Chapter 1 The Royal Deception

• Tatianna's POV
• "I don't take orders from low-lives like yourself!"
• *SLAP!*
• I look up to see the man I have been calling my father, the King, standing tall, shoulders broad with pride. His eyes hold nothing but rage and disgust for me. The woman beside him smirks at me, which might as well be another slap to my face. "Be Respectful! It is your mother, you're talking to." My jaw clenches hearing him.
• I look at him before locking my gaze with her. "Respect is EARNED...", I put emphasis on the last word, "And sometimes... you lose it, too", I announce glaring at him.
• ***
• "Tatianna...?"
• I hear a familiar voice, and I force my eyes open. I smile at the man on the other side of the iron bars.
• "What the hell were you thinking?! Have you lost your mind!" Ric whisper-scolds.
• "Yeah... She gets on my nerves. I can't help it." My voice drips with regret.
• " Well, she is your mother, now. And no matter how much you hate her and wish to throw her in the boiling pot of The Ember Banquet, you need to keep your sanity. Other wise, it will be very difficult... for us." He says with a voice so silky, I almost miss the serious note in it.
• My eyes soften.
• "You understand right...?"
• "Of Course." His hand caresses my cheek and I lean in his touch.
• It was my stupidity that landed me here in this dark dungeon. Serves me right for believing that my father loves me more than that conniving, two-faced leech, he calls his wife, Lady Clara. That's right, she isn't a 'Queen' for me. Not in this life.
• My mother died two years ago and ever since women have lined up at the palace gates to take her place, on the thrown beside my father. But, he somehow dodged them all. However, Clara was one 'venom-laced arrow' hit the target, and what perished was the love he had for his only daughter. She is his dearest friend's sister, the Duke of Westmere. This marraige was that of convinience, primarily to the Duke, but my father's heart, for some reason, melted for her.
• The only light I see and fight for is my love, the one who truly understood me when my own father turned a blind eye, Genral Roderic Vale. My father, was oblivious to what was going on between Ric and me, and we planned to keep it that way.
• "There has to be a way we can be together." My tone is desperate, not veiling any emotion.
• "There is, my love." His words are a cool breeze kissing my body in scorching hatred I contain for my so-called family.
• "Then what are we waiting for?"
• "The Feast. The Right moment." He holds my hand in his warm embrace with utter delicacy. "I need you to be by my side at all times. When the right moment arrives we will abandon this cruel kingdom and settle somewhere far far away. My dear..." He holds both my hands and his eyes pry at mine for hesitation.
• "Yes?"
• "Will you abandon everything for me?" His words are merely a whisper.
• "Oh, my love. You are... my everything." I smile. My words bring a smile to his lips and relief in his eyes.
• ****
• The Ember Banquet
• The great hall blazes like a captured sunset — torches flaring, braziers breathing their orange glow into every jeweled cup and gilded crown. Smoke curls toward the rafters like prayer made of ash. It is said the Ember Banquet marked the turning of the year, when fire bowed to frost and kings remember the cost of their thrones.
• I can feel the heat on my face, can taste it in the wine — sharp, spiced, and too sweet. Around me the courtiers laugh too loudly, their smiles crack by greed. The lords wear red and gold to honor the flame, but their hearts were all coal: black, waiting for a spark.
• Father sits upon the dais, his crowns glinting like molten metal, pretending not to notice how the nobles circled him like moths. The musicians’ strings quivered beneath the noise, and the scent of roasted pheasant, honeyed fruit, and ambition fills the air.
• My gaze hurls daggers at Clara, radiant and smug beneath the weight of praise she scarcely deserves.I find comfort in knowing that by tomorrow’s dusk, these walls and their venom will be behind me — and I’ll be where my heart dares to belong.
• The King leans toward me, his voice soft enough to be mistaken for kindness. “It’s a feast, Tatianna. You could at least smile. We don’t have to be like this today", he whispers smiling at the guests.
• I turn to him, my lips curving into the kind of smile that cuts. “You’re right, Father. You replacing my mother with that silken-tongued schemer, and asking me to watch while she twists your heart and poisons what’s left of ours—yes, that’s certainly worth celebrating.” I lift my glass, the crystal catching the light like a blade. “To Clara.”
• Before he can respond, I drink, the wine burning like truth down my throat, and slip away from the crowd—leaving his stunned silence behind me like an echo — to breathe, to think, to dream of freedom. That’s when I hear it.
• Her voice.
• “You’ve done well, my love,” Clara purrs.
• And then his.
• “Soon she’ll be gone, and the throne — and her father — will be yours to sway.”
• My breath gets caught. Every word was a knife, twisting slow and deliberate. The world stops.
• I press myself against the wall, my pulse louder than the drums in the hall. I want to run in and claw the smugness off their faces. Their words shatter something inside me. My knees nearly buckle, and I bite down on my lip until I taste blood, desperate to keep from crying out. The torchlight flickers as if the castle itself recoils at the sight.
• I turn away, each breath trembling in my chest, each step heavier than the last. My world—once built on defiance and love—is collapsing into ashes.
• My heart is still pounding when I reenter the great hall. The music roars, laughter spills like wine, and not a single soul noticeds the ghost that has just walked back among them.I smoothen my gown, paint calm upon my face, and join the living lie of the feast.
• Clara laughs near the dais, her hand resting lightly on my father’s arm. The sight of them burns, but I swallow the fire whole. I would not give her the pleasure of seeing me break.
• Then I feel him — Ric — before I even see him. He moves through the crowd like a shadow in uniform, his expression unreadable. He bows slightly as he reached me, the image of loyalty. Only I can see the tremor at the corner of his jaw.
• “Now,” he murmurs under the music, “it’s time.”
• Placing a hand over mine, his touch colder than I remember.
• “You’ll feign illness, slip away quietly. The guard outside your chambers will have what you need.”
• I nod, my lips curving into a faint, obedient smile. I play my part flawlessly — after all, I had learned from the best deceivers in the kingdom.
• Moments later, I press a hand to my temple, muttered something about the heat, and excused myself from the feast. Concerned whispers follow, but none dared question the King’s daughter.
• Outside my chamber, the guard stands waiting, as promised. He hands me a bundle of plain clothes, and I change swiftly, shedding silk for anonymity. The corridors are quiet now, the hum of the banquet fading behind layers of stone.
• The night air greets me cold and sharp as I make my way to the cliffs — our cliffs. The place where secrets had been whispered, where promises were sealed in stolen kisses. The place where I had believed love lived.
• Ric iss already there, the wind pulling at his cloak. The moonlight carved his face into something unrecognizable. “You came,” he said, as if he hadn’t been the one who betrayed me only hours ago. “Of course I came,” I whisper. “Why wouldn’t I? You said we’d run away… start anew…”
• He steps closer, and I see it then — the flicker of guilt that vanished almost as soon as it appears. “Tell me, Ric,” I said, my voice trembling, “was it all a lie? Every word, every promise? Or did you at least love me once?”
• His eyes dart away, just for a moment — and that moment was my answer. “Please,” I say, stepping closer, tears cutting cold trails down my face. “We can still go. You don’t have to do this. Choose me. Just once—choose me.”
• He reachs for my face, thumb brushing away a tear that hadn’t even fallen yet. For a fleeting second, his touch is almost tender. “I wish I could,” he whispers.
• And then he shoves me.
• The world dropps away. The wind teas the scream from my throat before it can leave my lips. The last thing I see was his silhouette, standing unmoved at the cliff’s edge, framed by the burning glow of the palace behind him.
• Then — nothing.
• Only the echo of the feast, the faint roar of the crowd celebrating my disappearance… and the truth that love had killed the last piece of me that believed in it.