raamimanda

The stars did not warn me.
Not when she smiled like dusk,
or when her silence felt like prophecy.

She was a secret wrapped in silk,
a prayer the gods forgot to answer.
And I-
I was just a name waiting to be rewritten.

They spoke of duty,
of oaths, and blood, and kings.
But I listened only to the way she breathed
when no one else dared to.

Now the wind howls through hollow halls,
and the world is ash-touched and quiet.
Still, I would not unlove her.
Even now.
Even here.
Even at the end.

In Her Name,I Burned

The golden banners of the court rippled faintly with the breeze as a storm brewed just outside the palace walls. Within the throne room, sunlight streamed through stained glass—but it did nothing to warm the chill between the two men at its heart.

The Crown Prince sat, but there was no ease in his posture. His fingers drummed against the armrest of his chair, sharp and restless.

"They cheer for him," he said, voice calm but seething. "In the streets, they whisper his name with reverence. The 'just' Duke. The people's noble."

"And she," the Prince continued, "has started sending back royal edicts. Altering language. Delaying decrees. Speaking on behalf of both of them now."

Darian's jaw tightened. "They are married."

The Prince rose from his chair, striding toward the open window. Rain pattered against the stone ledge.

"I gave her to him, and in return, I lose both sister and throne."

"Perhaps she's just doing her duty as a wife," Darian said, carefully. "Perhaps you're seeing shadows where there are none."

The Prince turned, slowly. "Do you truly believe that?"

Darian's silence spoke louder than words.

Down the eastern corridor, Saren sat before her writing desk, her eyes on the unfinished letter. The ink had dried midway through a sentence. Her hands hovered above the parchment, trembling ever so slightly.

She could not bring herself to write it. Not anymore.

Behind her, the door opened softly.

Alric entered without a word. He had learned to read her moods by the way her shoulders curled, or how still she sat. Tonight, she looked like a woman bearing a crown made of thorns.

He crossed the room and stood beside her, not asking what troubled her.

She turned to look at him, startled. "Know what?"

"That I was never meant to be part of the story you wrote for yourself." His voice was tender, laced with sorrow. "I was a tool. A stepping stone."

Her lips parted. Her heartbeat quickened.

"But," he continued, "you've become my world."

She looked down, tears prickling. She hadn't cried in years. Not even when her crown was taken from her hands and placed on her brother's unworthy head.

Alric reached out and gently took her hand.

"I will fight for you, Saren. Even if you never meant to be mine. Even if I burn for it."

She swallowed thickly. "And if I'm the fire?"

Far away in the war chamber, the Crown Prince turned to Darian, eyes dark as thunder.

"Send riders," he said coldly. "I want every move they make watched. Every whisper traced."

This chapter was a storm I've been waiting to write.

Alric's confession? That broke me a little. He doesn't beg, doesn't accuse—he simply knows. And still, he chooses her. Even knowing he might burn. That's what makes him dangerous. Not power, not popularity—but love, quiet and unwavering. The kind that stands at the edge of ruin and says, "I will stay."

And Saren… she's trembling now. The same woman who once orchestrated her rise like a chessboard is hesitating over ink. That's what love does, doesn't it? It makes you question even the truths you built yourself upon.

Meanwhile, the Crown Prince has drawn the first line. The whispers are over. The war has begun.

Things are about to get very messy.

As always, I'm holding your hand through every breath, every betrayal, and every heartbreak.

Chapter 28 - A Crack in the Throne Room