Prologue
The forge was hidden where the mountain's rib met the valley's throat, a place where the air tasted of sulfur and forbidden promises.
Inside, the rhythmic
Clink-clink
Of a hammer against gold was the only heartbeat.
A man stood over an anvil, his face shadowed by a hood, but his hands, stained with the soot of the rebellion,
Moved with the precision of a poet.
He wasn't crafting a piece of jewelry. He was etching a confession into the metal.
"It will be her protection," he whispered, his voice raspy from the heat.
"When the world tells her she belongs in the palace, this will show her the path back to the wildflowers."
Across from him, a woman in silks that shimmered like moonlight watched the fire. Her hands trembled,
Not from the cold, but from the weight of a secret that could topple the throne.
She reached out, her fingertips grazing the cooling gold.
To anyone else, it would look like a crown.
But as she traced the microscopic grooves, she felt the map beneath the surface.
It was a guide for a child that hadn't yet taken her first breath.
"They will call her their princess,"
The woman murmured, her eyes reflecting the dying embers.
"But they will never call her mine."
Outside, the first snow of a long winter began to fall, burying the tracks that led to the forge.
The man pressed the finished gold into the woman's palms.
It was a heavy, cold weight.
"The blood of a rebel and the breath of a noble," he said.
"Bound by gold.
One day, her eyes will see it.
One day, the earth will hum, and she will find her way back to us."
The woman turned toward the distant, glowing lights of the city, clutching the metal to her chest as if it were her heart.
She walked into the whiteout, leaving behind a single set of footprints that the wind erased before the moon could rise.
*******
