From the moment she was conceived, the world changed.

  The old midwives spoke of her glow — not a glow of metaphor or motherly exaggeration, but a true, radiant light that shimmered through her mother’s womb like the first morning sun peeking through dew-swept grass on the horizon of a humble day. It was said that even the birds fell quiet during her birth, and the flowers in the courtyard opened their petals unseasonably, bowing toward the chamber where she first took breath.

  Elizabeth’Ti’Anne, child of the sacred Spire-Bloodline, was born not of ordinary flesh and soul, but of prophecy. Her mother, Queen Morienne of the Peace-Bearing Kin, had once been kissed by Death himself — not in a final farewell, but in a pact. The god of souls granted her borrowed life so that she might bear the child born once every thousand years — the one who would carry the true power of peace, the one whose very presence could silence whispers that curdle into curses which tore worlds apart.

  In her tribe, death was not mourned but a gift— a returning, a homecoming, a soul’s sigh of peace. And so, from her birth, Elizabeth’Ti’Anne knew that one day, her mother would return to the stars. It was not sorrowful; it was sacred. Her mother’s eyes were never dimmed by fear, only filled with awe, and her farewell kiss was one of joy, not despair. “You must learn the world through stories first,” she told her daughter, “before you learn it by foot.”

  Thus began Elizabeth’Ti’Anne’s life in the palace.

  It was not a prison — not truly — but a boundless wonder built from Silverstone, draped in sun-gilded ivy and humming with spells that wards away evil. She wandered its halls like a curious fox cub, her violet eyes wide with questions and her hands always full of treasures — a forever-blooming flower gifted by her brother, a cloak speckled with constellations that shimmered in the dark, a pillow woven from the fur of saber-tooth cats, the largest and softest beasts known in all of the lands.

  The walls of the palace whispered her name, not in fear, but in reverence. Even the breeze seemed to know her footsteps. Every day sections of the palace will be set up with new things, decorated in adornment with items and accessories for her, she was still not allowed to be seen, so it was only set up to happen at the times where she won't be in that area.

  From the nursery she graduated to the Library of Infinity, where shelves twisted like tree branches and maps unfolded at her voice. She studied the world inside her castle — learning of its kingdoms, its rulers, its legends of wars and wonders. There were maps that bled light from their rivers. Globes that turned on their own. Paintings of faraway monarchs and monstrous beasts — submitted by artists who had never laid eyes on her, for none outside the royal guard were permitted to see the princess.

  The world knew of her, but not what she looked like. And so, they speculated. Some whispered she had the eyes of moons and hair spun from starlight. Others believed she was not a girl at all, but a divine spirit wearing skin. But none knew the truth. Her veils remained, as her mother once said, to protect the world — not to hide her.

  She grew not into a recluse, but a radiant bloom behind glass. She was imaginative, optimistic, dream-laced and laughter-filled. Her thoughts were embroidered with dreams of sailboats, mountain climbs, canyon rides, and sandstorms. She could name the languages of ten kingdoms, and speak three. She often told her servants that if she were ever to leave, she would ride a cloud, or perhaps tame a Griffindale Elk.

  But what she loved most in the world… was her brother.

  He, who she had never met. He, who wrote her letters — parchment filled with tales of monstrous tides and laughing storms, of duels won with cleverness and dragons outwitted with riddles. He sent her souvenirs, the kind no traveler could purchase — an hourglass that never emptied, shells that whispered songs, a knife that never dulled yet was never meant to cut. He was her tether to the world. Her imaginary wind.

  She kept every letter in a chest lined with velvet and starlight. And each day, she would reread his words aloud, imagining his voice as though he stood behind her shoulder, grinning.

  And then, one morning, as the wind stilled and the birds hushed, a letter arrived.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  She sat in her plum-colored chair, the one embroidered with peacock feathers and violets, a tenseness rose around her, the hair on her skin prickled as her fingers broke the wax seal.

  The letter read like all the others… at first. Until it didn’t.

  “But at the Dragon’s Keep, you will never return…”

  Her heart stopped. The page shook in her grasp.

  The Dragon’s Keep. The cursed place. The black tower where magic corrupted even time itself. It was said that Victoria, the demonologist, made her home there — a creature not fully dragon, not fully woman, whose voice could enchant armies and whose breath turned minds to madness.

  One book, bound in dragon-scale leather, had warned of the Dragon’s Keep — a cursed place where magic breathed and time bled. She had once asked her tutor if such places truly existed. He paled in comparison to the old color of the pages within the book, then changed the subject.

  “No,” she breathed, her voice barely a whisper. “He wouldn’t…”

  But as she re-read the letter constantly, it did not lie.

  She rushed to the window, clutching the parchment to her chest, and gazed out at the world she had never touched. Her lips quivered. Her vision blurred. The tears began streaming down her flushed cheeks, she could not fathom what she was feeling at first. She could not grasp it, the strain in her chest spread throughout her body, as if the feeling could manifest into life. She strained until she realized she was not exhaling the breath she held. Deep within her, turmoil spun like coils beginning to spin. This cannot be happening, her beloved brother, the only thing she held as close to her as her mother. Though they did not share a mother, her brother had been her first connection to the outside world — and perhaps, the first soul to see her not as sacred, but as real, allowing her to be herself and talk about the adventures she wanted to take.

  Within that trembling, a fire caught.

  She pressed the letter to her heart, remembering his first tale about befriending a ghost captain who only sang sea shanties at dusk. She had laughed so hard, her belly ached. Now, that same chest was heavy with grief. Her world had always been pages, dreams, and painted stars — but this letter turned those stars into spears.

  “I will not lose him,” she whispered, each word steel. “Not to her.”

  She stormed to her wardrobe, flinging open the doors with the force of a summer gale. She skimmed through the closet, pulling out the old backpack her brother once used on his first adventure. It still held the beginner’s tools of travel — worn, but ready. Donned the cloak of constellations. Belted the sword of peace — the silver-edged replica gifted by her father that can convert from a belt to a sword, forged not to kill, but to inspire. Grabbed the map of the land, just to make sure she was on the right path and headed for the dresser in her private room.

  She approached the table and skimmed through the contents of jewelry until she found the locket box her mother gave to her before she passed.

  “If for whatever reason you think to leave the confines of your sacred place, please use this…” her mother weakly said as handed the box.

  With trembling hands Elizabeth’Ti’Anne opened the lid, a tear silently sliding down her cheekbones once again, inside was a golden bracelet. She slipped it on with shaky hands and suddenly her glowing appearance dimmed significantly, almost transforming her into a normal companion. She smiled at her reflection, pleased that her mother knew her so well. It would hide her, yes — but it would also dim her essence. For as long as she wore it, she would not shine, not sense, not be protected by her aura. A small price, she thought. For him. She needed to save him.

  She grabbed her compass. Her journal. A map etched with glowing ink. She had studied every continent, every pass, every port and unmarked trail.

  And just before she turned to leave, she faced the full-length mirror. Her veil lay folded nearby. Her reflection met her gaze — still radiant, otherworldly, full of purpose.

  “Though I am afraid,” she said softly. “I will not let fear blind my path. Not now. Not when my brother needs me.”

  From the gardens below, the birds scattered as the palace doors opened — for the first time in the princess’s life, she aimed to find a way out of this huge place, something she was never taught to know. But for as long as she had lived here, she knew every crack and crevice, and it was time to step into the world she had only imagined.

  And the earth itself seemed to hold its breath — for peace had finally stepped beyond its walls, and the winds of fate began to stir.

  After Chapter 2

  Next Chapter: BOSS

  While the Radiant Princess takes her first step into the world, far from the glimmering Spire, another force stirs — one forged not in light, but in shadow, scars, and survival. His name is Boss. And he has no use for prophecies. He's dirty, dark and all kinds of hunky woe.