The light of velmora

Gwendolyn grew under the golden sun of Velmora, a child whose laughter echoed through the palace halls, whose innocent smile could melt even the coldest of hearts. From the moment she could walk, she wandered among the people, greeting them with bright eyes and an eager heart.

Unlike other royal children who remained secluded behind palace walls, Gwendolyn loved to escape to the bustling streets of the kingdom. She would tug on her nursemaid's hand, insisting on visiting the market square where merchants called out their wares, where bakers filled the air with the scent of fresh bread, where children ran barefoot in the dust.

"Princess Gwendolyn!" The villagers would bow as she passed, but she would only smile and shake her head.

"There's no need to bow so low," she would say with a giggle, helping an old woman lift a heavy basket or laughing as she played tag with the children of the city.

The people adored her. She was not just a princess to them—she was their own.

---

In the palace, Gwendolyn was taught everything a royal heir should know. Her father, King Aldric, took pride in her intelligence, her quick wit, and the way she listened with genuine interest whenever he spoke of ruling with wisdom.

"You must always lead with strength," he told her one evening as they walked through the palace gardens. "But never forget that kindness is also a power."

"I will never forget, Father," she promised.

Yet, it was not just her father's lessons that shaped her—it was her mother's gentle touch, the warmth of her embrace, and the way she sang her to sleep at night.

"You have the heart of a queen, my love," Seraphina whispered, brushing Gwendolyn's hair as they sat by the window overlooking the kingdom. "One day, the people will look to you for guidance, and you must be strong enough to bear that burden."

"But why must it be a burden?" Gwendolyn asked.

Seraphina smiled sadly. "Because not all will wish to see you on the throne, my love. Some will fear your strength. Others will envy it."

At that time, Gwendolyn did not understand the weight of her mother's words.

She only knew that she wanted to love her people and be loved in return.

---

While the people of Velmora adored Gwendolyn, not all within the palace walls shared their sentiments.

Lady Morgana watched from the sidelines, her lips pressed into a thin line. The girl was growing too beloved, too powerful in the hearts of the people.

"She is a mere child," Morgana spat to her maids in private. "And yet, they act as if she already wears the crown."

Her son, Prince Darius, stood beside her, watching as his half-sister played with the noble children in the palace courtyard. He had been raised to believe that the throne was his by right, that being a male alone made him superior. But every time he saw Gwendolyn, that certainty wavered.

Even at such a young age, he could see what his mother feared. She was not just loved. She was revered.

---

The Day of the Sun Festival

Gwendolyn was eight when the kingdom celebrated the Sun Festival, a grand event marking the longest day of the year. The streets were alive with music, the air filled with the scent of roasted meats and spiced honey cakes.

That year, the King allowed Gwendolyn to ride beside him in the grand procession. Dressed in a flowing gown of white and gold, she sat atop a white horse, her golden hair shimmering in the sunlight.

The people erupted into cheers.

"Long live Princess Gwendolyn!"

Children ran alongside her horse, throwing flower petals in her path. The nobles watched with unreadable expressions—some in admiration, others in quiet resentment.

Morgana stood at the balcony of the palace, her hands clenched so tightly her knuckles turned white. "They are already calling her their queen," she whispered, her voice filled with venom.

The high priest, standing beside her, nodded grimly. "A girl loved by the people is more dangerous than a thousand warriors."

Morgana exhaled sharply. "Then we must ensure her light does not blind us all."

---

That night, as the festivities continued, Gwendolyn sat at her window, watching the stars. Her mother sat beside her, brushing her hair with slow, soothing strokes.

"You were wonderful today," Seraphina murmured.

Gwendolyn smiled. "The people were so happy."

"Yes, they love you." Her mother's voice was soft but heavy. "But love can be dangerous, my dear. It can make others jealous. It can turn hearts bitter."

Gwendolyn frowned. "Why would anyone be jealous of love?"

Seraphina hesitated, then leaned forward and kissed her daughter's forehead. "One day, you will understand."

And deep in the palace, in the dark corners where whispers carried secrets, plans were already being made.

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