Her wedding day was supposed to be the happiest of her life. Lyra walked toward the cathedral altar, her face hidden beneath a silk veil, unaware that every step was bringing her closer to a truth that had been hidden from her for twenty-five years.
In front of every guest, the Dowager Queen stepped forward and struck her with a fury no one expected — so hard that the veil flew into the air, falling slowly onto the rose petals scattered across the marble floor.
“You are not who you claim to be!” the Queen shouted, her eyes burning with an old hatred.
Lyra raised her hand to her face and felt something wet. Three marks, like claws, ran across her cheek. She had never remembered having them. She didn’t remember… a lot of things.
With a trembling hand, she bit down on the gold ring she had worn since childhood — the only thing her adoptive parents had left her. And then, not knowing why, she unrolled a silk banner hidden beneath her dress.
A royal crest. A crown. Two golden lions.
The symbol of a family everyone believed had been wiped out two decades ago.
The cathedral fell into absolute silence. No noble dared to breathe.
“This is impossible,” an elderly advisor murmured, stepping back. “That house was destroyed. Everyone died that night.”
Lyra looked up, the three scars catching the light pouring through the stained glass. For the first time in her life, she understood why she had never known her real parents. Why the Queen had always looked at her with an unexplainable contempt. Why, in her dreams, a burning castle always appeared.
“Come,” she said, with a calm that surprised even her. “I have nothing left to fear.”
The soldiers, who until then had stood motionless against the walls, began to advance. Their footsteps echoed like war drums. They closed in around her, slowly tightening the circle, swords gleaming in the evening light.
Lyra didn’t move. She didn’t lower her gaze.
Because she finally knew who she was. And what was about to happen would change the fate of an entire kingdom.
Would they execute her right there, in front of the throne that should have been hers? Or would someone in that hall remember — too late — a promise made twenty years ago?
