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Story: His Forbidden Princess
one
. . .
Lirien
I pacemy chambers like a caged animal, each step marking another second of my life ticking away behind these gilded walls. Twenty-three years old and I've never felt the rush of true freedom—just the hollow echo of my footsteps in rooms too large and too empty. My fingers trace the silk curtains framing windows that might as well be painted scenes, for all I'm allowed to engage with the world beyond them.
The crown sits heavy on my dressing table—not the actual crown, but its weight, its inevitability. Crown Princess Lirien Vellara, heir to a throne I never asked for, trapped in a life I never chose.
"Your Highness?" My lady's maid enters with a soft knock, her eyes downcast in practiced deference. "The council awaits your attendance."
"Tell them I'm ill." The lie slips easily from my tongue, practiced from years of small rebellions.
"Your father specifically requested?—"
"I said I'm ill." My voice hardens, and I immediately regret it. It's not her fault I'm suffocating. "Forgive me. Tell them I'll be there shortly."
She bows and retreats, leaving me alone with my reflection. My auburn hair has been tamed into an elaborate updo, emerald pins holding captive the strands that would rather run wild. My eyes—the same green as the pins—stare back at me, bright with a defiance I rarely voice aloud.
How many more hours must I spend listening to ancient men debate grain tariffs and marriage alliances while my youth withers away? How many more nights must I lie awake, imagining streets I've never walked, conversations I've never had, kisses I've never...
I press my fingers to my lips, banishing the thought. Princesses don't daydream about kisses from nameless, faceless men. They accept the husband chosen for them and bear heirs for the kingdom. The same tired story, generation after generation.
But not today. Today, I'll ask for something different.
I adjust my formal dress, smoothing the emerald silk that matches my eyes. If I'm to convince Father, I must look every inch the responsible heir.
The palace corridors stretch before me like the inside of a jeweled serpent—beautiful, cold, and winding. Guards stand at attention as I pass, their faces impassive. All except one.
Dain.
His eyes follow me from his post near the council chamber, a storm brewing in those blue depths. My personal shadow for years now, the man who saved my life when I was sixteen and has rarely spoken more than ten words to me since. Yet sometimes, when he thinks I'm not looking, I catch him watching me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.
Like now.
I straighten my spine and lift my chin, refusing to acknowledge the heat that floods my cheeks under his gaze. He's nearly twice my age, worn by battles I can only imagine, scarred both visibly and invisibly. And he is forbidden—not just by the vast gulf of our stations, but by something deeper, something that makes the air between us crackle with unspoken tension.
I force myself to look away and continue toward Father's private study. This is not the time to dwell on my peculiar relationship with my silent protector.
Two guards flank the massive oak doors to Father's sanctuary. They bow and announce my arrival, then swing the doors open to reveal the King hunched over maps and correspondence, his crown discarded carelessly beside a half-eaten meal.
"Father." I curtsy out of habit, though we're alone.
"Lirien." He looks up, his face softening slightly. For all his strictness, I know he loves me. Which makes what I'm about to ask all the more difficult. "I expected you in council."
"I needed to speak with you privately." I approach his desk, forcing my hands to remain still at my sides rather than fidgeting with my dress. "I have a request."
His eyebrow rises. "Proceed."
I take a deep breath. "I wish to travel beyond the palace walls. To see our kingdom—not from a carriage window during ceremonial processions, but truly see it. The villages, the countryside. I want to understand the people I will one day rule."
Silence stretches between us. His fingers drum against the polished wood, a nervous habit he's never managed to break despite years of royal advisors urging him to appear more decisive.
"Absolutely not." His voice is firm, but not angry.
"Father, I'm twenty-three years old. How can I possibly be expected to lead a kingdom I've never truly experienced?"
"You've attended every council meeting, received the finest education from the most esteemed tutors in the land. You know our kingdom through maps and reports and histories—the only way a ruler needs to know it."
. . .
Lirien
I pacemy chambers like a caged animal, each step marking another second of my life ticking away behind these gilded walls. Twenty-three years old and I've never felt the rush of true freedom—just the hollow echo of my footsteps in rooms too large and too empty. My fingers trace the silk curtains framing windows that might as well be painted scenes, for all I'm allowed to engage with the world beyond them.
The crown sits heavy on my dressing table—not the actual crown, but its weight, its inevitability. Crown Princess Lirien Vellara, heir to a throne I never asked for, trapped in a life I never chose.
"Your Highness?" My lady's maid enters with a soft knock, her eyes downcast in practiced deference. "The council awaits your attendance."
"Tell them I'm ill." The lie slips easily from my tongue, practiced from years of small rebellions.
"Your father specifically requested?—"
"I said I'm ill." My voice hardens, and I immediately regret it. It's not her fault I'm suffocating. "Forgive me. Tell them I'll be there shortly."
She bows and retreats, leaving me alone with my reflection. My auburn hair has been tamed into an elaborate updo, emerald pins holding captive the strands that would rather run wild. My eyes—the same green as the pins—stare back at me, bright with a defiance I rarely voice aloud.
How many more hours must I spend listening to ancient men debate grain tariffs and marriage alliances while my youth withers away? How many more nights must I lie awake, imagining streets I've never walked, conversations I've never had, kisses I've never...
I press my fingers to my lips, banishing the thought. Princesses don't daydream about kisses from nameless, faceless men. They accept the husband chosen for them and bear heirs for the kingdom. The same tired story, generation after generation.
But not today. Today, I'll ask for something different.
I adjust my formal dress, smoothing the emerald silk that matches my eyes. If I'm to convince Father, I must look every inch the responsible heir.
The palace corridors stretch before me like the inside of a jeweled serpent—beautiful, cold, and winding. Guards stand at attention as I pass, their faces impassive. All except one.
Dain.
His eyes follow me from his post near the council chamber, a storm brewing in those blue depths. My personal shadow for years now, the man who saved my life when I was sixteen and has rarely spoken more than ten words to me since. Yet sometimes, when he thinks I'm not looking, I catch him watching me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.
Like now.
I straighten my spine and lift my chin, refusing to acknowledge the heat that floods my cheeks under his gaze. He's nearly twice my age, worn by battles I can only imagine, scarred both visibly and invisibly. And he is forbidden—not just by the vast gulf of our stations, but by something deeper, something that makes the air between us crackle with unspoken tension.
I force myself to look away and continue toward Father's private study. This is not the time to dwell on my peculiar relationship with my silent protector.
Two guards flank the massive oak doors to Father's sanctuary. They bow and announce my arrival, then swing the doors open to reveal the King hunched over maps and correspondence, his crown discarded carelessly beside a half-eaten meal.
"Father." I curtsy out of habit, though we're alone.
"Lirien." He looks up, his face softening slightly. For all his strictness, I know he loves me. Which makes what I'm about to ask all the more difficult. "I expected you in council."
"I needed to speak with you privately." I approach his desk, forcing my hands to remain still at my sides rather than fidgeting with my dress. "I have a request."
His eyebrow rises. "Proceed."
I take a deep breath. "I wish to travel beyond the palace walls. To see our kingdom—not from a carriage window during ceremonial processions, but truly see it. The villages, the countryside. I want to understand the people I will one day rule."
Silence stretches between us. His fingers drum against the polished wood, a nervous habit he's never managed to break despite years of royal advisors urging him to appear more decisive.
"Absolutely not." His voice is firm, but not angry.
"Father, I'm twenty-three years old. How can I possibly be expected to lead a kingdom I've never truly experienced?"
"You've attended every council meeting, received the finest education from the most esteemed tutors in the land. You know our kingdom through maps and reports and histories—the only way a ruler needs to know it."