Chapter Two: The Weight of a Mother’s Choice

Queen Selara – POV,

I walk through the palace corridors, careful to make no sound.

The scroll is hidden in my desk, locked beneath carved cedar panels, but the words still burn inside me. I feel them even now, as though ink has seeped into my bones.

I need clarity.

Guidance.

Something beyond my own heart.

The shrine lies at the edge of the gardens, tucked between ancient stone walls and flowering vines that have climbed higher than memory itself. Its marble steps glimmer faintly under the morning sun, pale and solemn.

I approach the small altar, kneeling before it.

The incense curls around me, rising in slow spirals that twist into the air like whispers meant only for the heavens. Sandalwood and jasmine fill my lungs, familiar and calming, yet unable to quiet the storm inside me.

The priest is already there.

He is old—older than anyone living in this palace, it seems. His hair falls like pale silver threads across his shoulders, and his eyes hold a depth that makes my chest tighten whenever they settle upon me.

He does not greet me as I enter.

He simply nods once, acknowledging my presence.

“Queen Selara,” he says softly, his voice carrying a weight I cannot measure, “you have come because you fear what the scroll has spoken.”

I swallow.

The words cling to my throat like thorns.

“Yes,” I admit. “I… I need to know if the prophecy can be… changed.”

Even speaking the word prophecy feels dangerous.

Unwelcome.

The priest steps closer, leaning lightly on his carved staff. The sound of its base tapping against the stone floor echoes through the quiet shrine.

His gaze lingers on me—not judgmental, but knowing.

Too knowing.

“The second princess,” he begins, his voice low and deliberate, “is marked by this path. A cruel king seeks her hand.”

My chest tightens painfully.

Cruel king.

The words feel heavier now than they did when I first read them.

“But,” he continues, lifting one finger slowly, “the prophecy does not say she is powerless. It only speaks of danger.”

I listen carefully, forcing myself to breathe.

“How she faces it… how her heart responds… that is hers to choose.”

I close my eyes, letting his words settle into the hollow spaces inside me.

“Kiana is still a child,” I whisper. My voice trembles despite my effort to steady it. “She laughs. She plays in the gardens. She runs to the river with her sisters. She doesn’t even know what lies ahead.”

Images rise unbidden—her laughter, bright as sunlight… her curls bouncing as she runs… her fingers brushing flower petals like they are treasures.

“And that,” the priest says gently, “is why your guidance must be careful.”

I open my eyes slowly.

“You must not tell her yet. The weight of knowing can blind her, even before she takes a single step on her path.”

My hands curl into fists against my lap.

Every instinct in me screams to protect her—to warn her, to shield her from what is coming.

But the priest’s words echo in my mind.

She must walk this path.

She must face it.

And she must do it as herself—innocent, free, and unbroken… if she can.

I rise slowly, touching the altar once more.

The stone is cool beneath my fingertips.

I inhale deeply, letting the incense fill my lungs one last time.

Then I leave the shrine quietly.

Outside, sunlight greets me like nothing has changed.

Like no storm waits ahead.

From somewhere beyond the trees, I hear laughter.

Kiana’s laughter.

Bright.

Carefree.

Untouched.

And I wonder… how long can innocence last in a world built for crowns and cruelty?

The palace is quiet this morning, the halls still scented with dew and jasmine.

I sit at my desk, the prophecy scroll hidden safely beneath locked panels, yet my thoughts circle endlessly around my second daughter.

Kiana.

Her laughter drifts upward from the gardens, floating through open windows like music. I rise from my chair and step toward the balcony.

Below, Nyara and Selene run alongside her, chasing one another across the grass. Their dresses billow behind them like banners caught in wind.

Kiana trips slightly but catches herself, laughing instead of complaining.

Always laughing.

Always shining.

I watch for a long moment, letting her happiness settle inside my chest like warmth.

Then I push it aside.

Happiness alone will not protect her.

I must act.

Arven’s name has lingered in my mind for weeks now.

He is noble.

Strong.

From a family whose loyalty to our kingdom has never wavered, even in the darkest years.

More importantly…

He is kind.

I have seen it myself—the way he speaks to servants with respect, the way he listens before responding, the quiet strength in his posture.

He will love her.

Care for her.

And, if fate demands it… stand as a shield against what might come.

I return to my desk and pick up the quill.

The parchment waits before me, blank and accusing.

My hands are steady now, but inside, my heart trembles like leaves in a storm.

Writing letters to Arven’s family feels like opening a door I cannot close.

“To the House of Arven,” I begin slowly, pressing ink into parchment, “in honor of our families’ long-standing ties, I wish to discuss a union between our children…”

I pause.

The words sit heavily on the page.

Permanent.

Binding.

My thoughts drift again to Kiana.

She knows nothing of duty yet.

Nothing of prophecy.

Nothing of kings who may one day seek her hand not out of love—but power.

She believes in laughter.

In sunlight.

In rivers.

In flowers.

She believes the world is kind.

I close my eyes briefly.

I imagine her standing beside Arven—safe, smiling, sheltered from the cruelty the prophecy promises.

Safe.

That word alone is enough to steady my hand.

When the letters are finished, I seal them with wax, pressing the royal crest firmly into place.

A servant waits just outside the chamber.

“Send this immediately,” I tell him.

He bows deeply.

“At once, Your Majesty.”

I watch him disappear down the corridor.

I cannot waste a single day.

Every hour that passes leaves Kiana vulnerable to a future I cannot yet see.

Later, I walk through the gardens.

Past the flowers Kiana loves to tend.

I slow my steps when I see her kneeling beside a row of golden blossoms, brushing her fingers gently across the petals.

Sunlight catches in her curls, turning them to threads of gold.

Her laughter rings through the air again—light, fearless, untouched by shadows.

I wish I could shield her from everything.

But all I can do… is guide the first steps.

And these steps must lead her to Arven.

Even as I watch her now, I know the palace whispers will not wait. Nobles will notice the engagement arrangements soon enough. Questions will rise like smoke.

And Kiana will step into a future she does not yet understand.

I straighten my shoulders, drawing in a slow breath.

I will protect her.

Even if she never knows how much it costs me.