thcrnthrcne:
these are stories she withholds from her children; from her court. they are locked in the most private part of herself, kept protected from anyone that might choose to weaken her with them. but her daughter will one day take the throne. and she must know the cost of the crown. “my mother was queen. she was not a mother. she had only one identity and could never marry the idea of being both. my existence, while necessary to maintain the support of the realm, was a burden. and my life, as the firstborn, meant the theft of hers.” astrid says quietly, for once the honesty of sadness clouding her words. “but my sister was not a threat. my sister, could be loved.”
she had heard many stories growing up, tales to both excite her and teach lessons. she knew she had learned other things than her brother would because he was not the heir. he was the second born, after adelina. she doesn’t know why astrid is telling her this now, but she listens intently. “you were not like that to us mother. not to me. you were queen and my mother. you were different.” she didn’t know why she felt the need to say it, to reassure her in some way. “your sister was treated differently just because she was born second.” there were parts of lucien’s life that was different than her own, she was aware of that much, but they had both been loved. adelina sighed and looked down at their joined hands, “why are you telling me this?”
