The kingdom was bustling with preparations for a grand royal celebration—the sixth birthday of Princess Adara. Whispers of anticipation danced through every corridor and garden. It would be a gathering of nobles from all corners of the region, marking Adara's formal introduction to the aristocratic world that was meant to shape her future.
The palace teemed with activity: chefs moving in haste, florists decorating the halls with cascades of vibrant petals, and servants ensuring that every detail was in place. At the center of it all stood the young Adara, barely six years old, already acting as if she were queen of the court.
Queen Victoria entered her daughter's chambers to find a long row of luxurious, intricately embroidered dresses laid out in careful arrangement. The maids looked visibly uneasy as Adara stormed around, shouting, "This is ridiculous! None of these dresses are right! Where is the designer I requested? These aren't Karl Vanche originals! These are cheap imitations—used and tired! I refuse to wear them! This party is meant to present me as a noble princess!"
What Adara didn't realize was that her mother had been watching in silence. Queen Victoria stepped forward and spoke in a calm, measured tone, "These gowns are all exquisite. Truly, they radiate elegance. But with your fiery hair and amber eyes, I believe this warm burnt-orange dress suits you best."
"I don't want it!" Adara snapped. "Call the designer—now!"
Queen Victoria turned to the maids. "Leave us. And inform the designer waiting in the antechamber that the dress has already been chosen."
As the maids exited, Adara stomped her foot in protest and pouted. "Father said I could choose whatever I wanted! Why do you always ruin everything for me, Mother?"
Victoria fixed her daughter with a firm, unwavering gaze. "If your happiness lies only in gowns and jewels, then you are unfit to be a princess—let alone a queen. I had hoped to raise you to be wise, kind, and humble. A woman who does not trample the weak or look down on others. But each day, I see more of a spoiled child who sees no one but herself. I have failed with you, Adara."
Adara's eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but she held them in. "Is that my birthday gift? Harsh words?" she whispered. "Father said I could choose freely."
"Choice does not mean cruelty," Victoria replied sharply. "Those servants you belittle—they are people with families, children, burdens. That maid you scolded may be working to save her sick son or keep her home. But you only see yourself. And if Orin is the one teaching you this behavior, then he has only taught you selfishness. You, Adara, are selfish. That is your title."
She paused, then added, "This birthday was supposed to be a joy. You've turned six, and I ensured you received the best education. But what good is it if you've learned nothing about dignity?"
"I study politics, economics, history!" Adara argued. "Orin says I will grow to lead our kingdom to prosperity!"
"But not with compassion," Victoria said bitterly. "You will not be a merciful queen. You will be remembered for your pride. The people will curse your name. History will paint you as a tyrant. That is the legacy you're carving now."
She lowered her voice. "I never liked these royal gatherings. My father forced them upon me. He tried to shape me into a cold, elitist daughter and married me off to your father for political gain. I had hoped so deeply that you would be different. But it seems I was wrong."
With that, Queen Victoria swept out of the room, leaving Adara fuming in silence, her face burning with indignation as she glared at the row of dresses.
Elsewhere in the palace, Victoria walked with composed urgency toward King Harold's study. She requested entry, and once granted, stepped inside. "Harold, you haven't left this room in days," she said. "What's keeping you so occupied?"
Harold didn't look up from his documents. "The eastern alliance is faltering. And last night, we discovered our drinking water had been poisoned. We still don't know with what."
Moments later, Orin was announced and entered the room with a formal greeting. Harold stood. "Any updates on the poisoning?"
"The water is indeed contaminated," Orin confirmed, "but we've yet to identify the substance."
Harold slammed his hand on the desk. "I'm tired of hearing 'we don't know.' I need answers, Orin. Not speculation."
"I won't stop until I find the truth, Your Majesty," Orin promised solemnly.
Victoria observed them both, then spoke, her voice tinged with suspicion. "Do you think this could be connected to the past? Harold... could this be because our daughter's birthday is approaching?"
Harold waved her off. "Enough with the paranoia. Don't conjure ghosts where none exist."
But Victoria murmured under her breath, "Nothing has ended... not until I find her."
She turned and walked out, her steps echoing in the hallway. Orin watched her leave, then turned to the king with worry in his voice. "She still hasn't forgotten Princess Luna."
Harold gripped his pen tightly, staring at the door. "She will forget, Orin," he said with a cold finality. "She must for Luna's sake."