Vaeloria’s POV part 1— Chapter 1: The Girl Who Wanted Peace

  Three centuries ago, Vaeloria lived in a room that always smelled faintly of paper and dust-warm ink.

  It wasn’t a grand room. The floorboards creaked when the wind pressed against the shutters, and the kettle sang too loud because the metal was thin. But there were books stacked in careful towers along the walls, and a narrow table by the window where the light fell clean enough to read by.

  Vaeloria liked that light.

  She liked the quiet that came with it.

  She liked knowing what her day would be before it arrived.

  Her mother did not.

  That morning, Vaeloria was bent over a study text—one of the older ones, with cramped script and margins filled with someone else’s notes—when the door opened without a knock.

  Her mother stepped in with a folded flyer in hand.

  “I feel you should attend this,” she said.

  Vaeloria didn’t look up right away. She finished the line she was reading, traced the last word with her finger, then finally lifted her eyes.

  “Mother,” she sighed, “you know I don’t like gatherings.”

  Her mother’s mouth tightened.

  Vaeloria took the flyer anyway.

  The paper was thick. Official.

  Her eyes moved across the ink.

  And then her face drained of color.

  The King and Queen of the Elven Empire have been slain.All heirs to the throne have been wiped out.The Elven War Council seeks a new Queen.

  Below that, the date.

  Three days.

  Vaeloria’s throat went tight.

  She looked up at her mother, the words still burning behind her eyes.

  “I don’t know if I can do this.”

  “Yes,” her mother said, immediate and sharp. “You can. And you will.”

  Vaeloria blinked.

  “Mother—there are capable people. People who want that kind of life.”

  Her mother’s expression didn’t soften.

  “Things will be better for us if we are in the kingdom,” she said. “Ruling the empire.”

  Vaeloria’s hands curled around the flyer.

  “I prefer to live like this,” she said quietly. “We make enough selling books. There’s food on the table. It’s not fancy, but it’s there.”

  She tried to smile.

  It didn’t land.

  Her mother stared at her like Vaeloria had confessed to a crime.

  “Why do you never dream of something more than what you have?”

  The room turned cold.

  Not the normal cold of winter creeping through old stone.

  A sharper cold.

  Green petals of ice formed in the air around her mother’s shoulders—delicate, crystalline, wrong.

  Vaeloria didn’t flinch.

  She’d seen it before.

  Small bursts. Emotion made physical.

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  “Think of all the good you can do,” her mother said, voice tight. “With a throne.”

  Vaeloria lowered her gaze back to her book, as if the page could anchor her.

  “Mother,” she said, still reading, “I have no need to rule.”

  The cold snapped away.

  The green ice petals vanished like they’d never existed.

  Her mother exhaled—long, controlled, disappointed.

  “If you won’t do it,” she said, “then I will.”

  She turned to leave.

  Vaeloria didn’t chase her.

  “I’m happy with my life,” she murmured.

  And she kept reading.

  The next day, her mother returned with a slip of paper.

  “I registered,” she said.

  Vaeloria took it automatically.

  The ink was still fresh.

  “Could you hold on to it for me?” her mother asked.

  “Sure.”

  A pause.

  “Will you also go with me?”

  Vaeloria’s stomach dropped.

  She hesitated just long enough to feel her mother’s stare sharpen.

  Then she nodded.

  “Sure.”

  Three days later, Vaeloria found herself sitting beneath chandeliers that looked like they’d been carved from frozen sunlight.

  The hall was enormous. Marble pillars. Gold trim. Banners hanging like the empire was trying to remind everyone that it still existed.

  And the feast—

  Vaeloria had never seen that much food in one place.

  Platters of roasted meats. Bowls of fruit that didn’t grow anywhere near their district. Wine so dark it looked like spilled ink.

  Her mother sat beside her in a blue dress that shimmered like water under moonlight.

  Vaeloria sat in a plain green dress.

  With a book.

  Her mother leaned close, voice like a hiss.

  “For once, could you put the book down and look interested?”

  Vaeloria closed it.

  She lifted her head.

  And she performed.

  She laughed when others laughed.

  She smiled when others smiled.

  She nodded at the right moments, asked polite questions, pretended she wasn’t counting the seconds between breaths.

  Inside, her chest was a cage.

  Oh stars. I can’t do this.

  Her hands began to twitch.

  Her ears warmed, flushing red.

  Her breathing turned sharp and shallow.

  Why would Mother bring me here?

  Then the doors opened.

  At the same time, her body decided to run.

  Vaeloria stood too fast, chair scraping.

  She turned toward the exit.

  And a line of guards stepped in front of her like the hall itself had grown teeth.

  Weapons leveled.

  Not to kill.

  To stop.

  The leader of the War Council approached—an older elf with eyes that didn’t blink often.

  “You seem in a rush to leave,” he said.

  Vaeloria’s throat worked.

  “What’s the hurry?”

  He lifted one hand.

  “Sit, dear.”

  The words weren’t loud.

  But they carried.

  Vaeloria’s breathing slowed.

  Not because she calmed.

  Because something in the air told her she would.

  She returned to her seat.

  Her mother leaned close.

  “What was that?” she whispered.

  Vaeloria swallowed.

  “I panicked,” she whispered back. “You know I’m not good with these things.”

  Her mother’s fingers tightened around her wrist under the table.

  “Don’t you do it again,” she murmured.

  Hours passed.

  Names were called.

  People vanished behind side doors and returned with faces that tried to look composed.

  Some looked hopeful.

  Some looked sick.

  When it was her mother’s turn, Vaeloria sat alone at the table, hands folded too tightly.

  A guard approached and sat beside her.

  He looked young for a knight. Too calm to be nervous.

  “You seem on edge,” he said.

  Vaeloria didn’t look at him.

  “My name is Thornevald,” he continued. “What’s yours?”

  Her voice came out small.

  “Vaeloria.”

  “That’s a cute name,” he said, like it was a harmless thing to say.

  Vaeloria’s fingers curled.

  “Would you like to talk until this is over?” he asked. “I assume you’re not participating.”

  “I’m not,” Vaeloria said quietly.

  So they spoke.

  Not about politics.

  Not about the throne.

  Just… small things.

  Enough to keep her from bolting again.

  When her mother returned, she saw the knight at Vaeloria’s side.

  Her expression tightened.

  She grabbed Vaeloria’s hand.

  “Come on,” she said. “We’re leaving.”

  They made it two steps.

  Then the War Council leader’s voice cut across the hall.

  “Hold it right there.”

  Guards blocked the exit.

  “I still have one more person to view,” he said, pointing.

  At Vaeloria.

  Vaeloria’s mouth went dry.

  “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I’m a plus one. My mother was the one being interviewed. I want no part in this.”

  The War Council leader sat as if he’d been waiting for that exact sentence.

  “I understand,” he said.

  Then, with a thin smile:

  “But I am obligated to interview everyone.”

  Vaeloria’s knees felt hollow.

  “Okay,” she whispered.

  The questions came like blades wrapped in velvet.

  “How do you feel about being Queen?”

  Vaeloria swallowed.

  “What would your first order of business be?”

  She stared at the table edge.

  “I would… find myself a husband,” she said, because the words felt safe, because tradition felt like armor. “And make the world a better place.”

  “How?”

  “I would make sure no one goes hungry,” she said. “And make sure everyone lives peacefully.”

  The War Council leader’s eyes didn’t change.

  “There are three factions dividing the empire,” he said. “How would you reunite them?”

  Vaeloria’s hands trembled.

  “I would try to find common ground,” she said. “Work toward peace. Make everyone happy.”

  Hours passed.

  At the end, the War Council leader leaned back.

  “You may go,” he said.

  Vaeloria stood on legs that didn’t feel like hers.

  Outside the room, her mother waited.

  “How did it go?” she asked.

  Vaeloria couldn’t even pretend.

  “I’m not sure,” she said.

  Seven days later, the announcement came.

  Not in their little room.

  Not in the bookshop district.

  In the empire’s voice.

  The War Council declared it publicly.

  Vaeloria would be the new Queen.

  Vaeloria’s lungs stopped working.

  Her vision tunneled.

  The world tilted.

  Her mother’s hand tightened on her shoulder like a claim.

  Vaeloria tried to breathe.

  She couldn’t.

  And then the floor rose up to meet her.

  Darkness took her before she could decide whether to fight it.