The Next Heir of Ivory Palace
The night sky over Ivory Palace lay still and suffocating, a black velvet cloth stretched endlessly without a single star daring to shine. The dense forest curled like a wild animal around the kingdom’s eastern border—silent, ancient, unblinking.
Nothing moved except the frantic footsteps of a lone woman.
Her breath tore out in sharp gasps as she ran, clutching a tiny infant against her chest. The child made no sound—maybe sensing his mother’s terror, maybe too young to understand. His tiny fingers curled around the edge of her cloak, his touch warm, fragile, and heartbreakingly trusting.
The woman stumbled behind a massive dead oak, its bark rough beneath her trembling back. Her arms tightened protectively around the baby.
"Please…"
Her whispered prayer shook as badly as her breath.
"Please let him live. Let us escape. Let this nightmare end."
She dared to peek through the thick leaves.
The men pursuing her—dark silhouettes with torches—had turned down another path.
For a moment, relief swelled through her chest like blessed air. Her knees almost buckled. She shut her eyes, exhaled a shaky breath, and let herself believe she was safe—
A cold hand gripped her shoulder.
She froze.
Her blood went cold.
Her fingers clenched around her baby.
A voice hissed into her ear,
“Now… watch your baby die.”
“No! No!” she screamed as the blade lifted—
“Your Highness!”
A gentle shake.
A sudden gasp.
Queen Marie jolted awake.
Her trembling hand flew to her forehead as the dark images scattered like dust. The royal chamber around her glowed faintly from moonlight slipping through sheer curtains. Her hair clung to her damp temples.
A servant knelt beside her.
“You were shouting again, Your Highness. It must have been the same nightmare.”
Marie closed her eyes, her chest still heaving.
“Yes… the same dream. The same nightmare that has stolen my sleep for sixteen years.”
Another voice chimed in—soft, warm, grounding.
“Well, today is not the day to let the past haunt you.”
Marie turned.
Standing beside her was Lady Anne, the King’s younger sister, dressed elegantly in midnight blue. The palace had taken her in after her husband’s bankruptcy, and since then, she had become Marie’s closest supporter—perhaps the only one left.
“Today,” Anne continued with a small smile, “is a big day. The kingdom finally gets its successor. Steven will be crowned heir.”
Marie’s eyes softened at her son’s name.
“Yes… my Steven. He has prepared for this since he could walk. Once he finishes his schooling at Ivorycrest Academy, he will be ready. And after he becomes King… Charles, my love, will no longer have to hide in exile.”
Her voice cracked.
“I still remember the night the Church forced him to leave. We had already lost our firstborn… and they did not even let him mourn.”
Anne placed a reassuring hand over Marie’s.
“Come. The kingdom waits. Dry your tears, sister.”
Marie drew in a breath and nodded.
Today is the day the kingdom regained its future.
Even if the nightmares refused to die.
The Successor Ceremony........
The Ivory Palace shone brighter than it had in sixteen years.
Golden banners fluttered on every balcony. Roses draped the stone pillars. The grand hall, washed in sunlight, echoed with excitement. The kingdom had waited nearly two decades for a new heir—finally, the silence around the empty throne would end.
The Holy Father and his disciples took their seats at the front. The citizens murmured with anticipation as royal guards formed a tight perimeter.
Then the herald announced:
“Her Majesty, Queen Marie Arden Hart of Ivory Palace.”
“Lady Anne of the Royal House.”
“Prince Steven Arden Hart and Princess Lizzie Arden Hart.”
Applause thundered through the hall.
The great golden doors of the Grand Ceremonial Hall swung open in a sweeping arc, revealing the entire royal family framed against the soft glow of chandelier light. Every head in the hall turned—students, teachers, nobles, and foreign delegates—rising instinctively to their feet as respect rippled through the air like a wave.
Queen Marie entered first, her gown flowing like molten silver, her posture a perfect blend of authority and grace. Lady Anne followed, poised and elegant, a calm smile softening her usually sharp features. Behind them walked Prince Steven and Princess Lizzie, their footsteps echoing on the marble floor in sync, the siblings’ confidence radiating quietly despite the tension already brewing in the hall.
Steven walked with his chin held high—tall, handsome, and every bit the Prince the nation expected. But nerves coiled in his jaw. His entire future rested on a single ceremony.
Lizzie, his younger sister, walked beside him—soft-spoken, graceful, and beloved by the people. She smiled kindly at the citizens, easing the tension around her.
The applause grew louder—cheers, respectful bows, murmurs of awe—filling every corner of the room. Servants paused. Disciples straightened. Even the royal guards stood taller.
As the royal family made their way down the central aisle, the atmosphere shifted. Students whispered; nobles exchanged glances. Something about their presence—especially today—felt heavier, charged… as though this wasn’t just an entrance, but the beginning of a turning point no one had prepared for.
The applause slowly faded, replaced by a reverent hush as the royals approached the dais, every eye glued to them.
The Queen stepped forward toward the Holy Father.
“Holy Father, disciples, and citizens of Ivory,” she began, her voice solemn and proud. “After sixteen years, our kingdom stands at the dawn of new leadership. Today, with your blessings, I present my son—Prince Steven—as the rightful successor to the Ivory throne.”
A quiet murmur spread.
The Holy Father opened his mouth—but one of his disciples abruptly stood.
“That is not possible, Your Majesty.”
The hall erupted in confused whispers.
Queen Marie’s head snapped toward the disciple.
He continued, calm but unyielding,
“As per the laws of the Church, until the fate of your firstborn is confirmed, we cannot declare a new successor. The body was never found.”
Marie’s face drained of colour.
“The body… the body was taken by the murderer! Irvin himself confessed the murder!”
“But he denied possessing the body,” the disciple replied. “Without proof of death, the firstborn remains the rightful heir.”
Another disciple rose.
“And even if we wish to declare a new successor in absence of the firstborn… Prince Steven has to prove his worth to the people. His behaviour toward civilians has not gone unnoticed. We cannot repeat the mistakes of King Charles’ reign.”
Marie clenched her fists.
“That was one unfortunate decision by King. He declared a lockdown to save his sister Anne, who was in danger—”
“And hundreds died as a result,” the disciple interrupted. “The people lost faith in the monarchy that day. We cannot allow another unprepared ruler. Prince Steven does not know how to be kind to his subject. ”
Steven stiffened, humiliation twisting in his stomach.
“Steven was a child when he misbehaved with the servants. I and the best teachers have prepared him to be a good King,” the Queen said, her voice steady but undeniably pleading. The hall seemed to hold its breath.
The Holy Father finally spoke, his tone calm but unyielding.
“Yet, we do not have the confidence in him.”
A murmur slipped through the audience.
“He was brutal with them,” the Holy Father continued, his gaze turning briefly toward Steven. “He called them thieves… punished them… and then dismissed it all as just a prank. Words may fade, Your Majesty, but the wounds of those beneath us do not.”
Steven’s jaw tightened, a flicker of shame passing across his face.
The Holy Father lifted his staff slightly, his voice resonating through the hall.
“In the next two years, Prince Steven must prove his worth as a King. If he earns the people’s trust, love and respect—the Church and the people will have no objection. He will be crowned.”
A ripple of tension swept through the room.
“Until then,” he concluded, “the throne remains empty.”
A stunned silence swallowed the hall.
The Queen bowed her head, beaten by laws older than her reign.
Far from the Palace — The Outskirts of Ivory.......
Dust rose around a small, weather-worn house at the edge of Ivory Palace. The village was quiet, forgotten—home to people who lived past sunrise to survive and slept with exhaustion, not comfort.
The door creaked open as Madonna, a quiet woman with tired eyes, stepped outside carrying a metal bucket of water. Her husband, David, worked on an old car nearby, wiping oil off his hands.
They both looked up as fast footsteps approached.
“Mom! Dad!”
Kevin burst into the yard—tall, handsome, with a spectac, full of energy the village rarely saw.
“Kevin?” Madonna asked, confused. “What’s with that face? You look like sunshine exploded.”
Kevin broke into a grin.
“I got selected! Ivorycrest Academy! And… I got a full scholarship!”
Silence.
Not the silence of pride—
but of fear.
Madonna’s expression stiffened.
David’s hands froze mid-air.
Kevin’s smile faltered.
“Seriously? That’s your reaction? This is Ivorycrest Academy! People dream about getting in—rich or poor! ”
David swallowed hard.
“Kevin… why Ivorycrest ? You are smart enough to succeed anywhere.”
Madonna stepped forward, her voice breaking.
“No. Kevin, you are not going. Absolutely not.”
“But why? Only forty candidates earn a place at the School—twenty royals and twenty commoners. And I’m one of them.” Kevin raised his voice. “If there’s something I should know, tell me! Why is my dream a problem for you?”
Madonna closed her eyes, trembling.
“Please, son… just listen to us. Ivory is not safe.”
“Why it is not safe for me? I will not go if you tell me the reason.”
"Kevin, I said you will not go and no more arguments" Madonna said
David placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder.
“Enough, Madonna. Our protection ends here. We can no longer keep him blind to the truth. The hour has arrived for him to pursue his destiny—and to uncover the man he was always meant to be.”
She looked into her son’s eyes—terrified, conflicted—then turned away.
David inhaled deeply.
“Kevin… go. You deserve this chance.”
Kevin softened, confused but relieved.
“Dad…”
“No questions. You will have answers to all of them. Have patience, son. We’ll pray that your life becomes what it was meant to be,” David said quietly. “Even if we can’t stop fate.”
Kevin nodded slowly.
“Then… I’ll pray too. For whatever future waits.”
Madonna’s lips trembled.
“We will too, son. We will too.”
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And far away, in the palace…
Queen Marie stood by the window, fingers pressed to her temple, staring into the distance.
She didn’t know why…
She didn’t know how…
But tonight, her nightmare felt closer than ever.
And in a poor village miles away…
a boy named Kevin unknowingly stepped toward the heart of that nightmare.
Toward the Ivorycrest Academy.
Toward his destiny.
Toward the truth.
A truth that had been buried for sixteen long years.
