Mirriam97

The Throne of fate _Fantasy story.

Betrayed by blood. Murdered in silence. Reborn with vengeance.

Once, Princess Gwendolyn was the rightful heir to the throne of Vernom—a kingdom where daughters were seen as lesser, and power was a game played by men. She was kind, strong, and just, but none of it mattered. Her stepmother, Queen Morganna, saw her as a threat and, in the dead of night, ended her life with cold steel.

But fate is not so easily swayed.

Reincarnated as Merdrith—the daughter of the very woman who killed her—Gwendolyn is reborn into the same palace that betrayed her. Yet this time, she is no naive princess. From the moment she opens her eyes, she remembers everything: the pain, the betrayal, and the stolen crown. She may be a child in body, but her mind is sharp, cunning, and filled with the thirst for retribution.

As the years pass, Merdrith plays her part flawlessly. She is the perfect daughter, the beloved princess, the innocent girl who knows nothing of the kingdom’s cruel past. But behind her sweet smiles, she is setting the board for a grander game—one where she holds all the pieces. She manipulates the court, turns enemies into allies, and weaves chaos into the very fabric of Vernom.

Yet, one person remains her greatest obstacle—King Darius, her half-brother, and the only one who ever truly saw Gwendolyn. He suspects something, sees the flickers of his lost sister in Merdrith’s eyes. But is he an enemy or a pawn in her greater plan?

As war looms on the horizon and the kingdom teeters on the edge of ruin, Merdrith must make a choice: take back her throne through cunning and justice, or let the flames of vengeance consume her and everyone who wronged her.

One thing is certain—the true heir has returned, and this time, she will not be silenced.

A tale of power, betrayal, and a queen reborn, The Throne of Fate will keep you on the edge of your seat until the very last page.

The Throne of Fate

The palace was quieter than usual. Whispers filled the corridors, and tension hung in the air like a thick mist. Something was wrong.

At first, it had been nothing more than fatigue—tired sighs, restless nights. Then came the fever, the weight loss, the frailty that dulled the light in her once fiery eyes.

The royal physicians were called, yet no remedy seemed to work. Day by day, the queen withered, and with her, so did Gwendolyn's world.

But while Gwendolyn prayed for her mother's recovery, Morgana saw an opportunity.

One evening, as the palace buzzed with concern over Seraphina's worsening condition, Ishvi wandered through the halls. He was still young, no older than ten, with curious eyes and a heart too innocent for the cruelty of court politics.

His small feet carried him past the Queen's chambers, where the faint flickering of candlelight seeped through the doorway. He was about to continue his way when he heard something strange—whispers.

Slowly, cautiously, he peered through the slightly open door.

What he saw would haunt him for years.

Morgana stood over the Queen's medicine, a vial in her hand. The liquid inside was thick, dark, unnatural. With a swift movement, she poured it into the cup, stirring it just enough to blend seamlessly with the original remedy.

Ishvi's breath caught in his throat, fear clawing at his chest. He took a step back, but the floor creaked beneath him.

Morgana's head snapped in his direction.

For a terrifying moment, their eyes met. Ishvi froze.

But instead of alarm, Morgana smiled—a slow, knowing smile.

Then, she picked up the poisoned cup and turned away as if nothing had happened.

Later on that night, Gwendolyn sat by her mother's bedside, holding her frail hand. Seraphina's skin was cold, her breathing shallow.

"Mother, please," Gwendolyn whispered. "Fight."

Seraphina managed a weak smile. "You must be strong, my love."

Tears welled in Gwendolyn's eyes. "I can't do this without you."

Seraphina brushed a trembling hand over Gwendolyn's cheek. "You can. You must. The world will not be kind to you, my child. If you wish to claim what is yours, you cannot be soft-hearted."

Gwendolyn shook her head. "No, I want to rule with kindness."

Seraphina's smile was bittersweet. "Then you will suffer for it."

A sudden, violent cough wracked her body. Blood stained her lips.

"No, no, no—please!" Gwendolyn pleaded, her hands shaking.

Seraphina gasped, eyes fluttering as her body gave its final shudder.

Then, with one last breath, she whispered, "Do not trust them."

A scream of agony tore from Gwendolyn's throat as she clutched her mother's lifeless form.

That night, Ishvi sat curled in his mother's chamber, silent, shaking.

His mother, Lady Isabel, knelt before him, gripping his shoulders. "You must forget what you saw, Ishvi."

"No." Isabel's voice was firm, her eyes filled with warning. "If you speak, she will kill us both."

Ishvi swallowed hard, tears spilling down his cheeks. He was too young to understand the depth of the court's cruelty, but he knew this—if he spoke, he would not live to see another day.

So he did what his mother told him.

Seraphina's death was mourned across the kingdom.

The people wept, for they had loved their queen. Gwendolyn stood beside her father, silent and unblinking, as her mother was laid to rest.

But as Morgana stood among the mourners, her expression hidden beneath her veil, Gwendolyn felt it—the weight of unseen eyes, the cold touch of something unspoken.

And Gwendolyn, though heartbroken, would never forget.

A mother's last breath