(Scene 1)

Sofia Paloma, princess and future queen of Eastamere, kept her head down, pulling her hood tighter to obscure her identity. A rolled map poked out of the heavily packed bag slung over her shoulder as flat shoes tapped against the smooth stones, each step echoing in the deserted streets of Palomia, Eastamere’s capital. The full moon cast a silvery sheen over the city, cold and unforgiving. She was twenty-five now, no longer a child, and she was ready to go.

She had avoided her father’s royal guard patrolling the streets tonight, relying on her brother’s rigid and predictable system. If Luis caught her, what would she even say? How could she explain this desperate escape to the knight who put duty before everything?

He’ll drag me back to the palace, Sofia thought, her heart sinking. Luis doesn’t understand—he never will.

And yet he was still her little brother.

A gust of wind brushed through her white silk dress, making the bow of the pink ribbon around her waist flutter. She shivered, quickening her pace toward The Dove’s Corner Inn and towards warmth. 

The inn’s sign screeched as it swung, its shadow stretching across the street—a dove, the crest of House Paloma, her father’s emblem, and a symbol of peace for all mankind. Guilt gnawed at her, but she shook it off. I’m sorry, Father. First, I’m going to live. 

Sofia carefully pushed against the front door, relief flooding her as she stepped inside. Amiable conversations fluttered against her ears, mingling with the smells of spiced Eastamerean wine and summer beeswax candles. Each breath filled Sofia’s lungs with heady perfume while the heat of a roaring hearth danced across her skin. 

She kept her hood up, wary of being recognised, unable to shake the feeling that each step away from the palace was a step further from the person she was supposed to be. It nagged at her. This was a betrayal of everything she had been taught to uphold. 

A wooden staircase lay before her, leading to the upper floor. Sofia climbed the steps, each creak of the wood echoing under her feet.

When she found the room, she pushed the door open and stepped inside, finding a window overlooking the paved street Sofia had just travelled down—a perfect view. 

'Nicely done, Your Highness.'

A glass of red Eastamerean wine sat on a round table, its owner a young woman with the fiery hair of the Gallos. Esme turned to Sofia and offered a drunken smile.

'Trust you to start drinking without me,' Sofia scoffed, lowering her hood.

Esme shrugged. 'You shouldn’t have taken so long.'

'You don’t have a brother who is captain of the royal guard.'

Esme placed another glass on the table and started pouring. 'Everything’s better with some wine in the belly. Drink up, Your Highness. You’re safe now. Luis won’t find you here.'

With a small chink, the pair of them tipped their glasses towards their lips. Sofia took a moment to appreciate the smooth, sweet taste. In the long and dreary council meetings, Father had only allowed one glass so they could keep their wits about them when considering important matters of state. Yet she’d heard the stories of when Father was her age, of when he used to drink whole barrels with his friends. Most of those friends were dead now, buried beneath the old battlefields that had once staged pivotal conflicts between their own kingdom and their neighbouring kingdom, Galia. The war had ripped their youths right from under them. 

The door burst inward with a resounding crash. For a moment, Sofia tensed, thinking it was her brother coming for her. She relaxed when she saw who it truly was, the third part of their journey. Her childhood friend, Fernando, stumbled into the room, his breaths ragged. In trembling hands, he clutched a weathered book covered with the fierce image of a snarling green dragon, its scales shimmering in the candlelight. Fernando’s brow shone with sweat, his black hair tousled from his urgency.

'I’ve got it,' he said, holding the book in the air triumphantly.

Esme rolled her eyes. 'He forgot his dragon book.'

'Don’t roll your eyes like that, Esme,' Fernando said, 'It’s the whole reason we’re going on this trip in the first place!'

'For you, maybe. For me, not so much.'

'That doesn’t matter,' Sofia said, maintaining the peace between her friends, as she always did. 'The main thing is that we’re here and we’re doing it together. Look…'

Sofia reached into her bag and pulled out the map she’d rolled up. She straightened it and placed it on the table, a map of the continent, a large, rugged, triangle-like shape. The Border Mountain Range cleaved through the land like a timeless scar, leaving Eastamere on the east side and Galia on the west. They would see it all. Her heart ached as she looked at it, thinking of her father’s inevitable disappointment. He’d put so much faith in her, named her queen when Eastamere had never had a queen. Lords protested and advised against it, but her father wouldn’t hear of it. She was the firstborn child, and that was the way of things in his kingdom.

I need this, Sofia thought desperately as she stared at her map, Father has to understand.

A small splodge of wine leaked into the parchment, staining the southern sea crimson.

'Great,' Sofia groaned, her heart sinking, 'You’ve just ruined my map.'

Esme shrugged. 'It’s just parchment. You’ll see the real thing soon enough.'

Sofia’s eyes lingered on the wine stain, her heart fluttering with frustration and regret, her mind trapping her father’s pained expression, refusing to let him go.

'Where are we starting?' Fernando asked, peering at the map.

Sofia blinked and forced herself to focus, pushing her doubts aside for the moment. 'Here.' She pointed to one of the cities on the southern point of Galia—Nymerium. 'Nymerium has good inns and a clear path north. From there, we can begin our journey.'

Fernando smiled. 'Excellent,' he said, glancing down at his book, 'I hear Nymerium has history with dragons.'

Esme scoffed. 'The dragons are dead, Fernando, how many times must I tell you that?'

'Alright then, what about the frozen north?' Fernando planted a finger into the northern section of the continent, coloured white. 'They say the wizard Cronus and his army of orcs still live.'

Esme snorted in hearty laughter. She was right, of course, no one had seen a living dragon or any orc army for decades, but there was so much more to see. They could travel to the northern provinces of Galia and Eastamere, climb the Border Mountain Range, visit the ancient burial sites of the elves. Anything to escape, just for a little while. 

Doubt gnawed at Sofia’s resolve, her body itching to move to the harbour. The longer they stayed here, the more likely Luis would find them, and smash her hope into pieces.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

Sofia froze, the knock at the door rumbling throughout the entire room.

'Sofia,' a voice called.

Bam! Bam! Bam! 

'Sofia, are you in there?'

Sofia’s heart plummeted. Her brother’s voice reverberated through the walls, each word a hammer blow. No, she wanted to curse, to shout at the Gods for being so cruel, and herself for being so stupid. She snatched her map from the table, rolling it up tight before the door swung open, revealing a pair of knights wearing the gold-plated armour and white cloaks of the Eastamerean royal guard. One of them swanned forward, his sweeping dark hair perfectly combed.

'What are you doing here, Luis?' Sofia asked, struggling to cling to her confidence as a knot tightened in her gut.

'We’re carrying out our duties as knights of the royal guard,' Luis said, serious as ever. 'What are you three doing here?'

'Nothing,' Sofia said as a thousand excuses flew through her mind, none of them good enough to convince her brother that nothing was going on.

'Hmm…' Luis stroked his chin.

His gaze remained fixed, the silence more accusing than words. Luis had always been a stickler for duty and honour, but ever since Father had promoted him to captain, he had only grown worse.

'I’ll ask you again,' Luis said, an icy chill growing in his voice as he stepped closer, 'What are you doing here?'

Sofia looked her brother in his sharp brown eyes, eyes that missed very little. She opened her mouth to spout some lie to him, some silly excuse that Luis probably would never believe even if he drank enough wine to sink a ship. But the words never came, and the truth lay for all to see.

'Well, I suggest you wrap it up and come with me,' Luis said, before Sofia could say anything, 'Father’s called an urgent council meeting, and he wants you to be there.'

Sofia’s heart sank, her freedom disappearing like smoke in the wind. Yet curiosity itched at her brain. 'Did he say why?' she asked her brother.

'Father is going to make peace with Galia.'

Luis’ words hung in the air for a moment as an eerie gust of wind forced its way into the room, making their candles flicker. Sofia’s stomach churned, and in the distance, she heard a faint noise that sounded alarmingly like a cry for help.

Peace with Galia? She could hardly believe it.

No doubt some members of the council would think that impossible. Some were still recovering from the wounds of their last war, twenty-three long years ago, when Sofia’s father was a young man and the newly crowned king.

'Now come on,' Luis said, marching closer, 'Father is waiting.'

Sofia’s breath hitched as the blinding gleam of her brother’s armour shone in her face. She wanted to tell him that he couldn’t make her go anywhere, that she wanted to stay with her friends and continue her adventure. But her mother’s voice whispered in her mind—You are the blood of the dove, and the blood of the dove runs thick. 

She let Luis take her arm and carefully escort her towards the door, her destiny weighing her down with every step. Sofia heard Esme say something to Luis, but he quickly shut the door behind her, barring Sofia from her friends.

(Scene 2)

A chill set about the air, gnawing at Sofia’s skin as she sat at the polished oak council table, her fingers tracing an intricate carving of a dove on her chair’s armrest.

Bold colours divided the room— the lower half gleaming in a fresh, black coat, with the upper half painted in a dark red. Stained glass windows depicting the ancient time of the elves stood to Sofia’s left, the moonlight giving their blue and green robes an ethereal glow. A single gaping fireplace sat in the corner, light cobwebs surrounding it, casting eerie shadows that crept across the room, inching ever closer. 

Sofia’s gaze shifted uneasily to Lord Serben Diae, seated beside her. He adjusted his posture, his thin smile gleaming like polished steel under the dim, flickering light of the chandeliers. His green eyes pierced through the gloom, their sharpness contrasting with the soft light.

'Thank you very much for attending tonight’s council session, princess,' he said, 'Your father will appreciate it.'

Sofia managed an awkward smile for her father’s old friend, her stomach tightening into a knot.

A groan resonated from across the table. Lord Keylor Gallo, another one of her father’s loyal councillors’, presence was like a storm cloud gathering. His grey hair tumbled like a cascade of rain, and his thick brows were furrowed in an unyielding scowl. His fingers gripped the edge of the table so tightly that the knuckles were white, as if he could crush the wood beneath him.

The black council chamber door creaked open, and a hearty guffaw fluttered in, making Sofia flinch. The king graced the room with a jovial air, his golden jacket shimmering against the dark wood panelling. He carried his halberd like an old friend, the metal catching the light with each stride. Behind him, the golden knights of his royal guard marched in, their armour clinking softly. They took their positions, standing still like statues. 

Sofia quickly rose and followed the council in bowing her head to her father, her legs trembling slightly. 

Once everyone was seated again, Sofia’s fingers resumed their tracing of the carved dove. 

'I’m sure by now you have all heard my plans,' Father said with a smile.

'Have you forgotten who the Galians are, Your Majesty?' Lord Gallo’s voice thundered, the sound reverberating off the stone walls. The noise made Sofia jump, her heart racing in response to the sudden outburst. 'I defended the border from King Rickard’s… ambition. I’ve seen what they’re capable of under tyrants like him!' He scoffed. 'They don’t know what peace is!' 

Her father’s gaze transformed instantly, the warmth of the caring storyteller of her childhood replaced by the steely resolve of King Geraldo II. His voice, when he spoke, was a low growl that seemed to shake the chamber. 'I defended our country against the Galians as well, Lord Gallo,' he said, gripping his halberd. 'I fought them rather than shouting commands from behind high walls. Do not presume to know more about King Rickard’s brutality than I.'

The intensity of her father’s glare made Sofia hold her breath, as if the sheer force of it might ignite the old lord into a ball of flame where he sat.

'That does not conceal the truth,' the king continued, his voice firm. 'I promised my wife I would end the tensions between our kingdoms. Now that the chance is within reach, I cannot waste it, not after all we’ve lost.'

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Mother’s dead, Father, Sofia thought miserably. We’ll never know what she truly wanted.

Lord Serben leaned forward, his gaze darting between her father and Lord Gallo. 'Correct, Your Majesty, peace is the priority. We must take this chance… although…' 

Her father’s attention snapped to Serben. 'Although, what?'

'I would exercise caution. Lord Gallo has the right of it. The Galians aren’t as driven for peace as we are. Many still see you as ‘The Devil’s Cobra,’ the man who relishes battle…'

'I am not that person anymore,' Father said firmly, the pain of that name etching across his face. 

'I know that, Your Majesty,' Serben said softly, 'It is simply the reality of our situation.'

'Do you suggest I send someone else to make peace in my place?' Father asked sharply, leaning forward in his chair, his eyes narrowing. 'Wonderful idea. I’m sure King Rickard will appreciate that very much.'

'Respectfully, Your Majesty, I didn’t say that,' Serben said, 'I only meant we should proceed with caution.'

Sofia’s mind whirled with the implications of their words. Her father’s determination, Serben’s measured concern, Gallo’s blunt warnings — they all swirled together, a cacophony of conflicting advice that left her feeling more lost than ever.

And then, as sudden as a bolt of lightning, Father’s gaze shifted to look directly at her. 'Sofia, what do you think?'

Sofia froze, her breath catching in her throat as the council chamber fell into a tense silence. All eyes turned to her, their gazes sharp and expectant. She had always known this moment would come — the moment when her voice would matter, when her opinion would shape the future of Eastamere and the continent as a whole. But now that it was here, all she could feel was a bone-deep terror threatening to paralyse her. 

Father discreetly tipped his head, inviting her to speak freely, but the gesture, meant to encourage, only intensified the pressure.

I remember when your father became king, Mother’s voice soared through her thoughts, he was just like you, all scared and on edge. Look at him now.

Her mother had always known what to say, always found the words to soothe her fears. But now, standing in the very chamber where her father had made countless decisions, it was difficult to reconcile the man before her with the boy her mother had once described. King Geraldo II, the unyielding warrior, the man who had led Eastamere through countless battles — had he ever truly been afraid? Had he every truly been young and terrified of what the future held?

'Erm…' Her voice wavered, and a pang of shame shot through her. She had wanted to sound strong and confident, like her father, but instead she felt like a child lost in a room full of giants. For a moment, she wanted nothing more than to disappear, to retreat into the shadows and let someone else bear the burden of this decision. But she couldn’t. She had to stand her ground. 

Drawing strength from the golden dove on their house banners, she forced herself to remember what that symbol meant. A symbol of peace for all mankind, forever.

'I think we should take it,' she said finally, her voice steadier than before. She met her father’s expectant gaze, forcing herself to hold it, to show him that she believed in her words. 'If we can achieve peace, we should take that chance.'

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, she feared she had made a terrible mistake. What if the council thought her too naïve, too inexperienced to understand the gravity of the situation? Her mind raced with the possible repercussions, each one more dire than the last. 

But then Father bowed his head, a prideful smile playing on his lips. Relief flooded through her, but she fought to remain strong.

She thought of Fernando and Esme staying behind in Eastamere while she travelled to Galia. The realisation gnawed at her, a sharp, relentless ache that deepened with every passing second. She had done her duty as the future queen, saying what needed to be said, doing what needed to be done, but the consequences of that duty weighed heavily. The prospect of going to Galia alone, without the comfort and familiarity of her friends, felt like a step too far.

'Although…' Her words slipped out before she could stop herself. 'I would appreciate it if Fernando and Esme could join us on our trip to Galia.'

'With respect, princess, you shouldn’t even be here,' Lord Gallo objected, his voice a harsh bark that echoed off the chamber walls. 'Discussion in this chamber is for members of the king’s council, you know that.'

Sofia tried not to flinch at Lord Gallo’s words, as biting as they were. She had long understood that his harshness was born of loyalty and experience, not malice. He was a bitter old soldier, scarred by years of war, and had never learned the art of diplomacy. Yet, despite his lack of grace, he had been instrumental in her father’s victories. Without Lord Gallo’s strategic brilliance, the war might have had a very different outcome. 

'I think we can make an exception for your future queen, my lord,' Father said, grinning in that familiar, reassuring way. 'You will one day take orders from her.' 

'Not for many years, I hope,' Lord Gallo replied, scowling.

Father’s grin faded, replaced by a flash of anger that made Sofia’s pulse quicken. 'That’s your final warning,' he said, jabbing a finger at Lord Gallo, his voice a low growl. 'You presume too much, my lord. I have decided. We are going to Galia, and we will make peace. Is that understood?'

Lord Gallo grumbled something under his breath before saying, 'Of course, Your Majesty.'

Father turned back to Sofia, his smile returning, though it didn’t reach his eyes. 'I’m sorry, my love. I cannot allow Fernando or Esmerelda to accompany us to Galia. The only people who will go are you, me, your brother, Lord Serben, and the royal guard. I need to make a good impression on King Rickard if I’m going to achieve peace. My decision is final on this.'

Final. The word struck her like a blow, robbing her of the last shred of hope she had left. Of course, it’s final. Her father’s decisions always were.

'My friends will keep me company,' Sofia said, her voice small and strained. 'I won’t…' I won’t feel so alone. The unspoken words echoed in her mind, but she couldn’t bring herself to say them. Admitting her fear to them would only make her seem weak in their eyes — and she couldn’t afford that, not now, not ever. 

Father nodded, his expression softening, but his words were resolute. 'I understand your apprehension, Sofia, but rulers stand alone in our burdens. What sort of father or king would I be if I didn’t seize any chance for you to gain the vital experience you need to be queen? So when we travel, I encourage you to watch intently and take everything in. Is that understood?'

The phrase ‘stand alone’ echoed in her mind like a tolling bell, a stark reminder of the path she was destined to walk. Alone. The burning stares of Lord Serben and Lord Gallo scorched her, their expectations palpable, but in her mind’s eye, their faces blurred and transformed. She saw Esme and Fernando sitting in their places, Esme with her ever-present wine, swirling it lazily in her glass, and Fernando, lost in his books, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Sofia imagined them sailing away on some grand adventure, their laughter carried by the wind, their hearts light and unburdened. They would explore distant lands, eat the finest foods, drink the rarest wines, and revel in the joy of a youth that she would never know. They were free — free to choose, to live as they pleased, to make mistakes and learn from them without the eyes of a kingdom watching their every move. How foolish I was, Sofia thought bitterly, to believe, even for a moment, that I could be anything but the future queen.

She forced herself to nod stiffly. 'As you say, Father.'

(Scene 3)

Luis Paloma lay in his bed, his gaze fixed on the intricate details of two crossed blades painted on the ceiling. One sword gleamed with a hilt adorned in precious Eastamerean gold, while the other flaunted a hilt made of the darkest Galian black. Below marked the date, 1019 AHH (After Human Habitation)-1021 AHH, the dates of the last war with the Galians, twenty-three long years ago.

His body throbbed with pain after enduring a full day of standing in heavy armour, anticipating. That is when he wasn’t attempting to motivate Sofia to pursue a more fulfilling existence. He tutted to himself just thinking about it. 

She was the kingdom’s future, and she squandered her time in that damn tavern, drinking her liver into oblivion, running from her responsibilities. And this trip she planned to go on. Did she not understand a future queen couldn’t just drop her responsibilities and leave without a moment’s notice?

Just as he was lost in his thoughts, a sharp knock on the door startled him. He tensed up and straightened his sore back. Letting out a deep yawn, Luis’ exhausted body begged for rest. As captain of the royal guard, it was his duty to remain vigilant. That took its toll. He had no right to complain; his royal guard vows demanded unwavering dedication.

Luis approached the door, anticipating a servant with urgent news, or maybe one of his brothers of the royal guard giving him a report. He pulled it open. 

Standing before him was Aurelio Diae, his toned body encased in gleaming gold-plated armour. A twinkle sparkled in his green gaze.

'Your Highness,' Aurelio greeted him with an arched eyebrow.

Luis’ heart fluttered and a smile crept on his face. He gripped Aurelio’s breastplate, yanking him into his bedroom.

As soon as the door slammed shut, Luis didn’t hold back. He kissed Aurelio like he had never kissed him before, savouring every moment, drowning in his relief. Right now, all he needed was to feel something that wasn’t crushing obligation. With Aurelio, the stress flowed out of his body and relaxed his limbs, allowing the kiss to become more flavoursome, less rigid. All that mattered was this moment, a moment where he could be himself, a moment where he didn’t have to be this rigid, emotionless knight all the time. His armour gave him pride. Aurelio gave him joy.

But before he was satisfied, Aurelio pulled away. 'Luis, are you sure you’re alright?'

'Never better,' Luis said, leaning in to kiss him again.

'I think we need to talk.'

'What’s there to talk about?'

Aurelio unstrapped his sword from his belt and let it rest by the wall. He sat on the bed and tapped the space next to him. 

Luis huffed. If he knew Aurelio, this would be another instance of ‘discussing their feelings and doubts and their deepest darkest secrets’ rather than getting on with what Luis actually wanted to do. The weight of his armour pressed into Luis’ flesh, but Aurelio’s captivating emerald eyes always weakened his resolve. He made his way towards the bed and allowed his arse to sink into it.

Aurelio offered his hand, Luis eagerly accepting. Their fingers entwined into a comforting embrace. 

'You know you can tell me anything, can’t you?' Aurelio said.

Luis nodded. Aurelio remained silent, waiting for him to speak.

'I’m sorry… for what just happened there,' Luis said, 'I just needed to clear my head.'

'Of what?'

'Sofia. I think she’s planning to go on a trip, with your brother and Esme Gallo. She actually thinks she can drop her responsibilities and leave like she’s some child. She’s the future queen, for goodness’ sake! What if by the time she’s ascends to the throne, she somehow ruins our alliance with the Galians and we’re plunged into another war?'

Aurelio chuckled. 'Luis, your sister has dreams, that’s all. You’ve achieved yours.'

'Not yet,' Luis said, offering Aurelio a wry smile.

Aurelio shyly looked down at their linked hands, grinning. 'Luis, your father isn’t going anywhere. Sofia has you to look out for her… and you have me.'

Luis couldn’t help but giggle. 'That is true enough.'

They kissed again. This time, there was a sense of calm and tranquillity, free from stress or desperation. Luis wanted to stay like this for eternity.

(Scene 4)

The biting cold of the Galian weather greeted Sofia as she disembarked from the ship. The clattering of hooves and the rumbling of the carriage navigating the unfamiliar Galian streets filled the air as Sofia sat beside her father and brother. In Eastamere, the sun provided her with constant company; the warmth caressing her skin. Here, in Galia, dull grey clouds shrouded the sky. Muddy streets replaced the spotless stone blocks of Palomia’s streets, people crowding the road in droves for the tournament, undoubtedly putting coins in many a pocket. Establishments like the bustling inns, the busy greengrocers, and the sooty stonemasons all stood squat, wooden, and perilously close together. Sofia couldn’t help but imagine the crackling flames that would consume the city if even one building caught fire. Perhaps a sprinkle of heat was what this place needed.

'Cold?' Father asked with a knowing smile, the carriage jolting back and forth.

Sofia rubbed her forearm, the icy chill seeping into her skin. 'I’ll manage.'

Father nodded. 'Very good. I want you to be especially attentive today, Sofia. Trust me, you’ll have to do plenty of dealings with Galians, too, when you’re queen.'

The chilly breeze brushed against her skin, a stark contrast to the warmth and excitement Sofia imagined her friends were feeling back in Eastamere. They were preparing for the trip she had arranged while she remained stuck in this carriage.

'Pay attention to King Rickard’s sons as well,' Father said, his grip on his spear getting tighter.

'And you, Luis.' Father put a firm hand on Luis’ golden pauldron. 'Good luck in the tournament. I need you to be on top form today. Give these Galians something to remember.'

Luis smirked and glanced out of the window. 'Don’t worry, Father. I’ll win.'

The carriage came to an abrupt halt, jolting Sofia forward. Sir Aurelio Diae waited for them to disembark on the Galian streets as Luis went first, nodding at Aurelio as he stood on the other side, the pair of them looking like golden statues. Father trailed behind Luis. He stepped into the daylight where the midday sun fought to penetrate the gloomy, overcast sky and radiate its glow on Father’s skin. The potent stench of dung assaulted Sofia’s senses as she exited the carriage.

They’d arrived outside a huge amphitheatre, its towering presence casting a dark shadow over the entire street. The roar of the crowd inside it whistled into the air, hungry for some swordplay. 

All eyes set on the group standing in the middle of the street. Eleven soldiers formed a line along the road, clad in their signature black armour and crimson cloaks of the Galian royal guard. Each of them stood as resolute as statues, some of them standing tall and muscular, others standing shorter and thinner, but all donned their black armour with a sense of unwavering pride that rivalled Father’s own royal guard.

In the middle stood a twelfth figure. King Rickard of House Rue. He wore a miserable expression, his dark grey hair falling over his coat lined with sheepdog fur, the animal on the Rue House emblem. His icy, penetrating gaze sent a shard of fear plunging into Sofia’s heart. Father’s grip grew tighter on his spear.

I remember when your father became king. He was just like you, all scared and on edge. Look at him now.

Father relaxed his shoulders and approached, his confident strides forcing everyone else to move in tandem with him. Sofia stuck by her father and brother, who were protected by the vigilant nine of the Eastamerean royal guard. Serben followed closely behind Father.

Stopping only a few feet away from their Galian hosts, Father leaned casually on his spear, exuding his kingly confidence. He was King Geraldo II. He had a reputation to maintain. As Sofia attempted to mimic her father, the icy Galian breeze sent shivers down her spine, turning her into a motionless statue.

King Rickard surveyed them all, his glare sweeping over every member of the Eastamerean party. When his eyes fell on Sofia, her heart paused, as though struck by lightning.

'Galia welcomes you all,' he said, a snarling undertone lacing into his voice.

Sofia anticipated her father’s response to be a warm and diplomatic smile, like he did with Serben or Lord Gallo. The smile never came. 'Thank you for accepting my request, Your Majesty. I hope today can bring about a new friendship for our kingdoms.'

Father reached his hand out for King Rickard to shake. The Galian king glanced down at it, staying his hand.

'I hear your son is looking to fight in the tournament.' King Rickard turned his head to face Luis. 'I’ve heard a great deal about his skills with a sword.'

'You won’t be disappointed,' Father said.

'Will I not?' The Galian king raised an eyebrow. 'Then let’s make it a fast start. You remember my son, Prince Rickard, don’t you?'

His Majesty gestured towards one of the men in black armour. 

The king’s son, Prince Rickard, stood taller than his father, his blonde hair flowing down his head. Bathed in sunlight, his skin glowed, giving him an appearance of being far younger than his thirty-four years. Sofia glanced over at Father. A few wrinkles sat under his eyes.

Will that happen to me when I become queen?

'How about we begin our celebrations with our first contest being between your son and mine? Give the crowd something to cheer about?' King Rickard said.

Father turned towards Luis, Luis signalling his agreement with a confident nod.

'Why not?' Father said.

'Then it’s decided. If you’d like to step inside our arena, the tournament will begin shortly.'

'I couldn’t help but notice, Your Majesty,' Father said, before anyone had the chance to move, 'You don’t have your entire family present. Where is Prince Jacques?'

King Rickard tightened his jaw, glaring at Sofia’s father. 'Sir Theon!' 

He turned to one of his knights to whisper something in his ear.

'I’ll get him, Father,' Prince Rickard said, his tone exhausted. 'It’ll make things quicker.'

King Rickard’s face twisted into a grimace, as if he had just discovered a fly in his soup. He reluctantly nodded. 

Prince Rickard bowed his head to his father and, signalling to a rather tall knight, hurried down the street, the knight marching behind him. They hurried towards the Galian royal palace, its hexagonal shape casting a commanding shadow over the city.

'Shall we get on with it?' King Rickard raised his hand, directing everyone’s attention towards the bustling fighting arena.

Sofia followed her father, her feet awkwardly squelching in the muddy streets of Galia’s capital.

Sofia had only heard stories about Prince Jacques Rue. Many said he never came out of his tower, that he was a monster unlike anything the world had ever seen. He was wrong, in more ways than one. Sofia shivered at these thoughts invading her mind. If she could think this way about others, whose to say others didn’t think this way about her?

'So,' King Rickard’s booming voice dragged Sofia back to reality. His icy stare bore down on her. 'You must be Princess Sofia. I’ve heard a lot about you.' 

Sofia gulped, wondering what exactly he had heard.

I can’t be afraid of him, she thought, dogs can smell fear.

'It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty,' Sofia said, 'Today is going to be a great day for our kingdoms.'

King Rickard offered her a devilish smile. 'That, I’m sure.' His gaze fell on Father walking into the amphitheatre. 'Has your father told you to keep a close eye on today’s proceedings?' 

His voice made Sofia’s body turn to stone. She stiffly nodded. 'Yes.' 

'Good. I’ve said the same to my son. I expect him to take heed of it.' He looked her up and down, like a warrior would when getting the measure of his opponent. 

Tipping his head to her, King Rickard said, 'enjoy the tournament, my lady.'

He passed her, his black-armoured and crimson-cloaked knights of the Galian royal guard at his tail. Sofia’s heart thumped in her chest as the amphitheatre loomed over her.

After your father, it will be you wearing the crown, her mother had once said to her, and it will be your duty to uphold the peace and protect the realm. 

Sofia took an almighty gulp, fingering the pink ribbon around her waist. She pushed herself further into the shadow of the amphitheatre. 

If you work hard and make sure you do all the right things, you will succeed, I can promise you that.