The seeds of hatred
The warmth of Gwendolyn's childhood had always been her mother's arms, the people's smiles, and her father's quiet admiration. But in the shadows of the palace, where kindness was seen as weakness, an enemy had been watching, waiting—Lady Morgana.
For years, Morgana had masked her hatred with smiles, whispering poison in the ears of those who would listen. But now, as Gwendolyn's presence grew stronger, as the people's love for her flourished, Morgana decided she no longer needed to hide her contempt.
It started subtly.
A missed invitation to a royal gathering. A glance filled with cold disdain. A slight remark about how a girl should know her place.
Gwendolyn noticed.
She was young, but not blind.
And soon, Morgana no longer bothered with subtlety.
---
One morning, Gwendolyn was in the palace gardens, kneeling beside a bed of golden lilies. The sun was warm on her skin, and the scent of fresh blooms filled the air. She was tending to the flowers herself, humming softly, when she felt a shadow cast over her.
"You enjoy playing in the dirt, I see."
The voice was sharp, laced with mockery.
Gwendolyn looked up to see Morgana standing over her, dressed in an elegant silk gown, her eyes cold and assessing.
"I was not playing," Gwendolyn replied calmly. "I was helping the gardeners."
Morgana let out a low chuckle. "A princess does not lower herself to the work of commoners."
Gwendolyn stood, dusting her hands. "A good ruler should understand all aspects of her kingdom."
Morgana's smile was thin, cruel. "And what makes you believe you will ever be a ruler, child?"
The words were sharp, a dagger wrapped in silk.
Gwendolyn felt something stir inside her—not fear, but defiance.
"I am the firstborn of King Aldric," she said, her voice steady.
Morgana stepped closer, lowering her voice. "A girl will never rule Velmora. Your kindness is foolish, your dreams nothing more than childish fantasies."
The words should have hurt. But instead, Gwendolyn only stared back, unshaken.
"You're wrong," she said simply.
Morgana's lips twitched, her expression twisting with barely contained rage.
But before she could say another word, a new voice sliced through the tension.
"That is enough."
---
Queen Seraphina stood at the entrance of the garden, her dark eyes blazing like fire. She moved with the grace of a queen, but the fury of a mother burned in her every step.
Morgana turned, her expression smoothing into something more composed. "Your Majesty," she said coolly.
Seraphina ignored her, walking straight to Gwendolyn, placing a protective hand on her daughter's shoulder.
"I have tolerated your games for years, Morgana," Seraphina said, her voice quiet but deadly. "But you will not speak to my daughter in such a way."
Morgana arched a brow, feigning innocence. "I merely offered her guidance."
Seraphina stepped forward, her presence radiating strength. "If I ever hear you belittle my child again, there will be consequences."
Gwendolyn had never seen her mother like this before. Fierce. Unyielding. Protective.
For the first time, Morgana did not have a sharp reply. She only smiled, tilting her head slightly. "Of course, Your Majesty."
But as Morgana turned and walked away, Gwendolyn saw it—the promise of war in her eyes.
---
That night, as Seraphina brushed Gwendolyn's hair in their chamber, she sighed heavily.
"You must be careful with Morgana," she said. "She is not a woman who forgets an insult, nor does she forgive."
Gwendolyn hesitated before speaking. "Do you think she is right?"
Seraphina paused. "About what?"
"That I can never be queen."
Seraphina turned her daughter to face her, cupping her cheeks. "You are the heir, my love. You have the heart of a ruler, and the people love you."
"But what if it is not enough?"
Seraphina's eyes darkened, a shadow crossing her face. "Then you must make them see. And if the world will not give you what is yours…" Her grip tightened slightly. "You take it."
Gwendolyn did not understand then.
But one day, she would.
And the lesson would shape the fate of an empire.
---