A Throne for the Forgotten
Description
In the glittering empire of Valderra, where bloodlines rule and love is political currency, Talia Wynne was never meant to matter. Chosen as a wife, discarded like a pawn, and humiliated before the nation, she vanishes without a word-only to return as Celeste Halden, rightful heir to the Republic's most powerful name. Armed with truth, elegance, and a vengeance carved in silence, Celeste sets out to reclaim everything stolen from her: her identity, her legacy, and her voice. But as the nation bows to its new queen, the man who betrayed her begins to unravel-because this time, she's not the girl who begged to be chosen. She's the woman who came back to destroy everything they thought they owned. And they never saw her coming.
Chapter 1
Sep 13, 2025
She had survived whispers, but this was humiliation wrapped in diamonds.
Talia Wynne stood beneath a ceiling strung with chandeliers, their glitter too sharp, too white, exposing every cruel smile around her. The Valderran Council Gala was the kind of event she was supposed to be grateful to attend — the kind of room where lineage whispered louder than names.
She stood in the dress they hadn’t yet mocked to her face, one hand folded politely against the other, willing her shoulders not to curl inward. Her husband Lucan stood beside her without touching her, a statue in finer clothing.
Talia’s mother-in-law approached with a glass in one hand and blood in her voice.
“Sweet girl,” Marion said smoothly, “did you sew this yourself?” The words landed soft, but her smile made the intent sharp.
Talia didn’t answer, didn’t need to. Her silence had been trained into her like a posture.
Marion’s daughter didn’t wait long to add her piece. “She’s brave for showing up in that,” Clarisse said with a small laugh, her eyes scanning Talia from head to toe.
Her champagne glass sparkled in the light, matching the glint in her eyes. Talia stared past her, focusing on a point above everyone’s head, the way she always did when they circled like this.
Her husband Lucan meanwhile didn’t speak — not to his mother, not to his sister. And especially not to Talia.
He stood stiff beside her, eyes forward, as if he could pretend she wasn’t there. That had become his habit in public — forget her, let her disappear, and maybe no one would question why she looked so misplaced in his shadow.
She couldn’t count the number of times she had hoped he’d defend her. He never did. The Lucan she’d been promised was a diplomat, a man of words, someone who would rise with her at his side. The Lucan she’d been given was silent and still.
She wondered if he was ashamed of her or just bored.
The music shifted, and he stepped forward slightly, clearing his throat. For a second she thought he might surprise her. That he’d say her name, that maybe he’d say anything at all. But she should have known better.
“I’m honored to announce my engagement to Lady Virelle Astaire,” Lucan said.
The silence hit first, heavy and fast. Then applause after flashing lights. The room seemed to bend with noise, people turning to cheer, to smile, to raise their glasses like something beautiful had just happened. Talia stood still.
He didn’t look at her. Not once. He kept his hand free for Virelle, who appeared from the crowd as if on cue. She wore soft blue silk and the kind of smile bred into noble girls — a smile that could say ‘I won’ without moving her lips.
Clarisse leaned closer, eyes gleaming. “You must be thrilled,” she said lightly. “You’ve had him all this time, and now you get to share.”
Talia’s hands didn’t move, she didn’t let her face crack. She’d practiced this kind of stillness in mirrors.
“She’s glowing,” Marion added, just loud enough. “That’s what dignity looks like, dear. You should take notes.”
She sounded almost proud. Like her plan had finally bloomed.
Talia looked down at her glass. It was untouched, the champagne fizzing gently in a world that had shifted underneath her. She hadn’t cried. Not when Lucan stopped coming to dinners, not when he started keeping secrets. And not now.
She wouldn’t cry now.
Lucan stood taller beside Virelle, like he’d already rewritten the story of his marriage. The cameras loved him, the room adored him, and in that moment, Talia understood what they were all celebrating — not love, not unity, but replacement.
The quiet, final removal of the girl who’d never belonged.
Marion gestured to a dark table at the side of the room. “Why don’t you take a seat, dear?” she asked, almost kindly. “Preferably somewhere… dignified.”
Talia didn’t move. She didn’t even blink.
“Oh wait,” Clarisse added, grinning, “there aren’t any for her, are there?”
Talia inhaled slowly, the air thick with perfume and politics.
She didn’t speak. She didn’t make a scene. She simply turned her body toward the glass table where her untouched drink sat waiting, and set it down carefully.
No one stopped her, no one followed. She took one step, then another. The sound of her heels was drowned by applause. Lucan raised his glass again, toasting a future she no longer fit into.
A Throne for the Forgotten
30 Chapters
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