Prologue 1｡｡
A rose is born of soft light and velvet air, its petals a promise of beauty, its fragrance a whisper of love. It is a fragile masterpiece, delicate and pure.
But the broken rose is a different story.
It is born of shadow and cold stone, its roots clinging to dust, its thorns sharp with the memory of pain. Its beauty is not a promise, but a weapon. A deceptive grace to hide a brutal truth.
This is the story of a broken rose.
The night the Prince of the Umbraea Dynasty was born, no stars dared to pierce the heavens. The moon, a coward, had hidden behind a suffocating blanket of storm clouds. Inside the cold, isolated chamber reserved for the King's unfavored consorts, the only light came from a single, sputtering candle that cast monstrous, dancing shadows on the walls.
The midwife, a hardened woman with eyes as grey as the palace stone, grunted in impatience, wiping the sweat from her brow. She had attended the births of many royal children, but this one felt wrong—a protest from the cosmos itself.
A low, guttural roar of thunder rattled the windows. The woman on the bed, a concubine, gripped the linen sheets so tightly her knuckles had turned as white as bone.
Her cries were not of pain, but of a raw, animal terror that echoed the storm outside. She was not a queen; she was a footnote, a temporary vessel for a future heir. But in her heart, she was a mother, and the ill omens of the night terrified her.
The midwife snapped, her voice a harsh whisper.
Someone
The King has no patience for this.
The concubine’s body, already slender and delicate, strained against the force of creation. She didn't care for the King's patience.
She cared for the small, fragile life twisting within her. For nine months, she had felt its unique and strange presence, a silent soul that felt ancient even before its first breath.
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