The palace halls echoed with the frantic tapping of small, bare feet against polished marble.
"Princess Althea!" The tutor's voice boomed, full of exasperation. "Come back this instant!"
Nine-year-old Althea of Arvalis grinned as she darted around a corner, clutching a stolen parchment under one arm. Her dark hair was a wild tangle, streaked with golden dust from the palace gardens, and her tunic bore evidence of mud, grass, and a poorly concealed encounter with berry pastries.
"I told you we should have hidden in the kitchens," whispered Damon, her chubby, brown-haired co-conspirator and the stable master's son. He followed close behind, looking nervously over his shoulder.
"The kitchens are the first place they look," Althea replied matter-of-factly. She peered around the corner, then ducked back, her grey eyes sparkling with mischief. "He's coming. To the garden!"
Their "band of rebels"—a collection of three noble children and two palace workers—muttered various forms of agreement and panic. As the princess of Arvalis, Althea had been dubbed their leader from the start, though "leader" in this case mostly meant "mastermind of trouble."
"Split up," Althea whispered. "We'll meet at the stone archway. On three—"
"Princess Althea!" The tutor's voice grew louder. "There is no escape!"
She shot a sly look at her friends and grinned. "Three!"
They scattered.
Ten minutes later, Althea emerged triumphantly into the palace gardens. The sun was high and golden, painting the vibrant flowerbeds in shimmering light. Vines curled lazily over marble statues of Arvalis' long-dead heroes, their faces serene and watching. Althea gave them a mock salute as she dashed past.
The group climbed a low wall near the edge of the palace grounds and dropped into a narrow alleyway. Beyond, the sounds of the capital city greeted them—vendors shouting, horses clopping over cobblestones, and musicians strumming cheerful tunes.
"Where now, Althea?" asked Elara, Duke Stormborn's daughter with her hair tied into two precise golden braids.
"The markets, of course!" Althea declared, wiping berry-stained hands on her tunic.
"The tutor will have us scrubbing floors for this," Damon muttered.
"If he catches us," Althea corrected. "Which he won't."
Weaving their way through the capital, the group soon arrived at the market.
The streets were alive with color and sound. The bustling market stretched like a patchwork quilt, each stall offering something bright and enticing: silks that shimmered like water, jars of glowing spices, pastries dripping with honey. The air smelled of roasted almonds, spiced wine, and fresh bread.
Althea led the way, her eyes wide with wonder despite the many times she had done this before. Her band followed, giggling and whispering as they darted from stall to stall.
At the pastry cart, Althea's grin widened. "Two for me," she whispered, dropping a small coin onto the counter.
The kindly baker, an older man with a round belly and flour-dusted hands, chuckled. "Your Highness, sneaking around again, are you?"
Althea's face froze. "Shhh!" She pressed a finger to her lips, her grey eyes pleading.
The baker laughed louder. "You and your little army—causing trouble as always. Take three pastries and be off with you before someone notices."
She beamed. "You're the best, Ewan."
As they raced through the market, Althea turned a corner too sharply and collided with someone.
She stumbled back, clutching her pastries. "Watch where you're—"
Her words faltered when she looked up.
The boy before her was about her age, with unruly black hair and laughing blue eyes. He wore ragged clothes—patched, dusty, and too big for him—but his posture was that of someone who didn't care. A leather sword belt sat crooked at his waist, holding a wooden practice blade.
"Careful, Princess," he said, his voice light and teasing. "You'll break something."
Althea blinked. "How did you—"
The boy smirked, brushing past her as if the encounter were nothing. Before she could respond, he was gone, vanishing into the crowd like a wisp of smoke.
"Who was that?" Elara whispered.
"I don't know," Althea replied slowly, staring after him. "But he was rude."
Damon snorted. "He looked like one of those wandering sword-folk."
"Hmm." Althea tucked the thought away, shaking it off. "Come on. We're late for the river."
The group's final stop was their favorite hiding spot—a small bank along the Golden River, where wildflowers brushed their ankles, and dragonflies glittered like living jewels.
They had been in a hurry to get there, their laughter fading into breathless whispers as they darted through the woods. Elara, panting, tugged on Althea's sleeve. "Do you think it's still there?"
"It has to be," Althea replied, her voice firm despite her racing heart. "We're not going to miss it."
The "it" in question, according to Damon, was a rare golden heron spotted near the river at dusk—a bird so radiant it looked as though its feathers were woven from sunlight. None of them had actually seen it, but they were determined to catch a glimpse.
Althea led the way, her bare feet skimming over moss and pebbles. The late afternoon sunlight danced through the canopy above, casting dappled light on the forest floor. The group burst into the clearing near the riverbank, their excitement bubbling over as they scanned the water.
"Nothing," Damon muttered, hands on his hips. "It's probably gone by now."
"It's not gone," Althea said, stepping closer to the water's edge. "We just have to look harder."
She pulled off her boots and waded into the cool water, the ripples shimmering like gold around her feet. "One day, when I'm queen," she declared, "I'm going to let everyone play in the palace gardens. No more boring lessons or mean tutors."
Damon grinned. "And what about us?"
"You'll all live in the palace," Althea said firmly, splashing water at them. "You can be my generals. Or court jesters. Your choice."
Laughter rang out across the water, clear and bright.
For a moment, the world was perfect—just sunlit water, flowers, and the promise of forever.
Then, something moved in the shadows.
At first, she thought it was the heron. Her heart leapt as she caught a flash of gold, but as the figure stepped closer, she froze.
It wasn't a bird.
It was a cub—a tiger, its fur gleaming gold in the fading sunlight.
Althea blinked, her breath catching. The cub's wide amber eyes locked on hers, unblinking, and for a moment, neither of them moved. There was something deeply strange about the way it watched her, as though it were trying to decide something.
"Althea!" Damon's voice broke the silence. "What are you staring at?"
"Shh," she hissed, holding up a hand.
The tiger cub took another cautious step forward, its paws skimming the water. Althea knelt slowly, her fingers brushing the river's surface. "Hey there," she whispered, her voice soft.
The cub tilted its head, then padded forward with surprising confidence. It stopped inches from her outstretched hand, sniffing cautiously before letting out a low, rumbling sound that made her laugh.
"You're not afraid, are you?" she murmured, her grin widening.
The cub didn't respond, but it pressed its nose briefly against her palm. Then, without hesitation, it padded closer, brushing against her leg like a cat claiming its owner.
"Althea!" Elara gasped, her eyes wide. "What is that?"
"It's a tiger," Dercy said, his voice a mix of awe and panic. "We need to go!"
"No," Althea said, bending down to pet the cub. "He's just a baby. He's not dangerous."
Damon snorted. "He's a tiger! He'll eat you as soon as he's bigger."
The cub looked up at her, his amber eyes steady and unwavering.
Damon frowned, but Althea was already smiling down at the cub, his fur warm against her skin.
"Vael," she murmured, naming him without thinking. The cub let out a soft huff, his amber eyes calm and steady. "We can't leave without him" she declared.
"Fine," Damon muttered. "But if it eats us, I'm telling your father this was your idea."
Althea laughed, scooping up the cub. "You can tell him whatever you want. Come on—we're late."
As the group made their way back through the woods, their earlier laughter returned, though now tinged with wonder and curiosity. Althea couldn't stop smiling.
---
The palace halls were quiet when they returned, their laughter giving way to nervous whispers. Althea's muddy feet left small prints on the marble floor as she pushed open the grand double doors of the throne room.
Vael padded silently beside her, his golden fur blending with the dim light of the corridor. Althea hesitated at the doorway, glancing down at the cub. "Stay here," she whispered, crouching to meet his curious gaze.
Vael blinked at her, his amber eyes calm and steady, then sat obediently against the wall.
"Good boy," she murmured, brushing a hand through his fur before slipping inside.
The emperor, Hadrian, sat on the throne, his broad shoulders clad in a cloak of deep red. He looked up as Althea entered, and though his face was stern, there was a flicker of amusement in his dark eyes.
"You grow wilder by the day. Do you know how many tutors you've sent fleeing this week?" he asked.
"Four?" Althea guessed, her voice small as she bowed her head and stared at the ground.
"Five." He sighed, then gestured her forward "Come". Althea approached, barefoot and guilty.
"You are my wild little flame," Hadrian said softly, brushing a lock of golden-red hair from her face, "but even flames must learn to burn with purpose. One day, this kingdom will rest on your shoulders."
"I know," she murmured, looking down.
Hadrian lifted her chin with a finger. "Then let's see if you can carry it. Tomorrow, you'll begin lessons with the master swordsman, Lord Eldritch. If you must rebel, at least learn to wield a sword while you do it."
Althea's grey eyes lit up. "Really?"
Hadrian chuckled. "Really. Now go—clean those feet before your mother sees."
Althea slipped back into the corridor to find Vael exactly where she had left him, sitting patiently. His tail twitched slightly as she approached.
"Come on," she whispered, scooping him into her arms. "Let's get you settled before anyone else sees you."
Vael rumbled softly in response, and Althea couldn't help but smile as she carried him toward her chambers.
---
Althea skipped down the corridor toward her chambers, the cub tucked securely in her arms. Vael. The name fit him perfectly. His golden fur shimmered in the dim light of the palace halls, and his amber eyes gleamed with quiet curiosity.
When she reached her chambers, she slipped inside quietly, setting Vael down on the plush carpet. "This is your new home now," she whispered. "You'll like it here."
Vael tilted his head, watching her as she moved to the corner of the room to wash up.
Althea had barely finished scrubbing her feet when a piercing shriek echoed from the hallway.
"WHAT IS THAT?"
She froze, her heart sinking.
The door burst open, and two maids stumbled inside, pale-faced and trembling. One pointed toward Vael, who sat calmly by the bed, licking his paw as though he hadn't a care in the world.
Before Althea could say a word, another figure appeared in the doorway.
"Althea."
Her mother's voice was quiet, but the weight of it made Althea's stomach churn. Empress Illyra, clad in a flowing gown of deep sapphire, stepped into the room. Her sharp grey eyes landed immediately on Vael, narrowing with both suspicion and disbelief.
"What," she said slowly, "is a tiger doing in your chambers?"
Althea straightened, instinctively moving to stand between Vael and her mother. "He followed me home," she said, her voice small but determined.
Illyra crossed her arms, her gaze flicking briefly to the maids. "Out. Now."
The two women scurried away, closing the door behind them.
The empress turned back to her daughter, her expression unreadable. "Althea," she said again, her tone sharper now. "Do you have any idea what kind of danger—"
"He's not dangerous!" Althea interrupted, her grey eyes fierce. "He's just a baby. Look at him, Mother!"
Illyra's gaze shifted to Vael, who had stopped licking his paw and was now staring directly at her. For a moment, her usual composure faltered, and something flickered across her face—something Althea couldn't place.
"Please," Althea said, softer now. "I'll take care of him. He won't hurt anyone. I promise."
Illyra sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Your father will hear about this."
"I'll tell him myself," Althea promised quickly. "He won't mind. He'll let me keep him. Please, Mother."
For a long moment, the empress said nothing. Her gaze lingered on Vael, and then she turned back to her daughter, her expression softening slightly. "Fine. But only if you keep him under control. If he causes any trouble, he's gone. Do you understand me?"
Althea nodded eagerly, relief flooding her face. "Yes, Mother. Thank you!"
Illyra shook her head, already moving toward the door. "You're too much like your father," she muttered. "Wild little flame indeed."
Vael rumbled softly as Althea dropped onto the bed beside him, running her fingers through his warm fur.
"See?" she whispered, smiling. "I told you I wouldn't let anything happen to you."
The cub blinked at her, his amber eyes calm and steady, and Althea felt her chest swell with something she couldn't quite name.