In a kingdom where power is fragile and loyalty is never guaranteed, Grace has spent her life being told who she should be. A princess bound by duty. A symbol of peace. A pawn in a much larger game.
But everything begins to unravel when two very dif...
Have you ever wanted to be someone other than yourself?
Sometimes I wonder who I might be if my life weren't already decided. A nurse, maybe. A writer. Someone ordinary enough to wake up each day with choices instead of obligations.
Ten years ago, the Kingdom of Pheoria was the largest kingdom known, its borders wide and its population growing rapidly. It was a kingdom filled with love, with hope, and with opportunity, one that believed its future was limitless.
And yet, here I am.
Unable to leave.
My name is Grace. I am fifteen years old, and I am the heir to the Pheorian throne. One day, I will take my father's place and become the first Queen to rule Pheoria in nearly three hundred years.
My mother, the Queen, is four months pregnant. My father, the King, carries the constant pressure of keeping our kingdom safe and thriving. And me? I feel pressure in everything, how I dress, how I speak, how I stand, how I exist. Every action is monitored. Every word is weighed.
I suppose that's what happens when you're born into a long line of kings.
No one ever asked me what I wanted.
This is the life that was chosen for me.
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"The unharming sharks glided as if with padlocks on their mouths; the savage sea-hawks sailed with sheathed beaks."
I continued reading aloud, my voice steady as I sat beneath the open sky.
"On the second day, a sail drew near, nearer, and picked me up at the last."
A groan came from beside me.
"It was the devious cruising Rachel, that in her retracing search for her missing children, only found another orphan."
I closed the book with a soft thud. "The end."
"Well, that was stupid," Leo said, stretched out on the grass with his arms folded beneath his head.
I shot him an annoyed look.
Leonardo Scott. Sixteen.
Son of Roderick Scott, my father's regent, adviser, and right-hand man.
Leo had tan skin and dark brown hair that never seemed to stay in place, no matter how often he combed it. His light brown eyes were sharp and observant, always gleaming with mischief. He was tall for his age and painfully thin, though he ate more than anyone I knew.
We'd known each other since we were babies. His father brought him to the castle whenever business called, insisting I needed someone my age to keep me company while the adults talked politics. Over time, that turned into shared lessons, shared schedules, and the same online schooling courses.
Last year, Leo's mother died from complications related to cancer. After that, my father offered for Leo and his father to move into the castle, to help with royal affairs and ease their transition.
