Md_Alamin_1251

Three hundred years ago, Princess Mira Elowen was burned at the stake—accused of witchcraft, cursed blood, and defying the royal order. But as the flames devoured her body, she made a chilling vow:

"I shall return—not as your princess, but as your reckoning."

Now, in a quiet village far from the capital, a healer’s apprentice named Eira begins to have terrifying dreams of fire, betrayal, and blood-soaked crowns. Her golden eyes, once ordinary, now burn with memories she doesn’t recognize. And when a dying priest calls her "Your Highness", her world begins to unravel.

Reborn in a new body, Mira must navigate a kingdom that has forgotten her—but her vengeance is not forgotten. With ancient enemies in power, buried secrets resurfacing, and a mysterious prince who may be her greatest enemy or her only salvation, she must reclaim what was stolen from her...

Rise OF THE Cursed Queen

Night draped the capital in velvet shadows as Eira and Caius crossed the outer walls under a moonless sky.

Gone were her flame-lined robes. In their place, a servant girl's cloak, dust-smeared and plain. Caius dressed as a city guard, his royal insignia hidden beneath the folds.

Caius smirked. "Disguises save lives."

He chuckled — but his hand never left the hilt of his sword. The city was a viper's nest now.

Gold-lined fountains glittered beside starving beggars. Nobles in crimson silks drank wine under lantern-lit balconies while shadows moved below them — thieves, spies, forgotten souls.

Eira looked around, sickened. "This is what they built on my family's ashes?"

"It's always been this way," Caius said grimly. "Even when your mother ruled. But it's worse now."

He led her down a back alley, past cracked statues and broken shrines, until they reached an unmarked door carved into the stone.

A slit opened. Two eyes peered out.

A whisper followed: "What rises from flame and feeds on ruin?"

Caius replied without hesitation. "The Phoenix. And it remembers."

The room beyond was dimly lit — candles flickering over maps, scrolls, and weapons.

Faces turned. Hard, cautious. Then a gasp.

A woman stepped forward, younger than Eira but with eyes sharp as blades.

"You… it's you," she breathed. "The Ashborn."

Eira nodded. "My name is Eira. I don't know what you believe about me. But I'm not here for worship."

"We don't worship," the girl said. "We fight. And we've been waiting for a fire to light our war."

Behind her stood dozens — warriors, spies, even former royal guards — all branded with a small, glowing symbol over their hearts:

But as Eira stepped forward, another voice rang out from the shadows.

A man emerged — tall, bearded, with a scar down one cheek.

"Caius of Thornvale," he growled. "Traitor. Commander of the Flamebound during the Queen's execution."

Caius's eyes darkened. "It's not what you think—"

The man spat. "You led the charge. You held the sword. We all saw it."

Eira's voice was ice. "Is it true?"

Caius took a step forward. "I was Flamebound. But I turned. I smuggled out Maerin. I buried the real order's scrolls. I—"

"I thought you were dead, Eira!" he shouted. "They told us you were cursed — that your mother had gone mad. I was nineteen. I believed them. But I tried to atone. For ten years I've searched for you—"

Then the rebel girl raised her voice. "Then let her judge."

Fire curled around her fingertips.

She walked slowly to Caius, eyes never leaving his.

"I should burn you," she whispered. "For what you were."

"But I won't. Because I've burned enough for a lifetime."

Eira stood alone on the balcony, staring toward the royal palace — its towers glowing like polished daggers.

Below it, Lyana's voice echoed in the court.

Above it, the king planned his traps.

And within it… the throne that once belonged to her mother stood waiting.

Caius stepped beside her. "Thank you," he said quietly.

Because deep inside, the fire stirred again — louder than before.

The Mask and the Mark