Marta De La Reina Novels & Stories

I present to you the new Princess of Castile Harika first of Castile. At the end of the speech the old man finally takes his eyes off the paper and examined who was in front of him in amazement while saying: — It is better that memory has not really failed you Mr. Ronald son of the general because his words will be marked in history. We finally have a woman in the royal family to pass on the noble blood to the next generation. —The old man turns his gaze to the desk as he prepares to write the newly dictated speech and says:

Isabel Varela. Amara’s heart stopped. She moved closer to the glass, breath fogging it. “What… what is this?” “It was hers,” Milo said from behind. “Every night she danced here. Alone. In the dark.” The painting captured Isabel younger, fierce, fire in her eyes. A woman who’d survived hell. “She was more than your mother, Amara. She was la reina de fuego — the Queen of Fire.” Amara stared. “She was in the cartel…”

Against all odds. But holding is not the same as winning. And eventually, they could not hold anymore. I turned the page. And found a portrait. Just a sketch, really. Pen and ink. Faded with age. A woman. She was not young in the portrait, but she was not old either. She was somewhere in between, in that particular place where a person stops looking like what they were and starts looking like what they are. Her hair was loose. Her expression was not afraid. Mira. Last Queen of the Witch Covens. Keeper of the High Flame. Killed in the forty-third year of the Crimson War by Aldric the Elder, great-great-grandfather of the current Alpha King.

The priest asked majestically. “Yes, the gracious, I permit you and whatever I say shall be nothing but my truth,” Renai replied, keeping her eyes lowered. “Lady Swann, we are present among the people of Sebria who shall now witness the enthroning of the graceful throne. The very throne that was ascended to the pure maiden and the wife of our former king thirty-three years ago and now, it is time to renew the successor to continue the legacy. So, I may present the Queen of Sebria to hand her position to the following inheritor,” Meriall stood from her throne and stepped down the stairs. Renai didn’t look up to see she was wearing the crown that was going to be hers.

She chooses dresses for both of them. Carefully. Thoughtfully. We return to the palace as the sun begins to set. The halls are quiet again. Familiar. Unchanging. But something feels different. As we walk inside A servant rushes toward us Pale Breathless “My king,” he says urgently. “Queen mother has collapsed.”

ADRIANA “You’ve lost your mind.” I said, glaring at his seated form. He looked high and mighty. And so relaxed, like he isn’t intruding in my personal space. He doesn’t look like someone that has been told to get the hell out about a million times. Instead, he resembles a king on his throne. “I’m glad you recognise who I am.” He boasts, his smile now turning into a full grin. “And I’ve got a throne right beside me for you, my queen.”

She fixed her dress as she noticed a few wrinkles, as if that would make her less old, scary and annoying, and then she strutted away. My stomach started rumbling again because of the smell of freshly baked bread coming from the kitchen. But eating was less of my worry now. I started walking to the exit, and before I could reach the lone door, I noticed a lady sitted in front of the fire. She was on the floor. Eating. “Martha? Is that you?” I asked her as I walked closer to confirm. “Mathilda, you scared me my child.” It was Martha. The head cook of the convent.

“For richer and for richer, till death do you part?” “I do” “Do you Vanessa Decruz accept to be the Queen along side your king?” “I do” “Do you Vanessa Decruz promise to serve the country and its citizen along side your king with diligence and utmost dedication?” “I do” “With the power vested in me as the officiating priest and the former king, I declare you Vanessa Decruz, which will be known henceforth as Vanessa Amaan, as the Wife of Richard Amaan and the Queen of the nation”

The woman assured before cupping her daughter's cheeks and pecking her forehead softly. The mother faces Isabella with a sad look. "Mama loves you, my piccolo fiore." She whispers, both of them closing their eyes as their faces become drenched with tears. [Translation: my little flower] After what seemed like eternity, the woman had finally gained the courage to separate herself from her child. She stood up, making sure to close the closet doors in hopes of hiding her daughter's location. Isabella was able to peek through the small crack of her closet. Her eyes following her mother's figure with a longing glance as her hands cover her mouth, trying to silence her own sobs. Stifling her cries

Elena's POV The Royal Crypt of the North. Snowflakes drifted gently onto the black marble tombstones. I stood in a black mourning dress, silent before a small, newly-dug grave. The headstone was engraved: GALE ASTORIA-WHITEHAWK 2015-2023 BELOVED PRINCE OF THE NORTH FOREVER LOVED "Let's begin," I said to Marcus, who stood beside me. A priest in white robes began to chant the ancient rites.