It had been three hours of wandering the palace gardens in murderous cold.
My name is Anaa Navida de Vosca—a name as heavy as the crown I was never allowed to touch. I was named after my mother and our kingdom, the firstborn child to the throne. Once, life had been gentle to me. Once, it had been a blessing.
That was before my mother's sudden death.
She had been replaced far too quickly, and that replacement was the very reason I now stood shivering in a snow-covered garden, my fingers numb and my breath coming out in shallow clouds.
My father, the King of Vosca, had never been one for affection. His marriage to my mother had been forced, and from the day she died, he looked at me as nothing more than an obligation—one he tolerated but never cherished.
Tomorrow, he would receive guests from the Kingdom of Ares. Why they were coming, I did not know. Nor did I care.
What I cared about was the queen's cruelty.
She had ordered me into the gardens to compile a list of blooming flowers—flowers she had personally specified—despite knowing none of them bloomed in winter. The task was impossible by design, a quiet punishment meant to remind me of my place.
"Anaa!"
The sound of my name snapped through the cold.
I should mention this now—no one acknowledged my birthright anymore. To the palace, I was no longer a princess. The queen had seen to that. I had been reduced to a common maid, stripped of my title and dignity alike.
"Here," I answered, my voice strained from hours in the cold.
"The queen orders you to report to her chambers immediately," the maid said. Once the message was delivered, she walked away with her shoulders high, pride clinging to her every step. I could not fault her. The queen rewarded obedience with borrowed arrogance.
I hurried toward the queen's chambers. Delay meant punishment, and punishment was something I had learned to fear.
I knocked.
Once.
Twice.
No response.
I would never dare enter without permission. I raised my fist to knock again when the door opened abruptly, causing me to startle.
"Come in," Cynthia, the queen's lady-in-waiting, instructed coolly.
Anaa bowed deeply, lowering her gaze as she stepped inside.
"I bow to the Queen of Vosca," she greeted.
"On your knees," the queen commanded without preamble.
Anaa obeyed instantly. Disobedience carried consequences she had no wish to endure.
"Since you failed to complete your task," the queen said, her hawk-like eyes pinning Anaa to the floor, "I trust you are prepared for whatever punishment awaits you."
"Yes, my Queen," Anaa replied softly, her heart pounding. She already knew the possibilities—whipping, hours of kneeling, or a full day of exhausting labor for the royal household. None of it would be new.
"The guests your father expects will arrive tomorrow," the queen continued. "You will oversee all preparations. Any mistake, and I will make you regret being born."
As if I don't already, Anaa thought bitterly.
"If only my mother were alive," the thought whispered inside her, "none of this would be happening."
"I shall take my leave now," Anaa said aloud, her head bowed.
"One more thing," the queen added. "You will ensure Elizabeth's attire and preparations for tomorrow are flawless. You, too, will be properly dressed."
"Yes, my Queen."
"Now get out of my room."
The words were sharp, soaked in venom.
Anaa rose and left without another word.
She had never truly understood the queen's hatred. Not at first.
But in time, she would learn the truth.
Her greatest sin had never been disobedience.
It had been being born first.