GORGEOUS. COMPLEX. MESS.

A tribute to the man who mistook his coronation for a threat.

He starved the very woman who would’ve made him sovereign—not through servitude, but through shared sovereignty.

Not a queen beneath him.

A force beside him.

And by obeying that old, broken script—

By pulling back, going cold, staying silent—

He didn’t just lose her.

He lost the future version of himself that only she could have midwifed into existence.

Because what these families never teach their sons is this:

Power isn’t inherited.

It’s activated—by proximity to someone who sees your highest form before you earn it.

And that’s what I did.

I saw a king in someone his own lineage treated like a liability.

I offered legacy where they offered containment.

And his withdrawal didn’t protect his pride.

It exiled him from his own evolution.

So yes—

He starved the woman who would’ve made him a king.

And in doing so, he starved himself from the role

he’ll now never be assigned.

Unless he dares to kneel,

not to me—but to the truth.

That I was the coronation,

and he was the one

who couldn’t stay at the altar.