I Was Never Their Princess

The fire took seven years from Liriel’s mind. That was how the court physicians explained it: the curse had trapped her memories in a loop, leaving her to relive the winter she was seven. She could still learn, still choose, and still understand the hurt in another person’s face. But when the silver bells rang, the old terror came back, and she reached for the role that made her feel safe. Our family decided the cure was to give her that role forever. Mother became the Gentle Queen. Father, the Silver Knight. Caerwyn, the prince who guarded the throne. And I was made to wear iron weights around my ankles and play the wicked, limping servant who envied the little princess. Every Midwinter Feast, every royal visit, every family portrait: the same play. The court called it the Hearth Rite. My parents called it kindness. I called it my childhood. Thalion was the first person who took the weights off without being asked. He found me behind the old chapel after the rite, my ankles raw beneath my stockings. He knelt in the snow and unfastened the iron bands. “Elowen,” he said, anger shaking his voice, “from now on, I’ll be good only to you.” I believed him. Seven years later, I brought him home as my betrothed. Liriel saw the green-gold circlet he had brought for me and reached for it. “Can I be the princess tonight?” No one answered her. They looked at me. I wanted Thalion to say no. Instead, he lowered his eyes and took the toy sword Caerwyn offered him. “It’s only one more rehearsal,” he murmured. “Let’s keep the peace.” The next day, before the high court and the allied houses, I stood in my wedding gown while Liriel clutched the train. “I want to be the bride,” she cried. Caerwyn shoved a pointed black cap into my hands. “You’ve played the cruel servant all these years. One more day won’t kill you.” Mother held out the iron ankle weights. “Do you want to bring on another episode in front of the whole court?” Father pressed Liriel to his chest. “There can only be one princess in this family. Be sensible.” I looked to Thalion. He took the black cap and placed it on my head himself. “Just for today,” he said. “You know you’re the one I’m marrying.” Something in me went very still. I removed the betrothal ring and held it out to Liriel. “A princess needs a royal jewel.” Her fingers closed over it. The herald, uncertain, asked which daughter would walk the vow path. Thalion released my hand. “Let Liriel try. It’s just a ceremony.” So I sat below the dais in the servant’s cap while my sister wore the gown I had designed and the white irises I had grown in my Aelwen’s garden. My mother wept as the court scribes recorded Liriel’s “first royal procession.” Caerwyn placed her hand in Thalion’s. When Liriel kissed his cheek, Thalion did not move away. He only brushed her hair back. “Little princess,” he said fondly, “we’re rehearsing. Your sister will be upset if we make this too real.” I smiled. “I hope you’ll be happy together. Thalion always did prefer someone easy to fool.” Liriel’s face crumpled. She snatched up her bouquet and hurled it at me. A crystal pin cut my brow. “Thalion can only marry me!” Everyone ran to her. Thalion took one step toward me, then stopped when Liriel gripped his sleeve. “Don’t be scared,” he soothed her. “I’m here.” My blood ran down my temple. The man who had promised never to let me be wronged had chosen the same side as my family.

Father seized my wrist and dragged me onto the dais. “Apologize to Liriel.” Caerwyn stood beside him, his face stern with borrowed authority. “If you refuse, none of us will attend your wedding. Think what the court will say when the bride’s own house abandons her.” They knew the marriage mattered to me. They had known for seven years. I had spent months choosing the vows and the flowers. Not one of them had asked what I wanted. I looked at Liriel. “I’m sorry.” “Louder,” Mother said. “She’s upset.” I repeated it until my throat scraped raw. Liriel finally smiled. Then she tipped a cup of sweet cream over my head and laughed. “Here. Eat.” My skin began to burn. I was allergic to the cream. I had told them since I was a child. Mother dabbed at the blood on my brow. “We only want to treat you both fairly.” Father kicked my boot when I folded to the floor. “Stop pretending. Apologize properly.” I woke in the palace infirmary with Thalion beside me. The court healer had stopped the swelling and the wheezing. My family had called it another performance until one of the servants saw my lips turning blue. “Why didn’t you tell us?” Thalion asked, shame flickering over his face. I had. Many times. When Liriel was ill, my parents left me with Aelwen in the border village. She chased them off whenever they tried to make me surrender a meal, a dress, or a holiday to Liriel. She died when I was seven, squeezing my hand beneath the blankets. “No one will protect you for me now, little star,” she whispered. “So learn to protect yourself.” I had tried being good for years. It had never made them listen. “Thalion,” I said, “I’m ending the betrothal.” He blinked. “You’re exhausted. You don’t mean that.” “I do.” “After the vows, I’ll take you to the western isles. Just us. No rites, no Liriel.” His voice was tender. His scrying mirror showed a travel charter open on the table. For one foolish moment, I almost believed him. Then Liriel called. Her voice trembled through the mirror. “Thalion, where are you?” His expression softened. “I’m coming, little one.” He turned back to me. “The ceremony is postponed for a fortnight. You need to recover.” My father nodded. “Liriel can finish the preparations. You rest.” I watched Thalion leave. Then I sent a raven to the royal archives and accepted the five-year post I had once declined: envoy to the southern elven court. If they would only ever give me the villain’s part, I would leave the stage.

For two weeks, the court’s enchanted mirrors carried updates from home. The ivory vow hall had been draped in Liriel’s favorite rose-gold banners. My plain white irises had been replaced with glass lilies. My parents stood beside her in their ceremonial robes, smiling as though she were their only child. I returned once to collect my things. Thalion blocked the doorway. “You should still be resting.” “I’m here for my clothes.” He stepped aside, relieved. I packed my traveling cloak, my papers, and the small wooden box hidden beneath my winter gowns. The silver bracelet inside was gone. I found it on Liriel’s wrist in the receiving room. “That’s mine,” I said. “She found it and liked it,” Caerwyn replied without looking up. “Don’t upset her over a trinket.” It was the only thing Aelwen had left me. I held out my hand. “Give it back.” Liriel tucked herself against Mother. “Mean Elowen wants to steal my pretty bracelet.” She drew a sharp breath, watched my face, then began to cry. I knew she was frightened. I also saw her look toward Father to make sure he was watching. She had learned which tears made the room obey. “Liriel, it belongs to Elowen,” I said. “You can be upset, but you can’t keep it.” She jerked her arm away. The bracelet struck the stone floor and broke. For a heartbeat, nobody moved. Then Father slapped me as I bent to gather the pieces. “You frightened her!” he shouted. He forced me down among the shards. “Apologize for making this family choose.” Thalion looked at the blood on my fingers. His boot shifted forward. Liriel made a small, wounded sound, and he turned away to wrap his cloak around her. That was the last answer I needed.