spring_breeze

She was betrayed. Burned. Crowned in thorns.

Ashara Vael was once the Empress of the Ninefold Empire—feared, revered, and ultimately sacrificed. In a single night, her closest allies turned into executioners. Her name was cursed. Her soul, shattered.

But fate isn’t done with her yet.

Awakening years before her fall, in the same royal court that would one day betray her, Ashara is no longer just an Empress-to-be. She’s a player in a divine game.

Bound to a mysterious System of Loyalty and Fate, Ashara can now glimpse hidden motives, twist destiny threads, and raise loyalty levels in the very people who once conspired to kill her. Every decision ripples. Every alliance comes at a cost. And the gods? They're watching.

With a loyal warhound of a general at her side, a dangerous prince tied to her downfall, and ancient cults whispering of a divine threat… Ashara must reclaim power, rewrite her doom, and awaken the true magic buried in her blood.

But when even love is a battlefield—who can she trust?

Welcome, dear readers, to the empire of betrayal, divine trials, and thorns that bloom only in blood.

Crowned by Thorns: The Cursed Empress Lives Again is my heart project—a story of power reclaimed, of slow-burning love born from ashes, and of a woman who refuses to die quietly in a world determined to cage her.

Expect tangled loyalties, unexpected tenderness, and the kind of court politics that bite. Every character has a past. Every betrayal has weight. And Ashara? She’s not the same Empress you once knew.

If you love romance woven with fate mechanics, tension between sword and crown, and morally complex leads… you’re home.

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Let's rise—thorn by thorn.

—Spring Breeze
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Crowned by Thorns; The Cursed Empress Lives Again

The Hall of Lords had always been a theatre. Now she could feel the ghosts in the balconies, watching her every move.

Ashara walked through the gilded archway, chin high, steps smooth. Her ceremonial gown had been replaced with a blood-red robe—royal, somber, and designed to remind the court she'd survived her "death." No crown, but no chains either.

Old House lords. Highborn ladies. Priests in pale gold. Generals with hands on hilts. All waiting to see if she'd falter.

The throne dais rose ahead, framed by the twin thrones of the realm. On the left sat Emperor Thareon, regal and expressionless. On the right, Empress Lysianne, whose stare cut colder than ice through velvet.

Ashara approached and bowed. "Your Majesties."

"You look... recovered," Lysianne said.

"Miraculously," Ashara replied. "Perhaps the gods regret their judgment."

A stir of whispers rippled through the court.

Suddenly, the massive doors opened again.

Kallad Veyr, Crown Prince of the Empire. The man she once loved. The man who had watched her burn.

He entered wearing ceremonial steel and midnight blue, his hair tied back, a sword hanging at his hip like a threat.

Their eyes met across the marble floor.

You didn't flinch when they lit the pyre, she thought.

She returned his bow. "Your Highness. I'm surprised you came."

His lips twitched. "You're difficult to bury, it seems."

A few nobles gasped. The rest watched, rapt.

"Careful," she said. "It might happen again."

The Emperor's knuckles whitened. Lysianne's lips twitched in restrained amusement.

She was back. And she remembered everything.

The poison in the tea. The forged letters. The blade.

Now she had names to confirm. Faces to test. And one week to change fate.

She turned from Kallad and addressed the court.

"My body may have failed," she said, "but my memory has not. The traitors who buried me—will find I have claws now."

Gasps. Stirred magic. Uneasy glances.

The Empress was alive. And the game had resumed.

CHAPTER 2 — The Game Resumes