(Yandere??) Enchanted suit of armor obsessed with his Princess, even centuries later. Every time you're reincarnated he finds you. It's been awhile, but he has a sixth sense about it. After all, he was created with the sole purpose of keeping you safe. Who cares that now he has to battle a "boss" and something called a "boyfriend" to keep you safe?? When you're finally reborn again, he breaks out of the museum he's been in to come find you. Sure it might take awhile, but he will find you, and ensure his Princess is safe.
And this time, he knows you'll finally let him keep you. All for himself. Yes, it's been centuries, but the sight of yourself being impaled on his steel fingers has never once left his mind.
But it shrouds and smothers you, encasing you like an inescapable coffin. Like a smooth coffin carved from ivory, measured to your exact height, the width of your ribs, the length of each of your fingers.
You watched them craft that ivory coffin. Meticulous and careful, pieced together to fit around you like a second skin. A shining beacon of wealth in this time of hunger, savage tusks turned into a display worthy of the king in whose name they carved.
Why were you chosen? You do not rememember. You were the victim of a random lot. You were chosen as a despised criminal. You were a willing sacrifice, laying yourself bare for your king.
Long before time had a name, before the first star burned or the winds whispered across an empty void, there were the Ancients. Beings beyond mortal comprehension, they wove existence from nothingness, shaping worlds with their will alone. And among their countless creations was ours—a land where Fae and humans once lived as equals, bound by an unspoken harmony.
But harmony is fragile.
Jealousy took root in human hearts, twisting admiration into resentment, wonder into hunger. They envied the magic that coursed through Fae veins, the ageless grace of our kind. And so, with fire and steel, they struck. Slowly at first, then with unrelenting cruelty, they turned on the Fae, enslaving them, claiming their gifts as spoils of conquest.
For centuries, our people suffered.
The Ancients watched in silence until, at last, they intervened. With a power beyond reckoning, they split the world in two—the Human Realm and the Fae Realm—severing the chains that bound our kind. Yet the Fae could not be left defenseless. As a final act of mercy, the Ancients bestowed upon the royal bloodlines a gift: the Spark of Creation, a power as eternal as the stars, meant to guide and safeguard our realm.
Then, the Ancients left, retreating beyond the veil of time.
It is said they still watch from the shadows, waiting to see if humanity will ever be worthy of what they once destroyed. But in the meantime, the Fae endure. And the Spark remains, passed from ruler to ruler, a beacon of all we were, all we are, and all we must become.
With the realms reborn and the Spark passed through royal veins, the Fae began to rebuild, the royal families scattered, each carving their own domain from the untamed lands of the new realm.
To the west, the Dragovich ventured into the endless frost, forging a kingdom of ice and eternal winter—Vostroya. Their lands lay beneath frozen skies, where the cold was a constant, and the people thrived in the embrace of an unforgiving snowbound world.
To the east, the Viviani settled in the lands of unyielding heat, birthing a kingdom of flame and perpetual summer—Lucenova. Their realm burned with the brilliance of an eternal sun, a land of golden fields, volcanic peaks, and passion that never waned.
To the south, the Beaumont claimed the lands of renewal, where the world was forever in bloom. They built the kingdom of new life and perpetual spring—Éverune. Flowers never withered, and the air carried the scent of fresh earth and endless possibility.
To the north, the Nyxarios walked among the dying leaves and long shadows, embracing the realm of eternal twilight and perpetual autumn—Xanthosia. Here, the air was crisp with the scent of change, and the world stood in a state of quiet reflection, where death and rebirth danced in delicate balance.
And at the center of it all, where the first lands remained untouched, stood the strongest of all—the Pendrake bloodline. The keepers of the old world, they did not claim a single season but ruled over the land of change, where the winds shifted, the leaves turned, the snow fell, and the flowers bloomed in an endless cycle. They built the kingdom of balance and stagnation alike—stormhold. It was here that power lingered, and it was here that destiny would be decided.
Charles and Camilla - Love under the Crown´s Shadow
Chapter 1 – Summerlight in Windsor
The afternoon in Windsor was filled with an almost festive lightness. The sun laid golden stripes across the lawn, horse hooves stirred up dust, and the spectators alternated between conversation, laughter, and focused glances through their binoculars. Between glasses, hats, and white dresses, society seemed to revolve within itself – a familiar ritual that, on this day, barely reached Camilla.
She had stepped aside, glass in hand, without much desire to be part of the lively commotion. Andrew Parker Bowles had stayed away, as so often. Another promise broken, another disappointment. Only that morning she had hoped to see him. Now she felt only the old sting – abandonment, which she refused to admit to herself.
Her gaze wandered across the playing field, without expectation. But then it stopped.
Prince Charles, high on horseback, his shoulders a little too stiff, his movements precise, almost strained. He did not seem playful like the others, but serious, nearly tense – and that was precisely what made him visible. As he reined in his horse after a long gallop, sweat covered his face. The collar of his jacket clung to his skin, a strand of hair fell across his forehead. Not the picture of an untouchable prince, but of a young man – vulnerable, real, almost awkward.
Camilla felt something inside her loosen. For a moment, Andrew was gone, along with all his power over her thoughts. No brooding, no waiting, no pain – only this unexpectedly human image.
After the match, the crowd mingled. An acquaintance introduced her to Charles, fleetingly, without importance. A name, a bow, a brief glance – and yet so intense that Camilla could not shake it off.
Three hours later she was sitting in Lucia Santa Cruz’s living room, the windows open to the cool evening air. Candles cast soft shadows, the wine was rich and heavy in scent.
“He was so different,” Camilla began at last, setting down her glass. “Not self-assured, not loud like the others. He seemed almost lost, and yet… honest. It was just a moment, but I forgot about Andrew.”
Lucia studied her carefully. “That sounds like more than just a moment.”
Camilla shook her head, almost defiantly. “No. Andrew governs my life. He leaves, he comes back as he pleases – and I’m the one left behind. I can’t let go of him, even if I want to.”
Lucia stayed silent for a long while, letting her friend speak until Camilla’s voice grew softer. Then she said calmly: “Perhaps it’s time to meet someone who doesn’t leave you in uncertainty.”
Camilla gave no reply. She thought of the sweat on Charles’s forehead, of that quiet, uncertain look, and was startled by herself.
Around midnight Lucia casually raised her glass. “Come back tomorrow evening. I’m inviting a few people over. We could use some company.”
Camilla agreed, grateful for the thought of distraction. That Lucia was already planning more, she did not suspect.
The next evening Camilla returned. Again candles, again wine, but at first they were alone. They chatted about little things, even laughed, and for a short while everything felt light.
Then the doorbell rang. Footsteps in the hall, voices. Camilla turned toward the door – and froze.
Prince Charles stood there. Not a glamorous entrance, just a young man in a dark suit, with a reserved, almost uncertain smile.
“Camilla,” said Lucia casually, “you remember, of course.”
Charles stepped closer, bowing slightly. “Very pleased to see you again.”
Camilla returned the greeting, feeling her heart beat faster. No pain, no restlessness, no sorrow over Andrew – only this moment, filled with a new, almost frightening clarity.
It was no longer mere coincidence.
It was a beginning.
Would anyone like a fantasy political book focused on women?
I am writing a royal fantasy about inheritance and misogyny and patriarchal society through the povs of six women in different positions and, like any author, I sometimes doubt myself and my writing.
I am still very much not done with this project but I thought I could share some of my doubts and insecurities on here since my blog is about writing. And I'm actually a bit scared that people would not be interested by my story or that it would not reach an audience who would be. But I also am really anxious by nature so it doesn't help.
I could totally post more about this project if anyone is interested tho! And I am open to any sort of suggestions some of you may have!
Additional Tags: Princess Kendra • Prince Seth • Happy Ending • Magic Revealed • Kendra POV • Seth POV• Alternate Universe - Fantasy • Alternate Universe - Royalty • Alternate Universe - Medieval • Patton Burgess Lives • Slow Burn • Angst • Minor Character Death • Magic • Romance • Political Intrigue • But like. Fantasy kingdom politics • BAMF Kendra Sorenson
Princess Kendra and Prince Seth were the heirs to a lovely kingdom—well, up until three days ago. With no available refuge after their kingdom gets sacked, the royal sorcerers and their companions try Terrabelle, their neighboring kingdom.
The target doesn’t fade from their backs, however—it only becomes hidden. With the curious Dalgorel children, who knows how long that façade will last?
If Kendra and Seth can’t brave their stay at Terrabelle, they may never regain their kingdom—or their grandparents.
Prologue
There was value in staying in the shadows. Seth knew this. Gleaning information and untangling motives was much easier when your subject didn’t notice you.
Rain slipped off his itchy coat as the city’s walls slowly solidified in the distance.
People always asked why he didn’t challenge his sister for the heir title. What a dumb question. First off, he loved his sister. Second of all, why would he ever want to relinquish his freedom and spend his life languishing in castle walls?
As it turns out, his languishing in a castle was about to happen anyway.
Meters away from the gates, the horses ground to a stop.
Moonlight glinted off his sister’s golden diadem as she removed her hood, letting raindrops seep into her hair. Seth surveyed the castle walls barring their entry. A lone sentry peeked through the gate tower.
The sentry had to shout over the thunder of the storm. “Who goes there?”
“Princess Kendra Sorenson, heir apparent of Fablehaven. Four of my associates join me.” Unlike the shouty sentry, her voice commanded the heavens without straining. “I request an audience with your king.”
Silence mingled with thunder as the sentry ducked out of view. Raindrops slipped off Seth’s hood as his horse shuffled in its step. “Steady, Noble.”
The sentry reappeared. “Where is King Stanley, Princess?”
“My grandfather’s whereabouts are not the concern of a sentry. Send for your king. It is urgent.”
“One moment, your grace.” With a flash of lighting, the sentry disappeared behind the tower.
Despite the disappearance of the guard, eyes were still watching. Seth could spot two peasants behind the gate, in the shadows of the lower town, spying on the royal court. He pulled his hood lower.
“Are you alright, Seth?” His valet shouted from behind him.
“Yes, thank you, Patton.”
The gates scraped against the muddy floor and revealed three men on horses. One lowered his hood, revealing a young man around Kendra’s age with a crown on his head. “Greetings, Princess Kendra. My name is Prince Garreth. I will escort you to the stables to leave your horses.”
“And then to your father, I presume?” Kendra pulled her hood back up, shielding the golden diadem from sight.
Lightning lit up the night—almost as bright as Prince Garreth’s smile. “Of course, my lady.”
The journey to the stables was fraught with security risks. He trusted Patton to always protect him of course, but the narrow road had forced the eight horses into a line. Rain and a weak crescent moon obscured the path. Thunder and the gossiping commotion of the common people peeking out their houses muffled any warning signal. Terrabelle was the most fortified destination, but it most certainly wasn’t the safest on the inside. Especially for certain people in their party.
As soon as the lanterns of the stable were in view, servants rushed forward to untack the horses. Seth leaned down to Noble’s ear. “Be a good horse.”
Mud sprayed from his boots’ impact to the ground. Patton joined him.
Sloshing, they made their way over to Kendra. Warren and Vanessa were already at her side.
Though their official titles don’t say it, the Head Chancellor and Kendra’s Lady-in-waiting all had trained as knights. Although Patton hadn’t, his time as an adventurer more than made up for it.
Garreth was already speaking by the time Seth took his spot next to Kendra. “—he’ll meet with you, Kendra, and our servants can lead your court to a common room for the night.”
“Actually, we’d all like to meet with King Dalgorel,” thunder paused Kendra. “We’re all seeking safe refuge.”
Garreth’s smile froze. “Of course. Anything for a lady as beautiful as you.” Seth almost snorted. “This way.”
The prince led them through the stables to a door that entered into the main castle. The walls were polished up to the high ceiling and decorated with flags and animal heads. There was no doubt in Seth’s mind that there was a shorter path to the throne room, but Garreth just wanted to lead them through the most impressive halls.
Water dripped from their wool coats onto the stone. Everyone’s hood was off now, revealing a silver crown upon Seth’s unruly hair.
“I admire your kingdom’s many conquests,” Kendra spoke to Garreth.
“Our kingdom is very powerful,” Garreth agreed. “You’ll be very lucky if the King grants you amnesty.”
The group stopped at an ornate door a mile high. Flickering firelight cast an ever-changing shadow over the door’s jewels and carved adornments.
Venom coated Kendra’s smile. “If?”
Garreth didn’t spare her a glance and pushed the door, splitting it in two. “Oh, look, we’re here.”
They had finally made it into the throne room.
Now, it was only a test of if they’d be allowed to stay.
