Reign Evermore: Once Upon A Lottery

Hi there, dear reader. First, let me thank you for picking up Once Upon A Lottery. Stories are living things—they don’t exist without someone to tell them and someone to listen. So the fact that you’re here, turning these pages, already makes this book a shared journey between us. This story has been growing in me for a long time. I’ve always been fascinated by the idea of fate—how one unexpected moment can change everything. What if your whole life could shift with the draw of a name? What if destiny didn’t care about wealth, titles, or bloodlines, but about the courage of an ordinary girl? That was the seed that grew into Everleigh’s tale. Everleigh begins this story with very little: no status, no resources, no claim to glory. She comes from the fringes of her kingdom, where survival matters more than shining gowns or polished manners. She’s not the kind of girl anyone would expect to see inside a palace—yet fate has a way of turning expectations upside down. When the kingdom a

Morning always came quietly in the village of Aramore, like the kingdom itself was reluctant to rise. The thatched roofs dripped with dew, smoke from hearth fires drifted lazily into the dawn air, and the cries of crows overhead signaled the day’s toil waiting to be claimed. Everleigh stirred awake in her narrow cot, the chill of early spring curling around her bare arms. The cottage she shared with her aunt was small—two rooms and little more. The single window above her bed was clouded with age, but when she wiped the glass with her sleeve, faint sunlight broke through. She caught her reflection. The sight always gave her pause. The familiar shape of her face stared back, but it was her eyes that never seemed to belong. In Aramore, everyone’s gaze was brown or blue, their hair black as coal. Hers were neither. Her hair caught the light in shades that marked her as different, and her eyes—green, bright as moss after rain—had been the subject of cruel whispers since childhood. A c

The sky was painted in streaks of violet and rose by the time Rowan and Everleigh left the marketplace. Merchants were folding down stalls, calling last-minute prices for bruised fruit or day-old bread. The hum of the crowd dimmed to the soft murmur of families hurrying home, shadows stretching long across the cobbled streets.Rowan carried the small basket in his hand—half filled with Everleigh’s errands for her mother, half with things he had slipped into it when she wasn’t paying attention. Fresh honey cakes from the baker’s daughter, a bundle of herbs far too fragrant to be cheap. She had rolled her eyes when she noticed, but he had only smirked, daring her to argue.Now, as they turned onto the quieter lanes that led to her part of the village, the easy noise of the market was replaced by silence. Houses huddled close together here, their roofs sagging, walls patched with mismatched stone. Laundry still dripped from ropes strung between windows. A stray cat darted across the path

Everleigh’s legs felt like lead as she moved through the crowd. Every step toward the platform seemed to echo in her chest. Mothers clutched daughters, whispering last-minute encouragements. Fathers straightened their backs, staring at the elder’s raised scroll as if it could shield their girls from fate. The cobblestones under her feet seemed to stretch endlessly, each one a reminder that her life was about to change—or be chosen for someone else to shape.She kept her gaze forward, though her mind kept darting around, searching. For Rowan. For anything familiar. For the reassuring grin that had always made the world feel lighter. But there was nothing. No trace of him.Only the masked man.He remained near the edge of the platform, leaning slightly, his gaze locked on her. His mask hid the upper half of his face, but the intensity in his eyes cut through the layers of fabric, the blur of villagers, and the soft whispers of fear and excitement around her. It made her skin prickle.Wh

The palace doors groaned open, tall enough to swallow the entire crowd of carriages at once, wide enough for armies to march through. Everleigh stepped hesitantly across the threshold, the soles of her worn shoes clicking against a floor polished so brightly she almost saw herself reflected in the marble. The sound echoed, swallowed up by high ceilings, chandeliers dripping with crystal, and tapestries depicting kings whose eyes seemed to follow her every move.Around her, the other girls poured inside, their chatter swelling into a nervous hum. Some clutched one another’s hands as though they might drown in the sheer enormity of the space, while others lifted their chins, their gowns whispering with self-assurance, already imagining themselves at home among gilded halls.Everleigh’s breath caught in her throat. She had never seen such wealth—not in paintings, not even in dreams. The palace smelled faintly of roses and candle wax, and the air itself felt heavy, saturated with history