Chapter 1:Not A princess
The Hell in an obsessed love
“You are not to protect with a sword, Avaline—
you are to be protected by the sword!”
—High Minister Gideon Thornehart
The sword fell from her hands with a cold clang as her father’s voice thundered across the marble hall, silencing even the wind outside the palace walls. His grip was tight around her wrist, his fingers pressing bruises into her skin not out of cruelty, but from fear—a fear wrapped in pride and expectations.
“You are a Thornehart,” he shouted, his face dark with fury. “Not a heart with a torn! Why can’t you be more like your sisters?”
Avaline’s breath caught. She didn’t cry—not in front of him. Not again. She simply stared, her violet eyes wide, burning, stormy. And silent.
She was Avaline Thornehart, third daughter of the High Minister of Alveric—Gideon Thornehart, the man closest to the King himself. Her mother, Lady vedora, was once called “Snow White of the New Generation,” a noblewoman of royal blood known throughout the kingdom for her ethereal beauty. And together, they had brought into the world four daughters—no sons, no heirs, but goddesses carved in flesh.
Maria, the firstborn, was married off young to a wealthy noble whose lands touched the royal borders. Her elegance, sharp tongue, and wisdom made her respected and adored. The Jewel of the West, they called her.
Linda, the second, was sharper than her sister and ten times more dangerous in court. She advised their father in political matters and carried herself like a future ruler. Some said she should’ve been born a prince.
Jumia, the youngest, had a voice like honey and laughter that melted even their father's coldest moods. She was the only one who could sit on his lap and demand sweets during war council. “My songbird,” Gideon often called her.
And then, there was Avaline. The wildfire. The storm. The daughter who never smiled at tea parties, who ripped lace gowns at the seams to sew training tunics from the fabric. The girl who snuck out before dawn to train with the guards in the stables while the stars still kissed the earth.
Gideon loved his daughters more than the moon—but Avaline made him feel powerless. She took after her mother in beauty—so much so that suitors from noble houses would gather just to glance at her during festivals. But she bore no trace of vedora’s soft-spoken obedience. Avaline’s spirit was iron.
“I do not want to be a flower in a vase,” she once told her sisters. “I want to be the sword drawn when danger comes.”
She’d been training since she was eleven, in secret, with the help of palace knights who admired her fire. She bled on their blades and laughed through the bruises. And though she was scolded endlessly, nothing could sever her from the dream that lived in her chest—to fight, to protect, to serve.
Not as a lady-in-waiting. Not as a bride. But as a warrior.
And then came Prince Kael.
He was the second son of the King—beautiful, cold, and clever. A man who was never denied anything in his life, until Avaline. The moment he laid eyes on her, he became consumed. His proposal came swiftly, wrapped in gold, guarded by knights, with a letter sealed in his own blood-red crest:
“I offer you my name, my crown, and my love. Be my bride, and I shall place the world at your feet.”
Avaline stared at the words. And burned them.
She said no.
And the kingdom gasped.
Gideon was summoned before the King. Rumors spread through the capital like wildfire—that the Thornehart daughter had insulted the prince, that she had disgraced her family, that she had ambitions beyond her place.
That night, Gideon summoned Avaline into the great hall. Her sisters stood in the shadows, watching. Her mother sat still, a ghost in white.
“Have you no shame?” her father thundered. “A girl like you should feel blessed to be chosen by a prince! Not a bride to war—a bride to royalty!”
Avaline trembled, but not from fear.
“I never asked for a crown,” she said, voice shaking. “I only wanted to be the son you never had. To follow my own path. To fight for something beyond tea and titles.”
His palm came fast and hard, the sound echoing across the stone walls like a cannon blast.
Her sisters flinched.
Even her mother looked away.
Avaline’s cheek stung, but her eyes never wavered.
“I want to be me,” she said through tears. “Not a girl locked in a tower, waiting for a man to rescue her like Rapunzel. I’m not a princess. I’m Avaline.”
There was a silence—heavy, sharp, terrifying.
And then her father’s voice broke through it:
“You will not wield a sword under my roof. If you wish to disgrace me, then leave this house, leave this kingdom, and never return”
And just like that, she left
Before the first rays of dawn painted the palace gold, Avaline was gone.
She packed nothing but her armor, her sword, and the pendant her mother once wore as a princess. The same mother who, years ago, had rejected a king’s hand and fled her own destiny to live freely in Alveric.
Avaline left behind everything:her sisters’ tears, her father's rage. Only Jumia sang at the window that morning, hoping her voice would call her sister back.
But Avaline didn’t look back.
She rode east—toward Zadock the warrior kingdom.
She knew that was the only place a girl like her would be accepted and not be denied of her will to wield a sword
Zadock is a kingdom where girls are given free right to be warriors not like Alvaric where her father is her obstacle.
Luckily for her she had heard of the trial that will be on in Zadock.
So she rode towards her dreams
Toward a trial where men would fall, nobles would bleed, and only the strongest would survive.
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