To prologue or not to prologue

That is the question.

First draft too of a map of A’dara

My first draft contained a prologue, opening on the elves creating a portal to another realm, setting up the premise and introducing a main character. Yet after the first few rejections pitching, I started talking to others in the writing community (something I hadn't done before) - and was informed prologues are dead, people don't read them, and they rarely add to the story. I believed mine was needed - if you didn't read it, you'd miss a big part of the tale, but trusting this advice, I scraped it, adding the details to chapter 2.

 I learnt later that my main issue was actually the word count for an unknown author in fantasy romance, not the start - but I had already gone down a rabbit hole of googling and listening to those I believed knew better. So, after a detailed development edit, I'm back to a prologue, and I'm happy with a deep dive into this world and the characters that will play a poignant role in the future.

I'm also back to trusting my gut with my story, not listening to the internet and the wisdom of others (it doesn't always work), and just doing it my way.

 The start now focuses on a different setting, but an important one, and I believe it adds to it, so here is the new prologue and opening to Heart of A'dara (planned as two books now).

Prologue

The Rose Empress stood poised on a stone platform before the accused. Despite her face hidden under a black veil, her body betrayed her anger as she looked down on the three bound men on their knees in the sand before her.

Her advisor, Ferran, stood beside her, his shaved head beading droplets of sweat in the dry desert heat. Adjusting his glasses, he addressed the crowd gathered at the city's edge to witness the trial, ‘These three are accused of spreading lies and bringing discord within the just city of Ciobdale. Witnesses have verified they plotted to cause unrest and made plans to kill the Empress's daughter.’ Ferran paused to allow the angered outcries from the people to reach the men. Sophie, the empress's daughter, was much loved by the citizens and he smiled thinly at the predicted response before raising his hands for order, ‘Good people of Ciobdale, you are here to witness the justice of our Imperial Empress. She will not taint our city and shed their blood within our hallowed walls but has ordained that these men - who came to us from the wastelands, given asylum, fed, clothed, welcomed and shown compassion by our beloved Empress – will be left to wander the endless desert. Let the sands decide their fates.’

The crowd seemed torn in their uproar at this judgement; many felt they should hang for such treason and shouted for their blood.

One of the accused struggled angrily against his restraints, ‘You are blind fools! This witch is evil. She keeps you trapped here. She lies to you all. She is not all-powerful - she and her daughter are monsters.’ His outcry was ignored, and the crowd began to pelt him with rocks and rotten fruits.

The Empress allowed it briefly before motioning to her son Ash, the general of her vast army. At his signal, guards calmed the crowds and gathered the men to their feet, marching them past her platform. She was dressed head to toe in black like death incarnate, and her hidden gaze followed them. Ash waited at the base of the podium.

The empress clenched her fists to her side, ‘Wipe their minds and leave them to the desert,’ she ordered, her voice sounding indifferent, almost tired. Ash bowed and set his men to the task. The Rose Empress looked out at her people and called to them with renewed strength to her voice, ‘We are blessed and protected by the sands. May the desert deliver its wisdom and justice upon these misguided souls.’  

The energy in the crowd shifted at her words, and they cheered as one for her mercy and Ciobdale.

While the cheers continued, she addressed Ferran quietly, ‘Where is my daughter? She should be here.’

‘I believe she is still in the palace gardens, Regent.’

The empress made a noise of disgust before turning away. A light breeze gathered, allowing her to float down from the platform to an ornate horse-drawn carriage, waiting to return her to the palace.

Once inside her opulent marble citadel, she dismissed her guards and headed to the garden at its centre. Gentle fountains trickled into pools of moving water towards a covered dais. The lush green oasis was awash with brightly coloured fragrant blooms, and she found her daughter sitting on one of the curved stone benches at the edge of the vast enclosure.

Sophie was dressed head to toe in a peach-coloured gown, her face half covered and her eyes fearful.

The empress noticed this as she approached. ‘It is done,’ she said bitterly, perching beside her daughter.

Sophie didn’t look up. Her eyes still haunted and distant, ‘William is returning,’ she whispered.

The empress shivered. The tension returned to her shoulders at the news of her other son. The day of prophecy was nearing, and his return was not a good sign. Closing her eyes, she reached out, feeling the world around her. The desert acted like an amplifier for her powers and would indicate any shift in A’dara. Her magic was strong enough to feel across the aired expanse, beyond The Lords Teeth mountain range into the lush human and elven territories of the north, but she felt no change.

The prophecy sprung into her mind like a mantra, ‘When elven eyes fall, when the land burns despite constant rain and men are beasts by demon hands. When hope is lost, a champion comes from realms unseen. Through gateway invoked at ancient alter as the blood moon rises within a storm, a warrior bound to elven heart will turn the tide and save A’dara.’  She prayed silently that the sisters of Tholith understood the truth she had delivered to them all those years ago.

 That day was coming, and it would change everything.

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