Backstory:
Once, in an age blurred by the golden mists of time, there flourished a kingdom unlike any other—Valkarein. Majestic and mighty, it stood proud among all realms, ruled by the wise and revered King Evander. He was a man forged of fire and righteousness, a sovereign whose strength inspired armies and whose justice brought peace.
By his side were six women—one empress and five concubines—each with beauty, charm, and ambition. Yet, only one ever touched his heart beyond the throne—Evelyn, his third concubine. A woman of quiet grace, gentle hands, and eyes that held the weight of the moon. In her, he found peace. In her arms, he found love.
From their union was born the crown jewel of Valkarein: Prince Lionell.
With the strength of a king and the serenity of his mother, Lionell was a living symbol of hope. His presence was like sunrise over Valkarein's towers—bright, comforting, and destined for greatness. He grew beneath Evelyn's loving gaze, and every moment in her arms shaped the man he would become.
But no story of royalty is untouched by envy.
The empress, Virelle, a woman of silvered venom and ambition as sharp as glass, watched with cold fury. She waited, plotted, and when the time was right, she struck. With poison in the emperor's cup and lies in the prince's ear, she stole the throne's heart away. King Evander perished, and Evelyn—once beloved, now slandered—was exiled. She left with nothing but broken dignity and the ghost of a son's warmth she could no longer feel.
Lionell was only fifteen.
His world had crumbled—but not entirely. In the hollow left by his mother's absence, one presence still kept him whole. One soul remained tethered to his own—Maribel, or Bella, as he called her, with a softness reserved only for her.
Bella, the illegitimate daughter of the kingdom's most respected general, had no titles, no claims—but her spirit needed none. With laughter like windchimes and a heart made of wildflowers, she walked beside Lionell since childhood. Together, they grew up under the strict tutelage of Ardenhall Academy of Excellence and Elitism, where royalty and prodigies were shaped.
But even in the cold halls of elitism, their bond bloomed like something sacred. A silent promise. A vow unspoken, yet felt in every glance, every stolen touch.
They were everything to each other. She, his sanity in chaos. He, her sky in a world that questioned her worth. Love did not just grow between them—it had always been there, like a shared breath between two halves of one soul.
The court whispered their names together with certainty. Servants smiled at the way they looked at one another. Even the stars above Valkarein seemed to align for them.
But Empress Virelle, haunted by the shadow of Evelyn's memory, would not let the past repeat.
She sent a proposal to the army general—asking for Maribel's hand, not for the crown prince, but for her own son, Xalric. It was a venom-laced move, hidden beneath diplomacy. The general, loyal and loving, refused at first. He had seen the way Lionell's eyes softened for his daughter, and how Bella came alive in his presence.
But Virelle was a master of doubt. She told him Bella's birth would be a stain on the crown—a disgrace to Valkarein's legacy. That the people would not accept a queen born of no name. That her love, no matter how pure, would bring ruin.
And so, the general broke.
Torn between father and patriot, his heart a battlefield of love and fear, he surrendered to the pressure. With trembling hands and a soul heavy with guilt, he accepted the proposal.
Unaware, perhaps, that in doing so, he had just sentenced two hearts to a slow, silent shattering.
And so, Maribel—Bella—was bound by duty, not desire, to Xalric.
When the news reached the Crown Prince, it ignited a fury unlike any he had ever known. Lionell's rage was blinding, consuming—an inferno of betrayal and desperation. He could not fathom a world where Bella belonged to anyone but him. In his mind, she was his—always had been, always would be.
That night, the world stood still.
The air was heavy with unshed storms as Lionell, wild with rage and desperation, burst into Bella's chamber. She turned to him, startled, heart leaping at the sight of the man she had once loved with such purity. But what stood before her was not the boy who had chased stars with her under Ardenhall's sky. This man's eyes burned—not with affection, but with possession.
He didn't speak. Words had long left him.
And then, in one desperate, devastating act, he took what had once been meant only for love.
Bella's soul fractured.
There was no tenderness, no reverence. Only a storm of anger, of pain, of betrayal masked as desire. She had dreamed of giving herself to him—not like this. Not in fear. Not in silence. Not as a prisoner in the arms of the one person she had believed would never hurt her.
In those harrowing moments, her world collapsed inward. The boy she had once trusted with her heart now held her in a grip that stole her breath. His touch, once her haven, now felt like chains. She wanted to cry out, to stop time, to wake from a nightmare—but all she could do was let the tears slip silently down her cheeks.
She loved him. Oh, how she loved him.
But as he ravaged what they once held sacred, all she saw was a stranger. A monster carved from rage and obsession. A man who no longer remembered the girl who had waited in the rain for him, who had held his hand in silence when his mother was exiled, who had stitched his wounds and whispered promises of forever.
That night, he didn't just steal her innocence.
He shattered her trust.
He killed the last of her hope.
And though her body survived, something inside her never did.
The man she had once seen as her light, her sanctuary, had become unrecognizable—a creature of torment, not tenderness. Her heart, once so full of warmth for him, now trembled in fear. That night didn't just take her innocence—it broke her spirit.
In the end, the Crown Prince got what he desired. They were wed. She wore the crown, but it weighed heavier than chains.
But at what cost?
The girl who once danced barefoot through garden paths, who filled the cold palace halls with laughter, slowly faded. Her radiance dulled. Her smile became an echo of what it once was—polite, practiced, and painfully hollow. The flame in her eyes, once alight only for Lionell, had long since dimmed.
She became a ghost trapped in velvet and gold, her days confined to a chamber she could no longer leave. The prince—her once gentle Lionell—had become possessive, paranoid, and cold. His love had curdled into obsession. He kept her caged like something fragile and forbidden, fearing the world would steal her away.
And so, Bella withered.
Her body, like her soul, began to weaken. Loneliness crept into her bones. The miscarriages came like cruel whispers of what could've been—each one draining what little life remained within her. Her soft hands, once entwined in Lionell's with affection, now trembled in silence. The girl who once lit up Valkarein was fading—petal by petal, moment by moment.
Until, one cold morning, she simply... slipped away.
The kingdom mourned the passing of their silent rose. But none mourned more than Lionell.
For when she died, so too did the last sliver of the man he once was.
He wept for her in solitude, clinging to the empty space where her warmth used to linger. The guilt devoured him, leaving nothing behind but a shell wrapped in royal robes. He neglected the kingdom, the throne, the very legacy they once dreamed of ruling together. His crown felt meaningless, his titles bitter. What use was power when the one you loved feared your touch?
And in that darkness, Xalric found his chance.
Seizing the moment, he poisoned Lionell's wine with quiet glee. As the prince lay writhing in silence, life seeping from his lips like a penance paid too late, Valkarein fell into new hands.
Thus ended the story of the Crown Prince and his beloved—a tale of love turned obsession, of light swallowed by its own shadow.
A tale where the prince lost everything, not to war or fate—but to the monster he became in love's name.