As Kamaria's journey unfolds, she discovers the true nature of power and the sacrifices that come with it. She must navigate through political alliances, betrayal, and treacherous plots to secure her place as Queen of Scotland. Along the way, she le...
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Kamaria Stuart, her face soft with apprehension, sat in the dimly lit convent hall, the weight of her crown more tangible than ever. Her dark, curly hair framed her face, accentuating the sharp contrast between her skin and the white, simple gown she wore.
Her posture was slightly hunched, as though she bore not only the burden of her royal lineage but also the future of Scotland. Her fingers gently traced the rim of the wooden bowl before her, stirring the porridge absentmindedly, her thoughts miles away from the humble meal.
Her gaze flicked to Rosa, the young girl beside her, who was absorbed in eating. Yet Kamaria couldn't bring herself to partake. Her stomach churned not from hunger, but from the gnawing tension coursing through her. Life in the convent had shielded her from the chaos beyond its walls, but the looming prospect of marriage to Francis de Valois added unbearable weight to her already fragile heart.
As she stared into the distance, her eyes fell upon a nun seated across the room a figure strangely out of place amidst the bustle. Kamaria couldn't help but notice the oddity of her presence: stiff posture, hands folded neatly in her lap, expression eerily serene. A sudden tension crept up Kamaria's spine. Before she could fully register her unease, the silence shattered.
The nun convulsed violently, her body wracked with spasms. Kamaria's breath caught in her throat. Her hand instinctively reached for her chest as her heart skipped a beat. The acrid, foamy substance pouring from the nun's mouth and ears deepened the horror. Her eyes widened as the room closed in around her, children screamed, chaos erupted. She froze, panic tightening around her chest, her legs trembling, threatening to give way.
Tears welled in her eyes, the edges of her vision blurred. She heard the frantic shuffling of feet, the whispered prayers of the other nuns, but it all felt distant muffled, as if underwater. Sister June appeared at her side, her touch a calm anchor in the storm. Kamaria didn't resist as she was gently, but firmly, led away from the scene.
Her breath came in short, shallow gasps, her head spinning with confusion and terror. "Sister Helen..." Her voice cracked under the weight of grief. They had just spoken. Just moments ago, Sister Helen had been kind, reassuring a quiet comfort.
A wave of dizziness swept over her. Her legs buckled slightly, but Sister June steadied her. "You must leave immediately," she said, her tone brooking no argument. "There has been an attempt on your life. You were nearly poisoned."
The weight of the words hit Kamaria like a stone. Her brown eyes widened in shock. Poisoned? Her body went cold, her fingers trembling as they clutched the folds of her gown. The walls seemed to press inward, her heartbeat thudding in her ears.
She opened her mouth, but no words came. The realization that someone wished her dead was too much to bear. Her royal lineage her very existence was a threat. The cloistered, protected life she had known was no longer enough.
