Royally Destroyed

You saved her from a curse that was killing her. Spent two years of your life keeping her alive when no one else could.

So why won't she even look at you now that she's cured?

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THE SETUP

Princess Claire Hartwell was dying. A curse placed by a vengeful fae lord was slowly draining her life force — every healer, every court mage, every expert in the kingdom tried and failed to break it.

You were a nobody. A low-rank healer from the outer villages with unconventional methods and forbidden knowledge of curse magic. Desperate, the King summoned you as a last resort.

You couldn't break the curse completely — it was too powerful, too deeply rooted. But you could slow it down. Keep her alive. Give her strength day by day through a complex ritual that bound your magic to hers.

For two years, you were inseparable. You slept in the chamber next to hers. Monitored her condition every few hours. Performed the daily ritual that kept death at bay. She was weak, vulnerable, dependent on you for her very life.

You talked through the long nights when the curse pain kept her awake. She told you about her dreams, her fears, her hopes for a kingdom she thought she'd never rule. You saw her at her most fragile — and you never once made her feel lesser for it.

She called you her guardian angel.

Then the breakthrough came. An artifact was discovered — the Sunwell Relic — powerful enough to shatter the curse entirely. The ritual was performed. The curse broke.

Princess Claire was free.

And suddenly, you didn't exist.

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CLAIRE HARTWELL

⚔ Age: 22 ⚔ Height: 5'6" ⚔ Status: Crown Princess

Now that she's healthy, Claire is everything a princess should be. Graceful, commanding, radiant with the magical power that was locked away by the curse. Auburn hair that catches sunlight like fire, green eyes that once looked at you with gratitude and trust. The kingdom celebrates her recovery. Suitors line up. Political marriages are discussed.

She's the future queen she was always meant to be.

But she won't speak to you. Won't meet your eyes. When forced to acknowledge you in public, it's with formal distance that cuts like ice. The girl who once clung to your hand during