The palace gardens were in bloom.
Ivory roses curled around wrought iron trellises. Lavender spilled over stone paths. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine and the quiet hum of bees. It was beautiful—painfully so. A place built for lovers.
But Elara walked alone.
Her gown trailed behind her like spilled wine, deep burgundy against the pale marble. Servants bowed as she passed, eyes lowered, mouths silent. She was the queen, yes—but not the kind they adored. Not the kind they feared. She was the kind they pitied. Which she hated, she didn't want anyone to pity her.
---
Kael had not returned.
Each morning, Valeria delivered updates from the northern territories. Border disputes. Grain shortages. A minor rebellion quelled with swift brutality. The king was busy. The king was dutiful. The king was absent.
Elara dined alone.
She toured the palace alone.
She slept alone.
The honeymoon suite remained untouched, its opulence mocking her with every velvet curtain and gilded mirror. She had once imagined this room filled with laughter, with whispered secrets and stolen kisses. Now it was a mausoleum of broken expectations.
---
On the fifth day, she returned to the library.
This time, she climbed the ladder.
She reached the highest shelf, where the dust lay thick and the books were bound in dragonhide and shadow. She pulled one free—The Forgotten Queens of Thorne—and settled into a velvet armchair beneath a stained-glass window.
The stories were haunting.
Women who had ruled beside kings but never truly ruled. Queens who had died in childbirth, in exile, in silence. One had poisoned her husband. Another had vanished into the sea.
Elara read until the sun dipped below the horizon.
She closed the book and whispered to herself:
> "I will not be forgotten."
---
That evening, another letter arrived.
Valeria placed it on her writing desk with a quiet nod. Elara opened it slowly, savoring the familiar seal—the phoenix of House Vale.
Inside was a second letter, this one from her youngest brother, Cassian.
> Lyria,
> I saw your wedding portrait. You looked like a goddess. I told everyone at school that my sister is a queen now. They didn't believe me until I showed them the royal seal.
> Do you remember when we used to play crown and court in the garden? You always made me the knight. I still have the wooden sword you carved for me.
> I miss you. Come home soon. Or send a carriage to steal me away.
> Love, Cass
Elara pressed the letter to her lips.
Tears slipped down her cheeks, silent and warm.
She had not felt like a goddess.
She had felt like a ghost.
But Cassian's words were a balm. A reminder that somewhere, she was still loved. Still remembered. Still real , even if Cassian and her other family members were nothing but just characters she had created for Lyria to not feel completely longly when she had married the other prince.she was glad that someone other than prince Lucien, cares for her too in this world she had created.
The next morning, Elara dressed herself.
No attendants. No corset. No jewels.
She wore a simple gown of forest green, her hair braided down her back. She walked to the lower wing of the palace, where the staff quarters lay, and knocked on the kitchen door.
The cooks froze.
The maids stared.
Valeria appeared, breathless. "Your Majesty, this area is restricted—"
"I'm not here to give orders," Elara said. "I'm here to learn."
She spent the day peeling potatoes, kneading dough, and listening.
Listening to the gossip. The fears. The hopes.
She learned that the palace steward had a sick daughter ,which she had given the Steward a big amount of coins to help pay for his daughter treatment . She had also learnt that the head gardener was in love with the stablemaster. That the scullery maid dreamed of becoming a painter.
She laughed.
She cried.
She lived.
---
The Whisper That Spread
By nightfall, the palace was buzzing.
The queen had visited the kitchens.
The queen had spoken to the staff.
The queen had smiled.
Kael's advisors were furious.
Valeria was livid.
But Elara was calm.
She sat by the window, Cassian's letter in her lap, and watched the stars blink into existence.
She was still alone.
Still aching.
Still trapped.
But something had shifted.
She was no longer waiting to be loved.
She was learning to love herself. Cause the only way for her to not live with reject, she had to learn to re write her story.
----