Chapter One: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐒𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭
“In the Rithara Forest, the trees grow tall on the tears of a saint. But they say the ground is reddest where the savior bleeds.”
The rhyme had been my lullaby, my obsession, and eventually, my religion. I had a rule—a romanticized, foolish little decree—that I wouldn’t step foot in the Rithara Palace until I had fallen in love. I wanted to feel what she felt. I wanted to understand a heart so grand it could forgive a betrayal that shattered a kingdom.
Clearly, my heart didn't get the memo that we were on a deadline.
“Waking up usually feels like a repeat of yesterday,” I muttered, my voice echoing off the peeling wallpaper of my bedroom . “But today hits different. The trees are waiting, Evya. Get up and move on.”
I paused, catching my reflection in the hallway mirror. I looked like someone who had spent too much time with books and not enough with people. “Wait... who am I even talking to? I’ve officially reached 'talking to the walls' levels of solitude. If I don’t get out of this house and into those trees soon, I’m going to start giving the furniture names.”
At Rithara Forest...
The air at the edge of the Rithara Forest didn't just smell like pine and earth; it smelled like her. A heavy, ancient scent of crushed lilies and ozone. Even just standing at the grand, arched entrance, the weight of the history felt like a physical pressure on my chest.
Why am I so crazy over a woman who died centuries ago? I wondered.
It was the sacrifice. She had led her people with a iron-willed grace, even after her heart had been ripped out by the two people she trusted most. That kind of strength hits different when you’re standing on the very soil where she supposedly wept.
“Wait... not again!” I hissed, realizing my lips were moving. A group of tourists a few yards away glanced back at me. “I think I’m literally going crazy. Why am I always talking to myself? If these trees have ears, they probably think I’ve lost it before I've even stepped inside.”
“Alright, everyone, listen up!”
A woman in a sharp trekking vest stepped forward, her smile as practiced and bright as a pageant queen’s. “I’m Natasha, and I’ll be your guide. Now, I know you’ve all heard the whispers about Rithara—everyone thinks they know the legend—but let me give you the real dirt, right?”
She gestured toward the towering canopy, her tone dropping into a theatrical stage-whisper.
“So, here’s the truth about our Queen. Rithara didn’t just like the knight Aghsar; she was consumed by him. Legend says she dedicated an entire hidden wing of the palace to him—a shrine where every inch of the walls was covered in paintings of his face. His eyes, his smile... she had every detail inscribed into the stone. She loved him from the shadows for years before she finally opened her heart. She even planned their wedding!”
Natasha paused for dramatic effect, her eyes scanning our faces.
“But on the big day, Aghsar—who had played the part of the devoted lover perfectly—betrayed her. He tried to elope with Rithara’s own stepsister, Raqiya. The Queen caught them red-handed. Everyone expected a bloodbath. But Rithara? She just let them go. She wished them happiness. She protected them from her own angry mobs. She chose grace over revenge, and that’s why this forest still feels like it’s breathing for her.”
