The Curse

Elara was born with thorns. Not metaphorically—actual thorns, winding up her forearms like vines. The healers had no name for it. The queen had no mercy.

"Remove her from the line of succession," the decree read. "She is no daughter of mine."

So Elara learned to hide. To bind her arms. To pretend. Until the day the prince's envoy arrived, seeking a bride who could survive the curse that had killed the last three.