Crowned In Enmity

Chapter 1

"Princess Arlette. Your majesty, wake up!" The urgency in my lady-in-waiting's voice startles me awake. Astrid's eyes were wide with fear, her grip on my arm almost painful. "Princess, there's been an attack. King Margrot..." Her voice falters, tears welling up.

I bolt upright, throwing off my covers as she helps me into my nightcoat. "Where's the King? Is he coming here?"

"King Aldrich is dead," Gregory, my father's steadfast hand, bursts into the chamber with grim determination.

My heart stops, my vision tunnels, I can hear the blood rushing in my ears, "The prince? Atlas?" My first thought is older my brother.

"The Prince is dead as well," Gregory confirms, his voice cracking slightly despite his efforts to remain composed. "Murdered."

Everything blurs around me. The world collapses into those words, their weight crashing over me like a relentless wave. King Aldrich, my father, and Prince Atlas, my cherished brother, both taken from us in an act of senseless violence. Anger surges through me, mingling with disbelief and grief. My hands tremble as I struggle to grasp the magnitude of Gregory's revelation.

"By whom? How did they get in?" My voice shakes.

"We're still investigating," Gregory's voice is grim, "We suspect this is a result of our conflict with the Montgomerys."

I'd heard bits and pieces from Atlas about the conflict with King Montgomery, our neighbor to the east. Atlas, 5 years my senior, just started attending The Council of the Realm meetings with father. King Montgomery has been pushing for more land for Harnsey for years, claiming that it should come from Margrot. Father was steadfast in refusing to give in.

"We need you to stay in your room while we check the manor, there are two guards outside your door," Gregory turns to whisper to one of the guards, before turning back to me, "Do not leave your room Princess, you're the last of the bloodline and I'd hate to lose you too. Astrid, I need you to gather the rest of the staff and hide out in the staff quarters, we're going into lockdown."

The rest of the conversation is a blur, Gregory's words repeating in my head, "You're the last of the bloodline. You're the last. You're the last." My mother died in childbirth with me, all I've ever had was my father and brother. They were my world, my anchors in the stormy seas of life.

But now, with Gregory's revelation, it feels as though the ground beneath my feet has shifted, leaving me unsteady and disoriented. The weight of those words, "You're the last of the bloodline," presses heavily on my chest, making it hard to breathe. The significance of being the final link in a long chain of ancestors is overwhelming, a mantle I never expected nor wanted to bear.

Memories of my father and brother flood my mind. My father's warm, reassuring smile and my brother's mischievous laughter—they are the images that have always brought me comfort. But now, those memories feel like fragile relics from a past that is slipping away. I remember the bedtime stories my father would tell, tales of our family's legacy, of courage and honor, stories that once filled me with pride and wonder.

Yet, I never imagined those stories would end with me. The last. It feels like a cruel twist of fate, as if I'm standing at the edge of a precipice, staring into an abyss of uncertainty. What does it mean to be the last? What responsibilities come with this title? The questions swirl in my mind, unanswered and unrelenting.

As I try to make sense of it all, I think about the future. What will happen to Margrot, a country has never had a lone Queen before, and I'm hardly of age to run a country, I just had my 16th name day a few months ago. Will I be able to uphold the values and traditions my family has cherished for generations? Will my country accept a Queen to rule instead of a King? The fear of failing, of letting down my ancestors, is a constant, gnawing presence in the back of my mind.