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Norma stated coldly, her tone leaving no room for argument, “Pinning your hopes on some girl is a fool’s errand. Your time is better spent hunting for a true healer. I’ve heard whispers of one. hidden away in the Void. Find him, and you might still have a chance.
“What you need to do right now is stay calm, rest here, and not go dragging your pathetic self around for everyone to mock!”
“Mother, I want to find Margaret—”
“What you want is to make a spectacle of yourself!” Norma cut him off sharply, her voice rising. “Right now, I’m the only one who truly cares about you. Don’t trust anyone else!”
The heavy silence that followed was abruptly broken by a voice from outside the chamber.
“An imperial decree has arrived. His Highness Crown Prince Christopher is summoned to receive it.”
Both occupants inside froze. Norma was the first to move, swiftly opening the doors and kneeling on the cold floor.
The chamberlain, Samuel Lewis, stood at the threshold, his gaze scanning the room with detached formality. “Queen Norma. Is His Highness present?”
“I’m here!” A loud thud echoed as Christopher tumbled from his bed.
His legs, useless and numb, gave out beneath him, leaving him sprawled on the ground.
A desperate hope lit his face. “Is it Father? Has he come to set things right? I knew he wouldn’t abandon me…”
Samuel’s expression remained icy; he was utterly unmoved by the prince’s undignified state.
He unfurled the scroll in his hands with deliberate slowness. “Hear ye, hear ye! By the Grace of God, His Majesty’s Royal Decree! The Crown Prince Christopher has been found lacking in virtue and unworthy of his station. Henceforth…”
“NO!!” Christopher’s roar of denial drowned out the chamberlain’s words.
Refusing to hear another syllable, he clawed his way toward the door, his movements frantic and graceless. “Stop! Don’t you dare read that! It’s a lie! I’m the Crown Prince! No one is more worthy than me! Father would never strip me of my title! Never!”
Norma’s face drained of all color. Her lips parted in disbelief. “Samuel… there must be some mistake. How could King Spencer possibly consider deposing the Crown Prince? He never
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mentioned a word of this to me, and besides-”
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Samuel interrupted, his voice firm and impersonal, “Queen Norma, this is an imperial decree. There can be no error. The King’s will is not subject to discussion. His Highness must receive the decree.”
He began reading again, his voice steady and clear, each word falling like a hammer blow.
Christopher crumpled, hands clutching his head as if to block out the sound. “It’s not true! It can’t be! I don’t believe it!”
But his protests were in vain. Samuel continued to the end, his tone never wavering.
He then placed the scroll carefully before the prostrate prince, offered a stiff bow, and departed with his retinue without another word.
The decree lay before Christopher like a condemnation. Agony lanced through him, sharper than any physical pain.
He tried again to push himself up, but his legs betrayed him, heavy and dead. Helpless fury boiled within him.
His fists pounded the unyielding floor. “It’s a trick… Father loves me most… He would never…”
Norma, too, seemed hollowed out by shock. Her body felt weak, her voice thin. “How could this happen so suddenly? Why the haste?”
Deep down, she had known this was a possibility ever since Christopher’s disability became
known.
But she had clung to the belief that if he had risen once, he could do so again.
Once back on his feet, his position would be secure.
She never imagined the edict of deposition would descend the moment his weakness was confirmed.
Driven by a mother’s panic, she fled the Crown Prince’s Estate and hurried toward the Royal Private Study, intent on confronting Spencer, demanding to know how he could be so heartless.
But as she approached, the doors swung open, and Theodore emerged, his posture relaxed, almost victorious.
Norma stopped dead in her tracks.
In that instant, understanding crashed down upon her. She needed no further explanation.
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Her eyes remained fixed on Theodore’s retreating back long after he had vanished from sight. A cold, venomous hatred crystallized within her.
“Theodore… Margaret… You robbed my son of his crown. Your hearts are truly poison.”
*****
News of the Crown Prince’s deposition spread through Breston like wildfire, fanned by unseen winds.
By nightfall, it was the talk of the city.
The suddenness of it left most citizens stunned.
The realm had been relatively peaceful; what grave misstep could Christopher have made to warrant such a drastic measure?
Yet, in hushed tones, many whispered the obvious truth: a cripple could never sit upon the throne.
History offered no precedent. In that light, the King’s decision seemed coldly logical.
For Stella, the news was the final blow in a day of mounting disasters.
The morning had begun with a harsh scolding from her father. Seeking answers, she had confronted Margaret, only to be rebuked by Jasper himself. Humiliation and frustration still churned within her.
And now this. Christopher, deposed. Her wedding to the Crown Prince was mere days away. But now, there was no Crown Prince. Christopher had been stripped of his title and relegated back to his old princely residence.
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Rejected by the Crown Prince? | Married His Uncle
Florence is a passionate reader who finds joy in long drives on rainy days. She’s also a fan of Italian makeup tutorials, blending beauty and elegance into her everyday life.

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