I always thought the palace walls were alive.
Every morning, when the golden sun broke over the eastern towers, the white marble seemed to glow as if the kingdom itself wanted to remind us that we were chosen. Birds nested in the courtyards, fountains sang in the gardens, and the people bowed as the royal banners unfurled with pride. To the world outside, we were untouchable blessed, powerful, eternal.
But within these walls, we were still just a family.
My father, King Alden, was not the kind of ruler who needed to remind people of his power. His presence alone filled every hall. He was tall, broad, and commanding, with eyes as sharp as an eagle's but a smile that softened even the hardest of hearts. The guards feared him, the council respected him, and the people adored him. But to me… he was simply Father.
"Rise early, my son," he said one morning, his voice carrying that calm authority that made servants freeze mid-step. "A prince who sleeps too long becomes a king who loses his crown."
I never argued with him though sometimes, truthfully, I wanted to. I was young, restless, curious. I wanted to stay in bed like any other boy my age. But he was right. The crown was heavy, even before it rested on my head.
That morning, I walked beside him through the royal gardens. His steps were steady, deliberate, as though even the earth listened to him. He wore his favorite deep blue robe, embroidered with silver threads that caught the sunlight. The air smelled of roses and fresh dew, and the gardeners bowed as we passed.
"You walk too softly," he teased, glancing down. "The ground must feel you, son. Every step is a message. Walk like a king, even before you become one."
I straightened my shoulders, trying to imitate him, but my effort only made him laugh. His laughter could shake the walls, warm the coldest day, and for a moment, I believed nothing could ever go wrong in our world.
At breakfast in the Great Hall, the family gathered around the long oak table carved with ancient symbols. My sister, Princess Leona, sat across from me. She was sixteen, quick-witted, and often sharper than I cared for. Where I hesitated, she charged forward. Where I obeyed, she questioned. Her beauty was already the subject of whispers in other kingdoms, but I knew better behind her delicate face was a storm that even the bravest suitors would not survive.
"You look tired, brother," she said with a mischievous smile, sipping from her golden cup. "Were you studying last night? Or sneaking into the stables again?"
I rolled my eyes. "Perhaps both."
Father chuckled, but before I could defend myself further, the Queen Mother entered. My grandmother.
The hall grew colder when she stepped in. Draped in black silks that trailed behind her like a shadow, she carried herself with the authority of someone who had ruled long before my father and perhaps believed she still ruled now. Her hair was streaked with silver, her eyes sharp as glass. She didn't smile. She rarely did.
"Discipline," she said, her voice echoing through the hall as she sat. "That is what keeps kingdoms alive. Discipline ,not laughter."
Father's smile faded just a little, but he did not argue with her. No one ever did. Even I lowered my gaze.
At that same table sat my dearest friend, Annie. She was not royalty, not even noble. Her father was the palace steward, and through him, she had grown up among us. She was two years younger than me, always quick to laugh, always daring enough to tease me in ways others couldn't. She winked at me from her seat near the servants, and I fought hard not to grin back.
And then there was Elara.
Elara was the daughter of Lord Riven, one of Father's most loyal councilors. She had only recently begun joining us at meals, as her family's alliance with ours deepened. She was calm where Leona was fiery, soft-spoken where Annie was loud. Her beauty wasn't loud or demanding ,it was the kind that lingered, the kind you remembered long after she left the room.
I tried not to notice her. Truly, I did. But I was seventeen, and trying not to notice was like trying not to breathe.
That morning, she caught me staring, and for the first time, I saw her lips curve into a shy smile. My heart thumped in a way it never did during sword practice.
Father noticed, of course. He always noticed. He gave me a look that was half amusement, half warning, and I quickly lowered my eyes to my plate.
Breakfast continued with the usual mix of laughter, whispers, and the Queen Mother's sharp interruptions. But something about that morning stayed with me. The warmth of Father's hand on my shoulder. Leona's laughter. Elara's smile. Annie's wink. Even the Queen Mother's icy words. It was all so vivid, so alive.
If I had known what was coming, I would have memorized every detail.
Later that day, Father took me to the training yard. The clash of steel rang through the air as the guards sparred. He placed a wooden sword in my hand and raised his own.
"Come," he said. "Show me what you've learned."
I attacked, swift and eager, but he blocked me with ease. Every strike I made, he turned back on me. Every trick I tried, he countered. My arms ached, my chest heaved, but he didn't let up.
At last, he disarmed me with a flick of his wrist. The wooden sword clattered to the ground.
"Strength will win you battles," he said, his eyes burning into mine, "but wisdom wins you kingdoms. Remember, not everyone who bows to you is your friend. And not every smile is honest."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice so only I could hear.
"One day, when I am gone, they will come for you. The council. The generals. Even blood itself. You must be ready. Trust no one too easily not even those you love."
A chill passed through me, though the sun still burned overhead.
"Why speak of this now?" I asked.
He looked past me, as though he could already see the future. "Because the winds are changing. And because you, my son, will inherit not just my crown, but my enemies."
I wanted to ask more. I wanted to hold onto him, to demand that he never speak of leaving me. But before I could, a messenger arrived, bowing low, his face pale.
"Your Majesty," he said, breathless. "Urgent news from the western border…"
And just like that, the day shifted. Father's smile disappeared. The warmth of the morning evaporated. And for the first time, I felt the shadow of the crown pressing down on me.
I didn't know it then. But that was the last truly golden day I would ever see.