Where The Crown Lies

The carriage wheels sang against the cobblestones, a soft rhythm beneath the low hum of autumn wind. I counted each bump like a prayer. One for patience. Two for poise. Three for pity, though not for myself, for I won’t need it where I am going.

Across from me, Lord Harland stared at nothing, his face a mask carved from stone. The great Lord of Avar... conqueror, kingmaker, and father to five. Four sons, one daughter. Though only one son shared my mother’s eyes, my poor Lucien, frail and bent, the living reminder of a woman Harland had silenced for birthing weakness, a woman he deemed cursed. Not even her name was known to us, only some stories shared in secret with my oldest brother, Cyril II.

My father was stiff and silent, his gloved fingers drumming against his knee. The sound was soft, but to me it was thunder. A constant reminder that Lord Harland of Avar was a man who preferred silence to daughters. Especially this daughter.

Lucien sat beside me, quiet as always, his twisted leg tucked beneath the folds of his cloak. He had Mother’s eyes and her beautiful face, or so we were told. His eyes were uncertain things that always seemed to be asking forgiveness for existing.

“You should sit straighter,” Father said without looking at me. “The crown prince does not need to see weakness before you’ve spoken a word.”I smiled, a careful, practiced curve of lips. “Of course, Father.” He didn’t return it. He rarely did.I adjusted my posture anyway, because I liked to see the faint twitch of approval he tried so hard to hide. It meant I could still move him, even if only a little. Lucien’s gaze darted toward me, nervous as a rabbit. “You look lovely, Morri,” he said quietly. I touched his hand lightly, so Father wouldn’t notice. “Thank you, brother. You always say so.”

Father exhaled through his nose, a sound of distaste. “Your beauty is the only good that’s come from you,” he muttered. “If the prince finds use for it, perhaps you’ll finally serve a purpose.” The words slid over me like water. I’d learned long ago not to bleed for him.

Out the window, the land unrolled in shades of gray and gold. Fields gave way to forest, and somewhere beyond, the royal castle waited... Gleaming, terrible, full of men who thought they ruled the world. I would make one of them mine. And he will love and treasure me, just like they do in stories. “Do you think the prince is handsome?” Lucien asked, his tone tentative. I tilted my head as if considering. “They say he’s charming,” I said softly. “But then… people often mistake cruelty for charm.” Lucien frowned. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Of course not,” I whispered, smiling again. “It’s only between us. ”Father’s gaze cut toward me, sharp as a blade. “Watch your tongue, girl. The prince is your future. You’ll be silent until spoken to, you’ll curtsy, and you’ll pray to every saint you know that he takes you. Do you understand?” I met his eyes, let my voice drip with obedience. “Perfectly, Father.”

I turned my gaze back to the window. The castle rose in the distance, its towers catching the dying light like spears dipped in fire. Soon, the crown prince would see the harmless, bashful girl everyone adored, the lord’s sweet daughter, so gentle, so naive. But I will show him I can be his equal. After a moment, Father shifted in his seat, the leather creaking in protest. “Sit properly, boy,” he snapped at Lucien this time. “You look like a sack of flour dumped in a chair. ”Lucien flinched, trying to straighten. His leg betrayed him, twitching uselessly beneath the heavy cloak. “I-I’m sorry, Father,” he murmured.

“Sorry,” Father scoffed. “You’re always sorry. What good is that? Sorry doesn’t ride a horse. Sorry doesn’t carry a sword. Sorry doesn’t make a man.”

“Father,” I said gently, before the air turned to knives. “Lucien has been practicing with the tutors every day. Haven’t you, little brother?”

Lucien’s eyes flickered toward me, gratitude and shame fighting in his expression. “Yes,” he said softly. “Every morning.” He looked down at his leg again. Father gave a humorless laugh. “Practicing? With what, his walking stick? Perhaps the prince will make him a court jester. We could paint his crutch gold.” He leaned closer, venom dripping from his tongue,” Or maybe you can be a cock sucker, make some use of yourself to help your sister out. ”The words burned, and though I smiled, my fingers dug into the fabric of my skirt until I felt the imprint of my nails. Lucien didn’t even try to protect himself, just looking down with a red face. He was used to this, always ridiculed...

“Father,” I said sweetly, “the prince is known to favor scholars as much as soldiers. Perhaps Lucien’s mind will earn him more favor than any sword.” He looked at me then with that cold disgust that never softened. “You think I care what the prince favors? I care what he buys. If your brother is useless, perhaps you’ll at least make yourself worth the price of a dowry.”

Lucien lowered his head even deeper. I wanted to reach for him, but Father’s presence made the air thick with warning. “Of course, Father,” I said. “I only meant that the prince values cleverness. Surely he’ll see that in our family. In your blood.” That earned me silence, not approval, never that, but silence. And sometimes silence was victory enough.

Outside, the trees grew denser, their branches clawing at the sky. The road turned narrow, shadows swallowing the last of the sun. Lucien’s reflection trembled faintly in the window glass, his hands clenched white on his lap.

He leaned toward me, his voice barely a breath. “You shouldn’t defend me. It makes him angry.” I kept my eyes on the road ahead. “Then he’ll have to learn to manage his temper,” I whispered. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, Lucien.” A ghost of a smile crossed his face, small, fragile, but real. Father cleared his throat, breaking the fragile quiet. “When we arrive, you’ll both keep your mouths shut unless spoken to. The king’s court is not a place for sentiment. Remember who you are.” “Yes, Father,” Lucien murmured.

I smiled again, the same soft, innocent curve I wore like armor, my mouth hurting from the stretch of my lips.“Always,” I said. “I never forget who I am.” The horses slowed. In the distance, the spires of the royal castle pierced the sky, black against the setting sun. Soon, I will meet the crown prince for my future lies in his hands...

By the time we reached the castle gates, the world had turned the color of ash. Dusk painted the sky in streaks of bruised violet, and the banners of the royal house hung limp in the cooling wind. The guards bowed low to Father, their armor gleaming dully in the dying light. The great iron gates groaned open, and the carriage rolled through, swallowed by shadow and stone. I’d seen the castle once before, when I was a child. Back then, it had seemed a place of wonder, of laughter, silks, and feasts. Now, it only looked hungry.

The doors opened to a blur of sound and movement. Servants rushed forward, heads bowed, and the smell of wax and wine filled the air. Father stepped out first, his presence commanding the space like a storm cloud. Lucien followed, leaning heavily on his cane. I descended last, offering my hand to no one. A lady must know her worth.

At the castle doors stood not the king, but a tall young man in deep blue and silver. His golden hair was brushed neatly, not too short but long enough to fall in his eyes. He smiled as we descended. “Lord Harland of Avar,” he greeted warmly. “Welcome to Equestia.”Father bowed stiffly. “Your Highness.”

Prince Rowan, I recognized him immediately. He is the younger of two Princes, the one rumored to smile too easily and fight too well. His gaze turned to me and Lucien. “And these are your children?” “Yes,” Father said, shortly turning to face us. “My daughter, Morrigan, and my son Lucien.”

Rowan inclined his head. “Lady Morrigan, Lord Lucien. The king awaits your arrival, but I’ve been asked to see you to your chambers first. The journey from Avar is long, you must be wary.” He offered his arm to me with courtly grace. I took it because refusal would have been rude, and because I wanted to feel what power wrapped in charm truly felt like.

His arm was strong, his steps measured. The sort of man who could lift a sword and make it look like a dance. Lucien followed a few paces behind, his cane clicking against the marble floor. Rowan slowed his pace subtly to match him, though he never drew attention to it. That small courtesy didn’t escape me. Neither did the way Father’s jaw tightened at the sight.

“Your castle is magnificent,” I said, breaking the silence that formed around us like a cloud. “I imagine one could lose oneself in it for days.” “Some of us still do,” Rowan replied with a grin. “It has more doors than secrets, but not by much.

“How tragic,” I murmured. “I do so enjoy secrets.” He glanced at me sidelong, amusement flickering in his eyes, but before he could reply, the echo of boots announced another presence. Prince Alaric stood at the far end of the hall. Taller, darker, the mirror of his father’s face, but stripped of any warmth. His expression was unreadable, but his gaze lingered not on Father, who bowed low, but on me.

“Brother,” Rowan said easily. “You came to greet our guests.” Alaric’s tone was mild, but the air seemed to cool around him. “I like to see what arrives at our gates.” Rowan’s smile didn’t falter, though I noticed the faint stiffness in his shoulders. “You’ll have your chance tonight. The king has planned a welcoming feast.”

Alaric’s eyes flicked to Lucien, who had stopped just behind us. “And who is this?” “My brother, your grace,” I said, voice smooth as silk. “Lord Lucien of Avar.” “Lord..” Alaric echoed, gaze traveling over the boy’s cane, the awkward posture. His mouth curved in something that was not quite a smile. “I see.” Lucien bowed his head, color rising in his cheeks. Rowan cleared his throat lightly. “If you’re finished inspecting our guests, Alaric, I was just showing them to their chambers. Forgive my brother, Lady Morrigan,” he said, squeezing my arm gently. “He enjoys his little games.”

Alaric smirked. “And you enjoy your little sermons.” Rowan ignored him, his eyes remaining ahead. “Ever the charmer,” Alaric drawled, his gaze cutting between us. “Careful, little brother. You’ve already got one lady swollen with your child.” Rowan’s smile faltered only slightly. “And I am quite content with her, as you well know.” “Content,” Alaric repeated, almost spitting the word. “How dull.”

Father cleared his throat. “If it pleases Your Grace, we will retire before the evening meal. It was a long journey. ”For a moment, something like tension hummed between them. Invisible, but unmistakable. Then Alaric inclined his head. “Don’t let me stop you.” He turned away, his cloak whispering across the marble.

Rowan exhaled quietly once he was gone. “You’ll forgive my brother,” he said. “He mistakes duty for discipline and cruelty for strength.” I smiled as we continued to walk. “And you, Your Highness? What do you mistake for kindness?” He laughed, surprised. “You’re sharper than most who come through these doors.” “Then perhaps I’ll survive.”

When we reached the guest wing, Rowan stopped before two adjoining doors. “These will be yours,” he said to me, then to Lucien. “And yours, my lord. If you need anything, the servants will see to it.” Lucien bowed awkwardly. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

Rowan placed a hand briefly on his shoulder, a simple gesture, but one that made my brother straighten with pride. Then his eyes found mine once more. “Rest well, Lady Morrigan. Court can be… overwhelming at first.” “I look forward to the challenge,” I replied. His smile deepened. “Somehow, I don’t doubt that.” I bowed politely, and the prince continued ahead with our father, guiding him to his chamber. “Do you think he’s as cruel as they say? The crown prince.” Lucien whispered.

“Crueler,” I murmured. “But that only makes him predictable,” he frowned, not understanding. I smiled again.

When the door closed behind me, I let out a long breath and pressed my fingers to my lips. Two princes. One kingdom. And already, one of them was looking at me like I was something worth wanting. I looked around the chamber, the one they’d given me was nothing like my rooms in Avar. Those had been narrow and dim, with walls that always seemed to lean too close, heavy with the smell of damp stone and my father’s contempt. This one breathed.

It was vast, high-ceilinged, with pale walls that caught the glow of dozens of candles. Heavy velvet curtains hung open to the night. The hearth burned quietly, its light spilling across the polished floor. Someone had placed fresh flowers on the table. Lilies and wild lavender, soft and ghostly in the firelight. Even the air felt different here, touched by the hum of something alive and ancient. I stood in the doorway for a moment, letting my fingers trail over the carved frame. It was the first door I’d ever entered that wasn’t locked behind me.

The maid, a girl with quick hands and downcast eyes, curtsied as she lit another candle. “Will you need assistance undressing, my lady?” “No,” I said gently. “That will be all.” She bobbed another curtsy and vanished soundlessly. I sat before the mirror and began to unfasten my gown, one pearl button at a time. The reflection that looked back at me was softer now. Hair loosened, skin pale from the journey. Beneath the dim candlelight, the sweet, obedient girl everyone thought I was reappeared easily. It was a costume I wore so well I almost believed it myself. Almost. I slipped the gown from my shoulders and pulled on the thin linen shift laid out on the bed. My muscles ached, the carriage ride had been endless. I’d spent every mile pretending to be smaller than I am... Quieter, gentler, lighter. That kind of pretending takes energy.

When I finally lay down, the mattress swallowed me in warmth. The sheets smelled faintly of lavender and beeswax. I stared up at the carved canopy, tracing the patterns of vines and thorns with my eyes. The castle around me murmured faintly like a heartbeat beneath the walls. Distant laughter from the hall below, the creak of wood, the soft hiss of the fire. It was peaceful. Too peaceful. I turned onto my side, my hand slipping beneath the pillow where I’d just hidden a small silver dagger I always carried. Father didn’t know I’d taken it. He wouldn’t approve of a daughter who armed herself. But then, Father never approved of anything that wasn’t his. For a moment, fatigue washed over me, heavy, almost tender. My body wanted rest, but my mind refused to quiet. Images flickered behind my eyes: Rowan’s warmth, Lucien’s shy smile, Alaric’s gaze like ice. I smiled faintly into the dark. Let them think I’m harmless. For now, the only thing I needed was rest.