PART 1: THE SERVANT BOY THE PRINCESS MOCKED

Princess Seraphina laughed before the entire royal court.

The sound echoed through the ancient throne hall like a silver blade.

In front of her stood a boy no one cared to name properly. Rowan, sixteen, dust-covered, barefoot on cracked marble, his torn beige servant tunic hanging from his shoulders like shame. He had spent the morning cleaning ashes from the royal fireplaces, yet somehow a guard had dragged him into the hall after finding him staring too long at the throne.

“You?” Seraphina said, lifting one pale hand and pointing at him. “Near the throne?”

The nobles chuckled.

Rowan lowered his eyes.

“A filthy servant boy should know where he belongs,” she continued. “On his knees. Not near the seat of kings.”

A few courtiers smiled behind jeweled goblets. The royal guards tightened their grip on their spears. Rowan’s face burned, but he said nothing.

Then the throne hall answered for him.

The first dead torch burst into

golden flame.

Then another.

Then all of them.

The laughter died.

The stone lions carved beside the throne turned their heads, slowly, impossibly, toward Rowan. Dust lifted from the marble floor in a perfect circle around his bare feet. Above the throne, the ancient crown crest cracked open with living light.

Princess Seraphina stepped back.

“What is this?” she whispered.

Rowan looked down as golden veins spread through the floor beneath him.

And beneath the dust on his collarbone, a royal mark began to glow.

The old royal advisor dropped his cane.

“No,” he breathed. “That mark disappeared with the murdered heir.”