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Lost Princess's Vengeance Novel Cover

Lost Princess's Vengeance

I watched Grandmother's chest rise and fall with labored breaths, her skin burning beneath my touch. Three days had passed since the wasting illness first took hold, and with each passing hour, she grew weaker. The local healers had shaken their heads, their eyes filled with a pity that terrified me more than their words. "I've never seen anything like it," the oldest healer had murmured, his weathered hands hovering helplessly over her frail form. "The fever doesn't break, and she can't keep down even water. There are medicines in the royal palace that might help, but..." But we were peasants. We had no access to such resources. I pressed a cool cloth to her forehead, watching her eyelids flutter open briefly. "Vanessa," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Don't worry about me." "How can I not worry?" I choked back tears, forcing a smile.
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Chapter 3

The guards didn't wait for the flames to die. They seized me while Grandmother's body was still burning, her final words echoing in my ears: "Love is stronger than hate."

Their hands were rough as they dragged me away from the inferno that had consumed my entire world. I fought wildly, my screams tearing at my throat.

"Let me go!" I clawed at their armor, drawing blood. "She's innocent! She's dying!"

"Innocent?" One guard spat in my face. "She cursed the prince. And you're her accomplice."

They bound my wrists with coarse rope that bit into my skin. Through my tears, I watched our cottage—our home—collapse into embers. The medicine I'd fought so hard to obtain had come too late. All of it—the contract, the wedding, the desperate journey—had been for nothing.

---

The dungeon cell stank of mold and decay. They threw me inside without ceremony, the iron door clanging shut with finality. Water dripped somewhere in the darkness, each drop a countdown to my own execution.

I huddled in the corner, shivering on the damp stone floor. My wedding dress—that pathetic symbol of my foolish hopes—clung to my skin, torn and filthy.

"Your prince husband sends his regards," a guard called through the bars, his voice echoing in the cold corridor. "He's quite pleased with how today turned out."

Another guard laughed. "Did you hear? He left straight from the ceremony. Didn't even stay for the... after-party."

"After-party?" I whispered, my voice breaking.

"The burning," the first guard clarified with a cruel smile. "But that wasn't the real celebration. He's at the country estate with Lady Eliana, celebrating his escape from the peasant's trap."

The words hit me like physical blows. While I stood alone at the altar, while Grandmother burned alive, Aurelio had been rushing to his mistress's arms.

"Wine and passion," the second guard continued conversationally. "That's what he's enjoying while you rot down here."

Something broke inside me then—something fundamental that could never be repaired. The last fragile thread of hope snapped, leaving only a cold, hollow space where my heart had been.

---

Days blurred together in the darkness. They brought me water just often enough to keep me alive, food that was little more than scraps. Palace servants took turns tormenting me, their faces alight with malicious pleasure.

"Look at the prince's bride," one mocked, throwing a crust of bread through the bars. "Not so pretty now, is she?"

"Did you know," another confided loudly, "that Prince Aurelio calls Lady Eliana his true love? Says she's the only woman who ever mattered."

I pressed my hands over my ears, but their words seeped through my fingers like poison.

"They're planning a real wedding," a third servant announced. "Once the peasant problem is disposed of."

"Disposal" became their favorite word. They spoke of it casually, as if discussing the weather.

I learned that Eliana had been Aurelio's constant companion since his return from injury. That she nursed him through his "headaches" with special medicine. That he trusted her completely, spoke of her with devotion he'd never shown his legal wife.

"Stupid peasant girl," they taunted. "Did you really think he'd choose someone like you?"

---

I didn't hear her approach. One moment I was alone in darkness; the next, light flooded the cell as the door swung open.

Eliana stood before me, resplendent in silks that shimmered like water. Diamonds glittered at her throat, rubies adorned her fingers—all gifts from Aurelio.

"Leave us," she commanded the guards, her voice honey-sweet.

When we were alone, her mask slipped. She circled me slowly, like a predator studying wounded prey.

"Poor Vanessa," she murmured. "Did you really believe he loved you?"

She produced a small ceramic urn from the folds of her gown. "Do you know what this is?"

Something about its shape made my blood run cold.

"Your grandmother," she confirmed, her eyes gleaming with malice. "All that's left of her."

She drew a jeweled dagger from her belt. "Open your mouth."

I pressed my lips together, shaking my head.

"Open. It." Her voice hardened as she pressed the blade against my throat.

When I still refused, she grabbed my jaw with brutal force, wrenching it open. With her other hand, she unscrewed the urn.

"Swallow," she commanded, pouring ashes into my mouth. "Eat what remains of your beloved grandmother."

The taste was indescribable—ashes and death and betrayal. I choked, gagging on the fine powder.

"Bite by bite," Eliana whispered, forcing another spoonful past my lips. "Just like you'll swallow your pride, your dignity, your pathetic dreams of love."

Between gasps, she told me everything—the memory-suppressing drugs she'd been giving Aurelio for months, how she'd orchestrated Grandmother's murder, how General Gonzales had planned it all to secure their family's control of the throne.

"You were nothing but a nuisance," she concluded, wiping the blade clean. "A stupid peasant who should have known her place."

As she turned to leave, ashes still coating my tongue, I realized that the last piece of my soul had died with Grandmother. In its place was something new—something cold and hard and unforgiving.

Something that would never forget or forgive.

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