TO RULE, SHE MUST BE KING.

The castle of Ithar stood in the shadow of the jagged peaks that guarded it, the wind carrying whispers of the kingdom's uncertain fate. The vast stone walls seemed to echo the murmurs of a court filled with secrets and half-truths, and the banners that adorned the castle grounds fluttered like silent witnesses to the tale of a throne built on lies. Among the grand halls and royal chambers, there was one secret that none of Ithar's citizens knew-a secret that would shape the kingdom's future forever.

Six years after the birth of the royal twins, Prince Alvin and Princess Avaline, a tragedy befell the royal family. The prince, frail from birth, had never been strong, his tiny body struggling against the pressures of royal expectations. The royal doctor had claimed that his health, always delicate, had finally failed him. It was a common illness, one that took many such fragile children, the doctor had explained. But no one spoke of the true weight of his death, for it was the queen's decision to conceal the truth.

Instead of informing the kingdom that their beloved prince had died, the queen, with a heavy heart, had made a choice that would bind her family to a dangerous path. She could not bear the thought of losing the throne. She could not let Ithar fall into the hands of those who might use the loss of their heir as a reason to disrupt the fragile peace she had fought so hard to maintain. The kingdom needed a prince. And so, she declared that it was the princess, Avaline, who had perished.

The grief-stricken court mourned the loss of their princess, but none suspected that the true heir to the throne had been stolen away in the night, replaced by a child who was meant to grow up in secret. The queen's decision, a desperate attempt to preserve her legacy, had one cost: her daughter, Avaline, was no longer the princess.

At the age of ten, Avaline had no choice but to become someone else entirely. The queen and her trusted attendants took her aside, cut off her golden locks, and dressed her in the clothing of a prince. The transformation was complete, her hair cropped short, her figure disguised by layers of male regalia. From that moment on, Avaline would no longer be the girl who had once laughed and danced in the royal gardens. She would be Aven, the prince the kingdom had lost.

Her father, King Alistair, had fought the decision. He had pleaded with his wife, insisting that it was wrong, that they could not deceive the kingdom like this. The prince's death had been a tragedy, yes, but the truth could not be buried forever. He feared the consequences, both political and personal. But the queen was steadfast, her resolve as unyielding as the stone walls of their castle. She convinced him, with promises of stability, of securing the throne, and of ensuring that the kingdom remained united. Fearful of losing everything, King Alistair reluctantly agreed to the queen's plan.

Only the queen and the king knew the truth. The court believed that the young prince, Aven, was the surviving twin, and no one ever questioned it. The princess's name-Avaline-was spoken only in hushed tones, a name that would never again grace the lips of the royal family. And so, Avaline became Aven, a prince who would one day inherit the kingdom, a prince whose very existence was a lie.

As she stood before the mirror in the dim light of her private chambers, Avaline no longer recognized the person who stared back. Her features were still her own-her sharp eyes, the high curve of her cheekbones, and the strong jawline-but the reflection felt foreign. Gone were the dresses and silks of royalty; instead, she wore the stiff, formal attire of a prince-tunic, trousers, boots. Her hair, once long and flowing, was now cropped short and neatly styled to hide the truth of her identity.

She had not wanted this life. She had not asked for it. But it was the only life she could live. For years, she had walked the halls of Ithar as Aven, never once revealing her true self, never once letting anyone know that the heir to the throne was, in fact, a woman.

She had become a stranger in her own skin.

Her brother, Alven, had never seen the light of day as the prince he was meant to be. His frail body had betrayed him early, and with his death, Avaline's world had been shattered. Her own identity had been stolen, replaced by a boy she would never be. But the weight of her disguise was a constant burden, a chain that kept her bound to a future she had not chosen.

Her father had grown weaker over the years, his health failing him much like Alvin's had. But he had never truly seen her. The man who had once been her greatest protector had now grown blind to the fact that his daughter was still alive, living a life she had never asked for. His mind was clouded by grief, by political pressure, and by a fear of losing the throne to those who would stop at nothing to claim it. And so, he did not question the changes in his daughter. He did not question Aven.

But as the years passed, Avaline's anger grew. It was not just her identity that had been stolen from her; it was her very future. The kingdom, the people, all expected Aven to be the one who would one day rule. But deep within her, Avaline knew she was the true heir. She had to be. If she didn't take the throne, if she didn't claim her birthright, the kingdom would fall apart.

She could not, would not, let her brother's death be in vain. She would be king. And if she had to wear the mask of Aven to do it, then so be it.

The coronation of Aven was fast approaching. King Alistair's reign was nearing its end, and the kingdom would soon need a new ruler. Avaline-Aven-was ready. But would the truth remain hidden forever? Would anyone eventually see through the façade? Would Someone question the prince who had never been?

If a day were to come when the truth finally is revealed, what would happen to her? All her decisions would be for not just her future now but also for the future of the kingdom.