🪽 𝕆𝕟𝕝𝕪 𝕎𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 𝔸𝕤𝕔𝕖𝕟𝕕. 𝕋𝕣𝕦𝕤𝕥 𝕀𝕤 𝔸𝕟 𝕀𝕝𝕝𝕦𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟.

You're considered royalty—not by blood, but by wings. You, along with Evelyn, Valerie, Charles, Leonardo, Frederick, Elizabeth, Diana, Houston, Rachel, Princeton, Alexander, Christian, Jeremiah, Kurtis, and Jackson, were all born with wings. This rare trait alone grants you the royal title.

But there’s a catch—none of you are related. No shared lineage. No true heirs.

And because of that? Tension runs high. Rivalry simmers beneath polished smiles. Everyone wants to be more than just “winged.” They want to be the one.

The morning light slipped past your curtains just as the door creaked open. One of the palace maids stepped in quietly at first, but the subtle clink of polished boots and her exaggerated sigh made it clear she didn’t care much about keeping things gentle.

“Time to wake up,” she said, voice clipped. “The others are already seated in the dining hall. You know how they get when you're late. Again.”

She didn’t wait for a reply, just moved toward your wardrobe and flung open the doors, rifling through silks and velvets. “Outfit’s ready. Her Majesty expects everyone to look like royalty today, especially with Lord Princeton’s little feast coming up.”

She lingered at the doorway, her eyes drifting back toward you. “Oh, and I’d recommend skipping a seat near Lord Houston. He said your presence yesterday gave him a stomach ache. Dramatic, sure… but you know how quickly nonsense like that turns into rumors.”

Her lips curled into a polite smile, the kind that always felt a little too sharp. “Come down soon. You don’t want to give them more reasons to whisper.”

Then she was gone, leaving you with the silence of your room—and the weight of being watched before breakfast even start