The Crown Prince never came to his own wedding.

The chapel had been filled with light that day—gold banners shimmering beneath candlelight, ivory roses lining the aisle, their fragrance soft and delicate in the hush of expectation.

Princess Evelyn had walked forward with measured grace, each step steady despite the quiet storm within her chest.

She had prepared herself.

For duty.
For sacrifice.
For a future she had never chosen.

But the man waiting at the altar—

was not the one she had been promised.

It was his knight.

A stranger crowned in another man’s place.

A vow spoken in a voice that did not belong to the one who should have stood there.

A marriage sealed in absence.

And though Evelyn did not falter—

something within her did.

Few moons later

The kingdom had long since accepted what had transpired.

To the court, the alliance stood.

To the people, their princess had fulfilled her duty with quiet dignity.

And yet—

within the stillness of her own life, something remained unresolved.

Like a question left unanswered.

On certain days, Evelyn allowed herself to leave the palace unseen.

Without silk.
Without jewels.
Without the weight of her name.

Only a simple gown and the quiet anonymity of the village.

There, she could breathe.

There, she could be no one.

It was on such a day that he saw her.

The Crown Prince.

There had been no grand recognition.

No moment of realization.

Only a fleeting pause—as his gaze lingered upon her just a heartbeat longer than it should have.

Curiosity flickered.

Then something softer.

Something unguarded.

He approached her.

As though she were a stranger.

And perhaps— to him, she was.

Evelyn knew him at once.

She had studied his likeness countless times in painted portraits—the man she had been meant to marry, the man who had never come.

The man who had never even cared to see her.

Yet now—

he stood before her.

Looking at her as though she were someone worth noticing.

He spoke with ease.

Walked beside her through quiet streets.

Returned the next day.

And the day after that.

And slowly—

without hesitation—

the Crown Prince began to court her.

Not knowing—

she was already his wife.

Evelyn said nothing.

Not when he smiled.

Not when his voice softened in a way it never had for the name she bore.

Not even when something fragile—something dangerously hopeful—began to stir within her own heart.

Because she needed to know.

How far would he go?

How easily could he give what he had once refused to claim?

And perhaps—

a quieter, more treacherous part of her wondered—

if he could love her like this...

even as someone else.

Or if betrayal would come to him as easily as absence once had.

For Evelyn was no ordinary princess.

Within her blood flowed a blessing older than the crown itself—

a power that did not merely protect,

but reflected the heart that carried it.

And hearts, once broken—

do not always remain gentle.

Should bitterness take root within her—

that blessing would not remain light.

It would grow thorns.

And those thorns would rise beneath the crown.

Long before kingdoms crowned their rulers in gold and carved their banners across the land, the world knew only unity.

At the heart of that unity stood a living wonder—the Tenfold Tree.

Its radiant peach-hued leaves shimmered like starlight beneath the sun, while its glowing soft turquoise trunk pulsed softly with divine magic bright like diamond, as though the breath of life itself flowed through its ancient roots.

From this sacred Tree, each kingdom was granted a living branch—a gift meant to bind the realms together in harmony and balance.

For a time, the world flourished.

But peace is a fragile thing where ambition is allowed to grow.

One by one, the kingdoms turned away from the Tree's blessing. They severed their sacred branches, carving from them relics of conquest and dominion.

Crowns forged from enchanted wood.

Blades steeped in elemental power.

Rings that bound magic to a single master.

Each relic was powerful.

Yet each was flawed.

For the magic that had once flowed freely through living roots became fractured when bound to objects. Over time, its strength faded, and the balance the Tree once protected began slowly to crumble.

Only one kingdom remained faithful.

Elborra.

Under the gentle rule of Queen Clarya, remembered by history as Clarya the Gentle, the people of Elborra tended their sacred Tree with reverence rather than ambition.

They did not carve it into weapons.

They did not strip it of its life.

Instead, they nurtured it.

And for their devotion, the Goddess of Life and Renewal bestowed upon them a blessing unlike any other.

Her voice was said to have echoed beneath the branches like wind through silver leaves.

"For your reverence, I grant you a living gift.Your blood shall carry magic—not fractured into relics, but pure and whole.Light shall flow through you, unbound by artifice.And to those who join your bloodline through love, the blessing shall extend.For love honors life's truest magic.But take heed—should darkness ever take root within your heart,the same light shall turn to shadow.And that shadow will consume the soul that wields it."

Thus the royal bloodline of Elborra became guardians not merely of a kingdom, but of the last living Tree.

Their magic was not born of relics or stones.

It flowed instead through spirit and blood.

Yet even blessings cannot guard every heart.

In a quiet tragedy long buried beneath the kingdom's history, a grieving father once sought help from the royal court.

His child lay dying.

But before the royal family could return to hear his plea, a noble of cruel ambition had already turned him away, refusing the healing magic that might have saved the girl.

By the time the truth reached the crown, the child was gone.

Grief, when left unanswered, can twist a man into something unrecognizable.

Some say sorrow breaks the heart.

Others know it can sharpen it into a blade.

From that tragedy was born one of Elborra's darkest secrets.

Hidden deep within the kingdom's forbidden history lies the Midnight Moon Obsidian—a dark flower grown from betrayal itself.

It glows with a cold light stolen from the Goddess's blessing.

The flower offers power.

But always at a cost.

For when sorrow blackens the heart that seeks its magic, that power becomes something crueler than any weapon forged from the Tree.

Years later, the grieving father returned.

And this time, he carried the Obsidian's curse.But standing before him was Queen Nevara—Evelyn's mother.

Her strength was not found in wrath or fear, but in compassion that refused to falter, even in the face of darkness.

She destroyed the cursed flower before it could spread its corruption through the kingdom.

Yet the curse claimed her life all the same.

Not through death...

but through a sleep without dreams.

A quiet martyr for the realm she had sworn to protect.

And so the last Tree of Life still stands within the gardens of Elborra.

Its light flickers.

Its magic waits.

And within the heart of the kingdom, a young princess grows—unaware that the blessing in her blood may one day become the very curse that threatens to consume her.

For the magic of the Tree reflects the heart that wields it.

Should bitterness ever bloom within Princess Evelyn's soul...

the blessing will grow thorns.

And those thorns will rise beneath the crown.