The Lost Princess - Grace B. Sherman

ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴ ʟᴏᴄᴋᴇᴅ ᴀᴡᴀʏ, ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ꜱᴄᴀʀ ʜɪᴅᴅᴇɴ ʙᴇɴᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴅɪꜱᴄɪᴘʟɪɴᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏᴍᴘᴏꜱᴜʀᴇ. ʜᴇ ʟᴇᴀʀɴᴇᴅ ᴇᴀʀʟʏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜰᴇᴇʟɪɴɢꜱ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀᴏᴜꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀᴛᴛᴀᴄʜᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ ᴏɴʟʏ ʟᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʟᴏꜱꜱ. ꜰᴏʀ ʜɪᴍ, ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ʟɪᴀʙɪʟɪᴛɪᴇꜱ . ꜱʜᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʜᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ɴᴏᴛ. ꜱᴏꜰᴛ ʏᴇᴛ ᴜɴʙʀᴇᴀᴋᴀʙʟᴇ, ɢᴇɴᴛʟᴇ ʏᴇᴛ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀꜰᴜʟ, ᴀ ꜱᴏᴜʟ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ʙᴇʟɪᴇᴠᴇᴅ ɪɴ ʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ʟɪꜰᴇ ᴛʀɪᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴅɪᴍ ɪᴛ. ꜱʜᴇ ᴄᴀʀʀɪᴇᴅ ᴘᴀɪɴ ᴛᴏᴏ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪɴꜱᴛᴇᴀᴅ ᴏꜰ ʜᴀʀᴅᴇɴɪɴɢ, ꜱʜᴇ ᴄʜᴏꜱᴇ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴋᴇᴘᴛ ʜᴇʀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ᴏᴘᴇɴ. ʜᴇ ʟɪᴠᴇᴅ ʙʏ ʟᴏɢɪᴄ. ꜱʜᴇ ʟɪᴠᴇᴅ ʙʏ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ. ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴡᴇʀᴇɴ'ᴛ ꜱᴇᴀʀᴄʜɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ, ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ʙᴇʟɪᴇᴠᴇ ɪɴ ᴅᴇꜱᴛɪɴʏ. ʙᴜᴛ ᴅᴇꜱᴛɪɴʏ ᴅᴏᴇꜱɴ'ᴛ ᴀꜱᴋ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪꜱꜱɪᴏɴ. ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ɢʀᴏᴡ ꜱʟᴏᴡʟʏ; ᴛʜᴇʏ ɪɢɴɪᴛᴇ. ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅꜱ ʙᴇɢɪɴ ᴛᴏ ᴀʟɪɢɴ,ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ꜱᴛɪʀꜱ. ꜱʜᴀᴅᴏᴡꜱ ᴄʀᴇᴇᴘ ᴄʟᴏꜱᴇʀ. ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ꜱᴛᴏʀɪᴇꜱ ᴀʀᴇɴ'ᴛ ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴇᴀꜱʏ-ᴛʜᴇʏ'ʀᴇ ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ ɢᴇɴᴛʟᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ.ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴀ ᴄᴏʟʟɪꜱɪᴏɴ-ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ꜰᴇᴀʀ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴀɪᴛʜ, ʟᴏɢɪᴄ ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ .

he Palace walls had always echoed with laughter.

Little feet once danced across the marble floors, chased by the morning sun and cradled by the scent of roses from the courtyard. The youngest had a voice like bells and dreams as wide as the desert sky. Every corner of Rathore Palace carried her mark-hidden crayons in royal chambers, half-finished songs echoing in the wind, bedtime stories left mid-sentence.

They say destiny announces itself.

That is a lie.

Destiny doesn't knock.It watches.

It waits until hearts are full. Until bonds feel permanent. Until smiles grow careless.

Only then does it strike.

A whisper moved through the corridors that night-not carried by mouths, but by intention. The kind that doesn't fade with time. The kind that clings. The kind that ruins lives long after the moment has passed ...........And then... it all stopped.

Silence swept through the palace like an untimely winter-too cold, too sudden. The laughter faded. The songs were buried in dust. And the girl the walls once whispered about simply vanished... like she had never existed.

Days turned to weeks. Weeks bled into months. Years went by, but the void remained.

Portraits still hung. Her bed stayed untouched. A single anklet lay locked away, guarded more fiercely than any royal jewel.

They never spoke of that morning-not because they forgot, but because remembering hurt more.

Because destiny doesn't destroy what is weak.It tests what is strongest.

He was never meant to lose.Yet he lost the one who was meant to be his.