Your Majesty… there’s something you need to know.”

The words fell from Prince Edmund’s trembling lips as King Alaric turned slowly, confusion clouding his eyes. The Great Chamber of St. Valen Palace was drenched in moonlight, the marble floors reflecting the ghostly glow of the night.

“What are you talking about, Edmund?” the King demanded, his voice brittle. “You’re pale as death.”

Edmund swallowed hard, clutching a worn envelope that had yellowed with time. “It’s about Mother… about what she left behind before she died.”

The room went still. Only the distant ticking of the grand clock filled the silence. King Alaric’s face drained of color. “Your mother’s gone, Edmund. There is nothing left to say.”

But Edmund shook his head. “There is. She knew something. And she wanted you to find this — only when I could bear to tell you.”

With shaking hands, he placed the envelope on the table. The royal crest had faded, but the script was unmistakable — Queen Diana’s handwriting.

Alaric’s breath hitched. His heart pounded against his chest as he broke the seal. Inside lay a single letter and a small folded document — a genetic test, signed two decades earlier.

The letter read:

My beloved sons,
If you are reading this, then the truth I carried in silence has found you. The heir to the throne is not the one the world believes. The line of kings has been broken — and only the truth can restore it.

The King’s hands shook. “What is this nonsense?” he whispered, but his voice faltered. He turned to the DNA sheet, scanning the lines with growing horror. The names… the codes… they didn’t match.

Edmund’s voice cracked. “Mother discovered the test was altered. The royal physician swapped the samples to protect the crown. She tried to expose it — but she died before she could.”

Alaric staggered backward, his legs nearly giving out. “No… no, this can’t be…” His mind raced through every memory — his coronation, his late wife’s last words, the strange unease she’d carried in her final days.

“It’s true,” Edmund said softly. “I hid it for years because I was afraid. But I couldn’t live with the lie anymore.”

Tears welled in the King’s eyes as he sank to his knees. “Then who… who is the rightful heir?”

Edmund’s voice broke. “Your firstborn is not of your blood. The throne belongs to another — to your nephew, Rowan.”

Lightning cracked outside, shaking the glass. The candle flames flickered wildly. For a moment, the King could only stare at the seal of the document, the proof that had lain buried beneath years of loyalty and deceit.

“So this was her revenge,” he whispered. “The truth from beyond the grave.”

Edmund nodded. “She wanted peace… but she also wanted justice.”

A tear slipped down Alaric’s cheek as he looked toward the portrait of Queen Diana hanging above the hearth — her calm eyes seemed almost alive, watching the scene unfold.

“Then the crown I wear,” he said hoarsely, “was never mine.”

The letter fluttered from his trembling hands, landing on the marble floor beside the royal sceptre. Outside, the bells of St. Valen began to toll — twelve slow, mournful chimes — as if the palace itself mourned the fall of a false king.

And in that hollow silence, a dynasty built on secrets finally began to crumble.