A Throne for the Forgotten

Chapter 5

Inside the limousine, the silence was heavier than any insult Talia had ever endured.

The world outside blurred past in a stream of pale stone and frosted glass, but inside, everything felt frozen. She sat upright, palms on her knees, staring at the man seated across from her.

The President of Valderra, Emeric Halden. And somehow, he was looking at her like he knew her. Like she belonged.

“I know you’re angry,” he said gently, voice low but certain. “You have every right to be. But you deserve to know the truth.”

He exhaled slowly, fingers clasped together on his lap.

“Your name… is Celeste Halden. And you Celeste…You’re my daughter.”

Talia didn’t blink. The name echoed, unwanted and unfamiliar, through her chest. Her fingers twitched.

“That’s not possible,” she said, softly but firmly. “I don’t know you. You’re not—” She stopped herself before the next word came out.

Emeric nodded slowly, reaching to the leather seat beside him. He pulled a worn folder from beneath his coat and slid it across the gap between them.

“I know you need more than words. That’s why I brought proof.”

She stared at the folder like it might burn her, but after a moment, she reached out and opened it. Inside were old newspaper clippings, photos, and documents — all carefully preserved. On one page, a smiling woman with Talia’s eyes stared up at her.

The caption read: Senator Alena Halden, Advocate for Reform, Dead at 32.

Talia’s throat tightened. She flipped the page slowly. There was a baby picture. The same cheekbones. The same wide, thoughtful stare.

Underneath, a birth certificate: Celeste Alena Halden. Date of birth set for 23 years ago.

Mother: Alena Halden.

Father: Emeric Halden.

“No,” she whispered. “No, this isn’t—this can’t be real.” But her voice trembled as her eyes kept scanning.

The document was official. Stamped. Sealed. There were photos of her mother holding her, smiling. Letters written in a hand that looked eerily like her own.

Emeric’s voice stayed low. “She died when you were a baby, but not by accident. Marion Wynne orchestrated the political scandal that ruined your mother. She didn’t want a Halden leading the country and when your mother didn’t bend, Marion broke her.”

Talia slammed the folder shut, the echo louder than expected in the quiet car.

“You’re telling me she killed my mother?” Her words came in a whisper, but they were lined with steel and Emeric shook his head.

“She arranged the downfall. The exile. The disgrace. And then the fire finished the story.” He looked at her, eyes tired. “I was losing battles in every direction. And you—Celeste—you were vulnerable. So I made the hardest choice I’ve ever made. I hid you.”

She leaned back, stunned. “You abandoned me. You took away my identity. You let me suffer in the hands of your enemy!”

“I watched from afar. As much as I could. But your trail disappeared. The people I trusted turned. It took me years to find where you were placed. By the time I caught up, you were already… married.”

Talia looked away, her nails digging into her palm. “To their son,” she said bitterly. “To the family that destroyed my mother.”

“I didn’t know,” he said quickly. "I didn’t realize it at first. But once I did, I took action. I kept it to myself, watched everything you were doing. And when you finally left them, I came for you."

Talia’s heart pounded. “You watched me suffer,” she said. “Do you understand that? They humiliated me. They broke me down, made me feel like I was nothing. And all that time—my father was the most powerful man in the country?”

Emeric’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t want you to suffer. I wanted you safe. But I know now that safety isn’t enough. You deserve identity. Legacy and justice.”

She looked at him again, this time less guarded. “Why now?”

“Because now, you’re strong enough to hold it,” he said. “Because you’re not a girl anymore. You’re not hiding. You walked away from them without fear. That’s when I knew the time had come.”

Talia glanced back at the folder. Her mother’s face was still visible through the slightly crumpled page. There was something haunting about the familiarity of her expression — like she’d been waiting for this day too.

“I don’t even know what Celeste means,” she said, half-laughing, half-aching. “It doesn’t feel like me.”

“It will,” Emeric said. “When you wear it on your terms. Not theirs.”

For a long moment, the only sound in the car was the soft hum of the engine. The weight of history sat between them. Then, softly, gently, he leaned forward.

“Will you take back your name, Celeste?”