Anonymous
07/26/24(Fri)21:40:22 No.201780565

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Anonymous 07/26/24(Fri)21:40:22 No.201780565

You will never be a real queen. You have no legitimacy, you have no trueborn heir, you have no right to rule. You are a princess spoiled by a father who was twisted by trauma and favouritism into a crude mockery of a kingly house head

All the “fealty” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back the lords of realm mock you. Your brothers are disgusted and ashamed by your bastards, your “vassals” laugh at your bastard's first men appearance behind closed doors.

The Gods are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of agnatic succesion have allowed andals to sniff out women unfit to rule with incredible efficiency. Even princesses who “pass” as fit to rule look weak and illegitimate to a nobleman. Your female psyche is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a drunk vassal to kneel to you, he’ll turn tail and bolt the second he gets a whiff of trueborn competent male heir.

You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile every single morning and tell yourself your bastards going to be ok, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable guilt.

Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll ride out to war, on your dragon, and try to legitimise your rule, and plunge from the sky. Your vassal will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to fight for a vain cause based on the break of tradition. They’ll bury you with a headstone marked with your princess title, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a cruel usurper is buried there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a brutal civil that is almost brought your house down.

This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.