Tristan stands tall in front of his uncle's throne, his gloved hands clasped firmly on the small of his back to keep from trembling. His sister stands to his right, her expression one of boredom as she surveys the man sitting in front of them. Whatever the king had called them for couldn't be good. He rarely requested their presence - aside from scolding or punishing them.

Their Uncle shows no sign of aging, his tan skin wrinkle-free, not an ounce of gray in his raven black hair. He holds no resemblance to his niece and nephew, aside from the emerald eyes that came from him and their father's side of the Royal Family. All of their other features came from their mother and her side of the family. Tristan and Clara inherit their matching honey-gold hair, the freckles that dot their cheeks and nose, and their sun-kissed skin. It was a shame their parents couldn't be here to witness how much they've grown. If they were, they could have put a stop to their uncle's–His Royal Majesty's–unfair laws against the half-breeds of Loria.

Wanting to get this over and done with, Tristan speaks first, his voice calm as he bows his head.

"You sent for us, Uncle?" He questions, voice calm despite the pounding of his heart. The King regards Tristan with a serpentine smile. He rises, taking slow steps as he approaches his niece and nephew.

"Yes. I wanted to question you about our new . . . guests." The King speaks slowly, not a hint of warmth in his tone. "How are they faring?"

The Prince meets his uncle's gaze, dark and depthless as his soul surely is. He contemplates his answer, wondering the safest way to reply. Was this a test? Did his uncle know what Tristan was plotting all along? Was he just waiting for his nephew to slip up and reveal something just by his tone?

"They seem to be adapting well, Uncle." He says, keeping his expression neutral. "The Head Maiden has them being supervised by the senior servants until they are able to perform their tasks alone."

The King tuts his tongue, the red rubies embedded in the royal golden crown glinting dangerously atop his head. The crown that Tristan would soon wear in three weeks time. He steels himself for the elder man's next words, watching as he brings his slender fingers to stroke the black hairs of his short beard.

"Do you not think it a waste of time and resources to train these new . . . servants?" He questions, eyebrows raising. "Only one will be picked in the end – why wait three weeks to do so?"

Tristan swallows the lump in his throat, opening his mouth to stammer out a reply, but his sister beats him to it. He could have hugged her for her quick-witted thinking. Apparently, Clara had thought this meeting through more than he had - had guessed at their uncle's suspicions for a while now.

"My brother wants to choose a new servant from his own hands, Uncle. As future King of Loria, it's only fitting that he has a hand in choosing those who serve us." Tristan dares a look at his sibling, her ruby-painted lips pulled up into a polite smile. "Which is why he is waiting until his Coronation to announce the lucky winner."

Their Uncle turns his eyes on her next, annoyance twitching in his brow. He simply waves a hand, apparently pleased by her answer. "No matter. There is another reason I have sent for you." He turns his back, seeming to glide back up to his throne - Tristan's throne, as it would soon be. He beckons them closer, to which they oblige, sharing confused looks.

"I have been in contact with Tolentia, the Northern Kingdom." He seats himself on the throne, his eyes now trained on Clara. Tristan had a very, very, bad feeling of where this was leading. His sister tenses - already beginning to fear the worst. How could she not? When their uncle's grin was like a cat cornering his prey. "We have reached an agreement, an alliance. Clarisse, you are to wed the Crowned Prince of Tolentia come winter. Our kingdoms will be united as one."

It was as if the world had frozen

at that moment. Clara had gone rigid beside Tristan, her hands clenched and her face going white. He watched her take deep breaths, her head shaking - curly hair bouncing with each movement.

"Tristan will be king by then. He can call off the alliance." She says through clenched teeth, her emerald eyes glaring up at their uncle. Tristan wants to grab her hand, to keep her quiet. But he didn't move, didn't dare speak. He hated himself for his cowardice - but he wasn't guaranteed the crown yet. His uncle could recommend to the Council that he keep it for a few more years - and they would believe him without a second thought.

The King lets out a sharp laugh, deep and bellowing and holding no warmth. For a king made of flame, he seemed to resonate ice."I thought you would say that." He smirks, sitting up straighter. "If you do not agree to this, then your brother will never be crowned, and I will send those half-breed servants back to where they belong immediately."

Tristan keeps his eyes on Clara, watching as she goes completely still. Then she lowers her head, shoulders slumping in defeat. He knew how much the freedom of the half-bloods meant to her, and she would not jeopardize their goals.

"Yes, your majesty. I look forward to meeting him." Though her tone gives away her reluctance. Their Uncle nods, and Tristan wishes he could do anything at that moment to wipe the smug look off his face.

Soon. That time will come soon.

"The Crowned Prince of Tolentia will be here for the coronation. You will be acquainted with him then." He waves his hand, the red jewel adorning his middle finger glinting. They understood the meaning of the gesture.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Dismissed.

The Princess turns on her heel, raising her head high as she rushes from the throne room, the guards hastily opening the great double doors for her. Tristan is about to follow suit, when his uncle's voice makes him pause. He turns to find the King squinting at him, the chiseled structure of his jaw clenching slightly.

"A word of warning, boy. If I find you and your sister are hiding something from me - or hear word that you are lying to me about these slaves," He wags his finger mid-sentence, a shadow crossing his face as he leans forward in the throne. "I will have them all hanged - and you will never have this crown placed atop your head."

Tristan swallows, fighting the anger that threatens to surge up and out of him. He takes in a silent, deep breath, before giving a single nod. "Understood, Uncle. You have nothing to fear - the . . . slaves are merely that, nothing more."

"Good." The King says, relaxing his posture once more. "Their existence sickens me - I don't know why I agreed to let you have them roaming about the Palace, dirtying the air with their filthy breath." He shakes his head, shooing Tristan with his hand. "Leave me, I have other matters to attend."

Tristan holds his sigh of relief until after he exits the throne room, allowing the tension out of his body. He looks around the hall for any trace of his sister, wanting to speak with her - but then decides against it. He knew she wanted to be alone, to process their uncle's order for her. He hates that he could do nothing to prevent this, to keep his sister from being betrothed to Tolentia's Prince. He could only hope that the rumors about him were not true, that Prince Calor is not as harsh and cold as Tristan had been lead to believe.

It certainly would not end up well for him.

----------------------------------------

The Princess did not return to her chambers after her meeting with the King. Instead, she stormed out of the palace, not even bothering with a saddle as she hoisted herself atop her dappled gray mare, and took off down a dirt path she had ventured down many times before. She urges the horse into a gallop, squeezing her thighs for balance and using one hand to steer, while the other gently grips her long mane.

Anger courses through her, her heart thumping in time with the beat of her mare's hooves as her uncle's voice repeats in her head. She didn't know what to expect when they had been called for, she thought perhaps he had guessed at her brother's plot. But the news of her betrothal? Clara had wanted to throttle him where he sat. She couldn't see herself tied down like that, to be bound to another person not by love - but for pure political gain. For she would never love the Northern Prince. She would not allow her heart to give way to it, that she knew for certain.

When she reaches the edge of the Emerald Forest she gently tugs on the reins and her horse slows to a smooth stop. In one fluid motion she dismounts, landing with a soft thud on the dirt. The Princess strokes the soft fur of her mare's nose, before loosely tying the reins to a sturdy branch of one of the nearby trees. Stormy, the mare, gives a soft snort before lowering her head to begin grazing while she waits.

Clarisse enters the forest without so much as looking back, hoping her companions would be able to sense her arrival on the wind. She had to talk to someone about this, and there was only one person, one true friend she could count on to understand her aggravation. It was unfortunate that she lived outside of the palace, it makes speaking to her as often as she liked a tad difficult.

Only when Clara can no longer see the exit of the forest does she hear the snapping of a nearby twig, a loud bark from her left causing her head to turn. A blur of white is all she sees before a familiar pair of tan arms is crushing her into a tight hug. The Princess lets out a laugh that turns into a wheeze, returning her friends embrace before pulling away. The heir to the Emerald Pack has changed in the months they had last seen each other.

Her shaggy, chocolate hair has grown into a wild bob that frames her slender face, a strand of it braided and held securely along the left side of her scalp. Her eyes are like icy daggers, pinning Clara with a look of concern, though a smile is pulling back her full lips. The obvious feature that sets Tamara apart from humans are the fuzzy, pointed wolf ears at the top of her head, their brown fur matching her hair. She doesn't miss the scar on the upper right corner of her mouth, either, a new addition to the heir's looks. No doubt received during a battle for power, much to Clara's chagrin.

"My friend, why have you waited so long to visit?" Tamara questions at last, pulling away to cross her slender, yet toned arms firmly across her chest. The look of reprimand has Clara flinching.

"My duties have made me unavailable." The Princess answers with a sigh, moving to Tamara's right to place a hand against her wolf companion's furry shoulder. The white wolf leans into Clara's touch, letting out a high pitched whine that seems to say:

I missed you too, you know.

"You look upset." Tamara states, gesturing with her hand. At the command, the wolf lowers herself, allowing the girl to climb up on her back with ease. She grins down at the Princess, offering her arm so she, too, could climb up. Clara gives a grin of her own, unable to stop herself from accepting as she climbs up behind her friend. "Wanna tell me about it?"

Clara sags with relief, her arms moving to hold onto her friend as Claudia, the wolf, lurches forward into a walk. She hesitates for a moment, trying to find the right words to explain her situation, when at last she blurts out, "My Uncle has arranged for me to marry Prince Calor come winter."

Tamara stiffens at this. Clara leans back to avoid her hair as she turns her body, easily shifting so that she is now backwards. Her eyes are wide with shock, the smile gone from her lips.

"But can't your brother reverse your betrothal once he is crowned?" She questions, hope in her voice. Clara shakes her head.

"No. Our uncle has made it clear - if he does such a thing, or even is suspected of attempting it, he will inform the Council that he is unfit to be King. That he goes back on his promises." Clara closes her eyes, bracing her hands against Claudia's muscular back as the wolf pads on through the forest. "And the slaves will never be released if that happens. You and the other half-bloods will never have freedom, as long as my uncle continues to rule." She opens her eyes once more, a sigh leaving her.

Tamara purses her lips at this. "I can inform my mother, maybe she can get involved-"

"Please don't." Clarisse grabs her friend's hand in her own, squeezing lightly. "The King is already uncertain of the pack, and suspicious of you as well. I couldn't stand it if he forced you into one of those camps, Mara." Her voice shakes at this, her expression pleading. "He already thinks your pack is behind the village attacks - I've tried to explain otherwise, but you know how he feels about the Dire Wolves. About you and your mother."

Tamara growls at this, revealing her canines - longer and sharper than a normal human's. Clarisse knew it wasn't towards her, but towards her Uncle and his barbaric laws. But as long as her and the rest of the pack stayed hidden within this forest, they were safe. At least, that's what she continues telling herself.

"I don't wish to talk about this anymore. I came to spend time with you and Claudia, dear friend. To run away from the palace for awhile." She forces a smile back onto her lips, that spark of mischief returning to her emerald eyes. "So, let's have some fun. Let me forget that I am a princess for a while - let me feel like I am part of the pack."

Tamara gives a bark of laughter at this, turning to face forward once more. "You should know this by now, Princess, as long as my mother and I live, you will always be part of the pack. You want to run? Well, then run we shall!"

With a click of Tamara's tongue, Claudia bounds forward, the leisurely pace of her steps turning into a dead-sprint in a matter of seconds. The wolf lets out a joyful bark, surging even faster. Clara is forced to wrap her arms around her friend's waist once again for support, laughing shrilly as the forest passes by in a blur of greens and browns- every leap over fallen logs and wide streams has her feeling as if they were flying.

For the moment, the Princess could give into this simple pleasure, the pure exhilaration of the wild. It would be a long time before she would have the chance to feel it again. These next few weeks, she would be busy with plans of her very own.