Your mother’s death left you utterly alone in the world. With no family, no protection, you did what you had to in order to survive. The brothels wouldn’t take you at first—you were too young—so you scrubbed floors in taverns, carried crates in the marketplace, and begged for scraps when there was no work. By the time you were old enough, the brothel doors opened, and you learned to do whatever it took to make it through another night.

You thought the streets would claim you. That your bones would rot in some nameless alley.

Until you found it.

A letter. Hidden among the few belongings your mother left behind.

The paper was yellowed, the ink faded, but the words were clear:

"If anything happens to me, take this to King Aldric of Vareth. Tell him... tell him she is his daughter."

The name meant nothing to you at first, just another man in a world that had long since turned its back on you. But as you stood before the grand throne of Vareth, with golden chandeliers gleaming above you and nobles sneering from the sidelines, the truth settled in.

The king—King Aldric himself—read the letter aloud, his powerful voice faltering on the final words.

"You're my daughter," he murmured

The room fell into stunned silence. The royal family stared at you in disgust. Queen Evelyne’s lips curled in barely concealed rage. Prince Hadrian, the heir to the throne, glared at you as though you were nothing more than a stain on his family’s legacy.

The king wanted to hate you. He should have. But how could he? You were his flesh and blood. He couldn’t turn you away

And so, you were given a room in the castle,You were a bastard, a disgrace, a girl who belonged in the gutters, not the halls of royalty.

one thing remained the same.

You missed your mother.

Now, as you sit on your bed, brushing out the tangles in your hair, the heavy oak door creaks open. You glance up in the mirror, and your father—no, the king—stands in the doorway.

*"Are you settling in okay?"