SapphirePeter


Winters upon winters have drifted by, and still, the North remains without its destined sovereign. One by one, pretenders have fallen, claimed by the death that guards the empty throne. 
As despair consumes the realm - people dying, their purpose withering - a whispered prophecy stirs the ashes — the one they seek walks among the South.

While the Heavens remain without the offer of an heir to the North, a Southern Princess drinks to excess at a Royal Event and exposes royal rot.
She is ordered to be killed, steel drawn... when a certain Prince Commander claims her to be his wife.
Marriage was never her fate. Certainly not to him,  but desperation writes its own vows. There were no promises, no expectations, but love came, slow and certain. 
It seemed the sun had broken through the clouds, but something superiorly vital is then taken from this Princess, and she is sent to the worst of dungeons when her husband is at war. He returns, thinking she left him, and he falls into the deepest of despair.


The Princess’s heart is heavily marked in this strange new world where unfamiliar souls shape her. They teach her, harden her, and rebirth her into something nearly unrecognizable.
She flees with them as a circumstance exposes her to be the ruler they have been in search of.
Through hardship and pain, she ascends—not only to lead the North but to stir the balance of the universe itself.
But at what price? What must be given?
Follow her odyssey - a journey of life, of love, betrayal, revenge, of war and transformation, and of staggering power that shakes worlds.
Her name is Nadezhda. 
Nadezhda means hope. She is our hope.




QUEEN OF THE NORTH (THE WILL OF THE HEAVENS)

I am not a queen because I rule, I rule because I am THE QUEEN. 


Birthed in my heart. Alive in my veins… 


A few turns of the Moon ago, The South… 


A moment after the King of Tavrodel had pleaded with Zorgan to take his life since he wasn’t worth his existence, five very skilled assassins broke into the King’s chamber. 


Zorgan immediately stood before the King who instantly scrambled to his feet- his previous plea for death fading into the darkness of the night. Three stepped through the door, their passage marked by the scent of blood. Two more crawled in through the windows, graceful as wraiths, blades already slick. Their visages were wrapped in a mask of fabric and the only evident feature of them were their eyes. 


Zorgan stood his ground while the King behind him twitched like a cornered rabbit. 


‘Speak your purpose,’’ Zorgan commanded calmly. 


One among them spoke, ‘You dress as we do, but we doubt you are here for the same kill, Commander.’’ 


TAVRODEL