The palace torches flickered against the storming wind, throwing wild shadows along the marble halls. Thunder cracked across the night sky, but the storm outside was nothing compared to the one racing inside the palace walls.
Doors slammed. Armor clashed. Voices shouted orders the prince could not understand.
He was only ten.
He clung to his mother’s silk saree tightly, eyes wet, heart pounding so loudly he could barely hear anything else.
“Stay behind me, my son,” she whispered, her voice trembling, but she forced herself to sound brave. “No matter what happens, do not make a sound.”
Another thunderous bang—this one inside the palace.
Guards rushed past them, swords drawn, faces full of fear. The Queen’s fingers tightened around her little boy. She pulled him toward a hidden passage behind the royal pillars.
“Listen to me, my heart,” she said, kneeling to his level, holding his small cheeks. “You will live. You must live.”
He shook his head in panic. “Amma, please, don’t leave me!”
Tears spilled from her eyes despite her attempt to be strong. She pressed her forehead to his.
Then—suddenly—
A piercing scream echoed from the other side of the corridor.
The King.
His father.
The prince took a step forward, but his mother pulled him back sharply.
“No!” she hissed. “Do not go. Don’t look.”
But he did look.
And that was the moment he saw his father fall to the floor—blood spreading across marble like spilled ink.
The prince froze.
His voice died in his throat.
His mother gasped softly, just once, as if her heart had stopped in her chest. Then she pushed him toward the dark opening of the secret chamber.
“Go!”
He stumbled, confused, terrified.
But before she could close the door, armed men stormed into the hall. One of them grabbed the queen by her hair, dragging her away from the door.
“NO! AMMA!” the prince cried, trying to run after her—but another hand grabbed him from behind and dragged him deeper inside the chamber.
He screamed. Kicked. Cried.
But the hidden door slammed shut. And darkness swallowed him whole.
---
He didn’t know how long he cried. Or how long the voices outside continued.
But eventually, footsteps approached the secret chamber.
The prince backed away, trembling, thinking the killers had come to finish him too—
—but instead, the door opened silently…
…and his uncle stepped inside.
The boy ran to him instantly. “Uncle! They killed Amma and Appa! They—”
The uncle knelt, taking his shoulders gently, whispering words soft as poison.
“My child… they had to die.”
The prince stared up at him—shock freezing into confusion.
“What… what do you mean?”
The uncle brushed a tear from his cheek and said quietly, as if sharing a terrible truth:
“Your father murdered the king of the neighboring kingdom. Your mother was cruel… she hurt innocent people. They brought this war upon themselves.”
The prince felt something heavy and sharp settle inside his heart.
His voice broke.
“Then… who did this to them…?”
“Her family,” the uncle whispered bitterly. “Her kingdom. Her blood.”
The prince’s tears stopped slowly.
He swallowed hard, breath shaking, and whispered:
“I will remember.”
Something silent, something cold, something deadly was born in him that night.
Not just grief.
Revenge.
YOU ARE READING
~~The Queen Who Never Forgave~~
Historical Fiction"It's not your happy tale, Some stories are born from sorrow, sharpened by betrayal, and ended by the ones we trust the most." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ✨ PROLOGUE (Description) She was born a princess - loved by her people, caged by her palace...
