elenora turned, her face not betraying the fury beneath her skin. “Excuse me?”
Alura rose from her spot and walked down the stairs from the dais with practiced grace. “The king—our father—is dead. His blood is barely cold, and you wish to announce an engagement?”
“It is what was planned.”
“Plans change!” Alura said, turning to the nobles, the guests, the foreign dignitaries. “Look around you. Look at the fear in their eyes. Father didn’t just fall. He burst in like a madman, raving and dying before our eyes! And you want us to pretend nothing happened?”
Cindara, still in Kaelen’s arms, whispered, “Thank you,” to her sister.
Alura’s eyes flicked toward her, softer now. “Let her breathe.”
Queen Elenora’s jaw tightened.
But her voice… remained regal. “We will address the king’s death in the morning.”
Kaelen stood slowly, lifting Cindara gently to her feet. “Your Majesty,” he said to the queen, “With all due respect, I believe Lady Alura is correct. Cindara should rest, you all should.”
Elenora stared at him for a long moment.
Then, with a measured nod, she turned to the King and Queen of Vesmond. “We will reconvene in the morning.”
There was a strange silence before anyone moved, and then slowly, the room began to empty, cloaks dragging on marble, murmurs trailing the walls like smoke.
Later that night…
Cindara sat alone in her chamber, dressed in her black dressing gown. The fire had long burned low, but she barely noticed the cold.
The mirror across from her shimmered strangely.
And when she blinked, she swore—she swore she saw her father’s reflection behind her.
“Cindara.”
She turned so fast she fell out of her chair.
But no one was there.
“Who’s there?” she whispered, voice tight.
No answer.
The door opened, and Queen Elenora stepped inside without knocking. She looked at her daughter as if nothing strange had happened at all.
“You look pale.”
Cindara sat up quickly. “Did you not feel it, Mother? Something happened to Father.”
Elenora’s expression remained unchanged. “He’s dead. That is what happened.”
“No. You don’t understand—his eyes. He was… afraid. And the voice—”
“Stop,” Elenora interrupted coolly. “Do not let grief turn you into a madwoman.”
Cindara stared at her.
“You never loved him,” she whispered.
Elenora’s face twitched. “He was a king. Love had nothing to do with it.”
Cindara clenched her fists. “Why are you here?”
“To tell you,” Elenora said, walking closer, “that your engagement with Prince Kaelen is void.”
The air left the room.
“What?”
“You were never meant for him, I arranged this for him to meet Alura.”
“But—he chose me—before everyone—before the court!”
“And you think that matters?” Elenora snapped. “You are called Cindara the Awaited for a reason.”
“Don't even know what that means, you are the only one to call me that for the matter. Why?” Cindara demanded, her voice cracking.
Elenora’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I am the queen, you don't give me orders.”
Cindara took a step back. “Why can't you just be happy for me? Clearly Kaelen chose the prettier sister, even so, what difference would it make?”
“Your father is now dead, I am trying to save this kingdom,” Elenora said icily. “We can't wait a year and half for you to become eighteen. Winter is coming child, your father wasn't successful on his voyage, by spring we will be half starved if not dead.''
“There must be another way, surly the king and queen wouldn't let their future daughter-in-law die.” Cindara begged.
“There isn’t.” Elenora moved toward the door. “You will have to turn the prince down, we will say it is just grief.”
