𝟏 𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐋 - 𝙎𝙄𝙍𝙄𝙐𝙎 𝘽𝙇𝘼𝘾𝙆

↠Prologue - 001*

"She will rise. With a spine of steel, and a roar like thunder, she will rise."
— P R O L O G U E —

This story starts with love. A love so gentle, so innocent, that only a mother could feel with her child. A love so pure, it turned Anne, Queen of the United Kingdom, and the commonwealth, from a stone-hard picture face to a soft mother. Then, after the kind first few hours of holding her newborn, she proclaimed that her first-born, a daughter who graced the world with a golden light that rivaled the stars, would be the next monarch of her kingdom, even if her next was to be a son.

But what the world, the kingdom, the mortals, and the muggles didn't hear, was the new mother's next proclamation. Anne spoke and said that her child didn't have the cursed magic of the Windsor family rushing through her stardust born veins, just like herself. Anne just said she could feel it deep within her soul, a burning knowledge that brought her great comfort. She wouldn't have to compete with her child to prove that she was better without magic, much like she had to with her younger sister.

And so tradition was broken, smashed into bits of decayed suns, fallen from history like Icarus from the sky.

The newborn was named Sage Marie Mary-Windsor.

History was about the be rewritten. Rewritten in the blood of blossoming, glowing red and gold magic.

———

It is such a tragedy that this story of a magicless mother's love morphed into the greatest form of sinful envy. 11 years and two more children later, Princess Sage of York was sitting on a balcony with her mother as they ate lunch, the warm sun-kissed their skin as June was quickly closing in on the 26th day, the blistering heat and humidity of London's July seeping into the end of its predecessors repetitive time.

Sage had grown, so so much. The young Princess was a natural beauty. Her almost black hair glowed in the sunlight that created a crown of gold round her head, and the beautiful dress she was made to wear by command of her mother for her 11th birthday made her look much older and mature than most girls her age. She was destined to be a Queen, but if she wasn't, Sage would continue to grow to be a great model.

"Tonight, when we hold the dinner party to celebrate, I would be the most grateful if you would try and become more acquainted with Duke Phillip. . . He might turn out to be a great ally to you in the future, if not that then a decent husband from a long bloodline." Anne seemed rather insistent these days on Sage marrying someone royal, most likely so her daughter doesn't face the same backlash she did after marrying the ordinary man that was Sages' father.

"I will do my best, mother, Duke Phillip doesn't have the kindest father. He's rather mean these days," Sage offered her mother an uncomfortable smile. Anne nodded in agreement, especially having known Prince Tomas when they were merely children themselves, and seeing how he acted now. He had grown bitter. His brother had failed to produce any heirs himself, growing old now, which continues the line with the second oldest and his son.

The continued on in silence, eating their food and watching as the streets of London near Buckingham Palace got busier by the minute. Sage shifted in her seat. She couldn't get over this overwhelming feeling that something was going to happen. It was an icy chill down her spine, canceling out the heat that enveloped the mother-daughter duo.

"Your Majesty!" The door opened without warning, the Lady-in-Waiting seemed extremely nervous as she spoke to her Queen. Anne quickly whipped her mouth and turned towards the woman who was practically shaking. "Yes, Octavia?" She spoke up, slightly annoyed at the disturbance. "You must forgive me for the interruption, your Majesty, but there is someone here for her Royal Highness. . . Ma'am, it's him."

Sage watched in anxious confusion as her mother's face completely dropped, horror etched into her face as she stared at Lady Octavia. "No, that's not possible, I'm quite sure of that!" Anger was encapsulating the mother, twisting her eyebrows together in a sinister way. Octavia shrunk in her spot. "I wouldn't play like this, Ma'am. Your husband has the other children with him, he's already with Mr. Dumbledore."

Anne slammed her hands on the table, glasses shaking almost as aggressively as the monarch felt, and pushed herself up. "Sage, you must come with me. Now." Reluctantly, Sage gently placed her napkin on her plate and stood up to follow after her mother. The three women walked quickly down the regal halls of the royals home. Sage felt the anxiety eat at her stomach more and more as the time went on, it felt like each step was an eternity after the last.

Octavia stepped ahead of the highest royals and opened the large doors in front of them. 10-year-old Jasper was holding 6-year-old Edens' hand as they both stood behind their father, the only son looked like he couldn't believe his own reality at that moment, and Eden had glistening stars shining in her eyes and planets hugging her skin. She looked like she was just told magic was real.

Her father was talking to a very oddly dressed man with a long white beard and dazzling blue eyes that had a twinkle in them. "What is this?" Anne demanded pure fury lacing her tone. The old man smiled joyously at her, "It's been quite a long time, your Majesty. I'm sorry for the intrusion, but with the Princess's blood status and muggle status, I found it wisest to pay her an in-person visit." He didn't even wait for the mother's response when he started walking towards the Princess.

Sage tried to stand up as straight as possible, holding a powerful stance. "It's nice to meet you, your Royal Highness. My name is Albus Dumbledore, and I'm the headmaster at a very important school for people like us." The kind man held out his hand for Sage to accept. Sage allowed him to take hers and leave a quick kiss on it, but she was continuously confused. Nobody was giving her any answers. "You must excuse me, sir, but what do you mean 'People like us'?" He smiled at her.

"People like us, your Highness, aren't well known outside of the community. . ."

"Sage Marie Mary-Windsor, you are a witch."