Cursed Crown

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the training grounds as Elara dragged herself toward the castle. Hours of grueling drills had left her muscles aching and her thoughts clouded with exhaustion. Her training tunic clung to her back, damp with sweat, and her boots felt heavier with each step. Despite the soreness, she could feel a flicker of pride in the back of her mind. She was improving, slowly but surely.

As she neared the castle doors, a servant approached her and gave a deep bow. "Princess Elara, your presence has been requested in the garden for tea time with your family."

Elara blinked, fighting back a groan. Tea time meant her mother would be there, and tea time with her mother meant endless criticism. Nevertheless, she nodded to the servant and made her way to her quarters to wash up.

The hot water stung her aching body as she scrubbed away the grime of training. She tied her long brown hair into a soft braid and slipped into a royal gown-something light and elegant, though the corset pinched at her ribs in a way that made her long for the comfort of the training tunic. When she saw herself in the mirror, she barely recognized the woman staring back. Her usual heavy dresses and perfectly styled hair felt more like a mask now, hiding the grit and determination she had poured into the training grounds.

By the time she reached the garden, the sweet scent of roses and lavender filled the air, a sharp contrast to the dirt and sweat of the morning. The garden was as pristine as ever, its hedges trimmed into perfect shapes and the stone pathways spotless. The table sat in the center, draped in fine silk, surrounded by delicate chairs. As Elara approached, her heart sank.

On the table, among the tea service and trays of delicate pastries, sat a stack of letters sealed with royal crests. Marriage proposals.

Her mother, Queen Maris, sat at the head of the table, her posture rigid as always. Her crimson gown shimmered in the sunlight, and her elaborate wig cast a shadow over her sharp features. Beside her sat Thorne and Darius, their expressions unreadable. It made sense that her younger sister, Liora, wasn't there-she was likely in her studies-and her father would be in a council meeting. But the absence of other distractions meant Elara would bear the full brunt of her family's attention.

"Elara," her mother said, her tone clipped as she gestured to the empty chair. "You're late."

"I came as soon as I was able," Elara replied, lowering herself into the chair.

Maris's eyes swept over her, narrowing slightly. "I assume you've been... training." She practically spat the word.

Elara's stomach twisted as she caught Thorne's subtle glance toward the letters on the table.

"We were just discussing your future," her mother said, reaching out to shuffle through the stack of letters. "You've received responses from several princes, and their interest is most promising. However, this... soldier training nonsense will interfere with the arrangements."

Elara's chest tightened. She'd known this confrontation was coming, but the weight of it hit her harder than she expected. "Mother," she said, her voice steady despite the storm building inside her, "I no longer wish to marry."

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, the only sound was the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze. Then Maris's lips thinned, her hand tightening around the teacup she held.

"What did you just say?"

"I said," Elara repeated, her voice firmer now, "I don't want to marry. I'm focusing on my training."

Her mother's composure snapped. "You cannot simply decide that! Do you understand what this means for our kingdom? For your position? Marriage is not about your whims, Elara-it's about alliances, about securing our future!"