The sparring ring smelled of dust and sweat.
Althea stood in the center, gripping a wooden sword that felt impossibly heavy. Her arms ached from her earlier drills, but she refused to let it show. She squared her shoulders, meeting the cold, assessing gaze of Eldritch Thornblade, her new instructor.
"You've lasted longer than I thought," he said flatly, circling her like a wolf sizing up prey. "But you're still holding that sword like a broomstick. Again."
"I'm not holding it wrong!" Althea snapped, shifting her grip.
Eldritch's lips twitched—a faint smile, though it wasn't kind. "Good. Keep talking back. It makes me hit harder."
Before Althea could reply, he lunged. The wooden blade in his hands swept toward her with a speed that made her heart jump. She barely raised her sword in time, the impact reverberating through her arms.
"Faster!" he barked, stepping back and striking again, this time toward her legs. She stumbled as she blocked, her muscles screaming in protest.
Eldritch paused, his expression unreadable. "Tell me, Princess. What will you do if someone faster, stronger, and smarter than you attacks? Cry?"
"No," she said through gritted teeth.
"Run?"
"No!"
"Then stop holding back," he growled, his blade slamming into hers with another sharp crack.
Althea clenched her jaw, shifting her stance. Her father's words echoed in her mind: If you must rebel, at least learn to wield a sword while you do it.
She inhaled deeply, steadying her grip. This time, when Eldritch struck, she parried more cleanly, her movements sharper. He raised a brow but said nothing, continuing his relentless assault.
By the time the sun dipped low, Althea was drenched in sweat and her arms felt like lead. Eldritch finally lowered his blade, nodding once. "Good enough. For today."
Althea straightened, ignoring the tremble in her legs. "Good enough? That's all you have to say?"
Eldritch smirked. "When you earn praise, Princess, you'll know it." He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving her standing alone in the sparring ring.
Her fingers tightened around the wooden sword, frustration curling in her chest. Good enough wasn't good enough.
The halls of the palace were quieter than usual that evening. Althea's footsteps echoed softly as she made her way to the balcony where her father often spent his evenings.
She found him there, leaning against the railing with his back to her, the city of Arvalis sprawling below. The glow of lanterns cast golden pools of light across the streets, and the faint hum of life drifted up from the bustling markets.
"Hard day?" Hadrian's voice broke the silence, warm and familiar.
Althea hesitated before stepping closer. "He's insufferable," she said, dropping onto the bench beside him. "He barely says anything, and when he does, it's just to insult me."
Hadrian chuckled, glancing down at her. "That means he sees potential in you."
"Does it?" she muttered, crossing her arms.
He reached out, ruffling her tangled curls. "Eldritch has trained some of the finest warriors in this kingdom. He's rough, but he knows what he's doing. Trust the process, Althea."
She looked up at him, her grey eyes narrowing. "You say that like it's easy. You've been fighting all your life. I've only just started."
"And that's why you need him," Hadrian said softly. He studied her for a moment, his expression turning thoughtful. "You remind me of your mother when she was your age. Fierce. Stubborn. Determined to prove herself."
Althea blinked, caught off guard. "Really? Mother?"
Hadrian laughed, the sound low and warm. "Yes. She doesn't show it now, but she was just as wild as you once. Maybe even more so."
The idea of her elegant, sharp-eyed mother being anything like her felt absurd, but Hadrian's tone left no room for doubt.
He turned back to the view, his expression sobering. "The world will test you, Althea. It will try to break you. But you're stronger than you know. Never forget that."
His words settled over her like a warm cloak, and for a moment, the tension in her chest eased.
Later that night, Althea crept back to her chambers, her bare feet silent against the cold marble. Vael greeted her with a soft rumble, his golden fur catching the moonlight streaming through the window.
"Miss me?" she whispered, crouching beside him. He nuzzled her hand in response, his amber eyes steady and calm.
She sat on the floor beside him, her head resting against his side. "Father says I remind him of Mother," she murmured. "Do you think that's true?"
Vael blinked, his tail curling lazily around her.
Althea sighed, closing her eyes. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do, Vael. Everyone expects me to be something. A warrior. A queen. But what if I can't?"
Vael let out a low, soothing sound, and she smiled faintly. "Thanks. You're a better listener than anyone else around here."
The sound of footsteps echoed faintly from the corridor, and Althea's heart jumped. She scrambled to her feet, motioning for Vael to hide under the bed. He obeyed without hesitation, his movements unnaturally quiet for a creature of his size.
A moment later, the door creaked open, and Lorien stepped inside, his brow furrowed.
"Althea," he said, his tone clipped. "What are you doing awake?"
"I could ask you the same thing," she shot back, crossing her arms.
Lorien sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Father wants to see us in the throne room tomorrow morning. Something about the council meeting. Don't be late."
She raised a brow. "Anything else?"
"Just… try not to embarrass him," he said, his tone softening slightly. "He's under a lot of pressure."
Althea frowned but didn't argue. Lorien gave her a curt nod before leaving, the door clicking shut behind him.
Once he was gone, Vael crawled out from under the bed, his amber eyes watching her intently.
"Don't look at me like that," she muttered, flopping onto the mattress. "I didn't embarrass anyone today. Yet."
Vael let out a soft huff, curling up beside the bed. Althea closed her eyes, her fingers brushing his fur as sleep pulled her under.
The grand hall of the throne room felt colder than usual the next morning. Althea stood between her siblings, her fiery red curls still damp from a hurried bath. Lorien was, as always, impeccably dressed, his dark hair smoothed back and his expression unreadable.
On Althea's other side, their younger sister Selene, barely seven, tugged at her hand nervously.
"Why does Father look so upset?" Selene whispered.
Althea glanced toward the dais, where Emperor Hadrian sat flanked by the royal council. His expression was stern, the lines on his face deeper than usual. Althea's chest tightened at the sight; her father was rarely so grim.
The council members murmured amongst themselves, their hushed voices carrying a weight that made Althea uneasy.
A tall man with a hawkish face stepped forward—Lord Eryndor, the Minister of War. His sharp gaze swept over the royal children before settling on Hadrian.
"My Emperor," Eryndor began, his tone clipped and formal. "The border tensions have escalated. Last night, one of our outposts near the southern marshlands was overrun. The survivors report strange… phenomena."
Hadrian's expression didn't waver, but Althea noticed the way his fingers tightened around the armrest of his throne. "Define 'phenomena,' Eryndor."
"Unnatural winds. Shadows that moved without source. And," Eryndor hesitated, his lips thinning, "a creature the soldiers could not name. They fled before they could see it clearly, but it left no tracks."
A ripple of unease passed through the room.
Lorien leaned closer to Althea, his voice low. "Do you know anything about this?"
She shook her head, keeping her gaze fixed on the dais.
Hadrian leaned forward slightly, his tone calm but heavy. "What do you suggest, Eryndor?"
"We need to send a stronger force to investigate," Eryndor said firmly. "And I recommend consulting the court magi. If this is a magical threat, we cannot afford to dismiss it."
Hadrian's gaze shifted to the council table, where an older woman clad in deep green robes nodded solemnly. Lady Maren, the High Magus, folded her hands.
"Magic has stirred in the south for some time," she said. "If this… creature is truly unnatural, it may be tied to the resurgence we've observed."
"Enough," Hadrian said, his voice cutting through the tension. He stood, his red cloak sweeping behind him. "Lorien."
Lorien straightened instantly. "Yes, Father?"
"You will join the soldiers heading south. I need someone I trust to ensure this matter is handled properly."
Lorien's jaw tightened, but he nodded. "Understood."
Althea's stomach churned. "Wait," she blurted before she could stop herself.
All eyes turned to her, and the weight of the room pressed down like a physical force.
"Why does Lorien have to go?" she asked, stepping forward. "If it's so dangerous, why send him?"
Hadrian's gaze was sharp but calm. "Because he's ready."
Althea's throat tightened. She wanted to argue, but the words stuck. Lorien gave her a sideways glance, a faint flicker of something—gratitude?—crossing his face.
The council meeting adjourned, and Althea lingered in the emptying throne room, her mind buzzing.
"You should have kept quiet," Lorien said, approaching her.
She whirled on him, her frustration bubbling over. "You don't have to go! Why can't they send someone else? A general or—"
"Because this is my duty," Lorien said firmly. "And one day, it will be yours too. Stop trying to shield me, Althea. I'm not a child."
"I'm not shielding you!" she snapped, though her voice wavered. "I just… I don't want anything to happen to you."
Lorien's expression softened, and for a moment, he looked more like her younger brother than the poised diplomat he always tried to be. "I'll be fine," he said quietly.
"You can't promise that."
He hesitated, then placed a hand on her shoulder. "No, I can't. But I can promise this: I'll come back. You have my word."
Althea stared at him, her chest tight. Finally, she nodded. "You'd better."
That night, Althea sat on the edge of her bed, staring out the window as Vael dozed beside her. The moon hung low over the city, its silver light casting long shadows across the room.
Her mind churned with questions about the creature in the south, the mention of magic, and why her father had looked so strained.
Vael stirred, his amber eyes flicking open. He lifted his head, his gaze shifting toward the window.
"What is it?" Althea whispered, following his line of sight.
A shadow moved outside—too large to be a bird, too quiet to be a guard. Althea's heart leapt, but before she could react, Vael was on his feet, a low growl rumbling in his throat.
"Stay here," she said, grabbing the small dagger she kept hidden beneath her pillow.
Vael gave her a look that was almost reproachful but stayed put as she slipped toward the window.
Peering outside, she saw nothing but the swaying branches of the palace gardens. Her pulse raced, and for a moment, she wondered if she'd imagined it.
Then she saw it.
A figure, cloaked and hooded, moving swiftly through the shadows toward the eastern wall.
Althea's grip tightened on the dagger. She glanced back at Vael, who had crept to her side, his golden fur glowing faintly in the moonlight.
"We're following," she whispered.
Althea slipped silently into the corridor, Vael padding at her side. The palace was unnervingly still, the usual hum of activity replaced by the faint creak of wood and the distant rustle of leaves outside.
She kept her grip firm on the dagger, her heart pounding. The figure she'd seen wasn't a guard—of that, she was certain. But who would sneak through the palace at night, and why?
The moonlight spilling through the arched windows guided her steps as she followed the faint sound of movement toward the eastern wing.
Vael stopped suddenly, his ears swiveling forward.
"What is it?" Althea whispered.
The tiger let out a low, warning growl, his amber eyes fixed on the far end of the hallway.
A shadow slipped through the door leading to the palace gardens.
Althea clenched her jaw. She pushed the door open carefully, the cool night air brushing her face. Beyond, the gardens stretched out in a maze of hedges and flowerbeds, their beauty softened by the silver light of the moon.
She caught a flicker of movement near the outer wall and moved quickly, her bare feet silent on the stone path. Vael stayed close, his presence a comfort even as her nerves tightened.
The figure stopped near a vine-covered archway, their hooded head turning slightly as if listening.
Althea crouched behind a nearby statue, her breath shallow. Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her dagger.
"Who are you?" she called, her voice low but firm.
The figure froze. For a moment, there was only the sound of the wind rustling through the leaves.
Then they turned—slowly, deliberately.
The hood fell back, revealing a man with sharp features and piercing green eyes. His clothes were dark and travel-worn, and a thin scar cut across his cheek. He regarded her with a faint, bemused smile.
"Well, well," he said, his voice smooth and oddly calm. "The princess herself."
Althea straightened but didn't lower her weapon. "You shouldn't be here."
"Neither should you," the man replied, tilting his head slightly. His gaze flicked to Vael, who had stepped protectively in front of her. "Interesting companion."
"That's none of your business," she said sharply. "Who are you?"
The man held up his hands, though the gesture didn't feel particularly apologetic. "Just a traveler. Passing through."
"Travelers don't sneak into the palace," she countered.
His smile widened slightly. "And princesses don't chase shadows in the middle of the night. Yet here we are."
Althea's grip tightened on her dagger. "Give me one reason I shouldn't call the guards."
He studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. "Because I'm not your enemy."
"And how am I supposed to believe that?"
He hesitated, then nodded toward the outer wall. "If I were your enemy, I'd already be over that wall and gone. But I stayed. For you."
Her pulse quickened, though she kept her face neutral. "What do you mean, for me?"
"I came to deliver a message," he said, his tone turning serious. "The threat in the south—it's worse than your council realizes."
Althea frowned, lowering her blade slightly. "How do you know about that?"
"I have my ways," he said simply. "And you're running out of time. If you don't act soon, your kingdom won't survive what's coming."
Before she could respond, Vael let out a sharp growl, and the man's eyes flicked behind her.
Althea turned just in time to see the flash of steel as a second figure emerged from the shadows, blade raised.
The attack came swiftly, but Vael was faster. The tiger lunged with a snarl, his powerful body colliding with the assailant and knocking them to the ground.
Althea stumbled back, her heart racing as she watched Vael pin the figure beneath him, his teeth bared.
"Call him off," the man said sharply, stepping beside her.
"Why would I—"
"Now!" he snapped, his green eyes blazing.
Althea hesitated, then whistled sharply. "Vael, enough!"
The tiger growled but stepped back, his muscles tense as he watched the fallen figure struggle to their feet.
"Who are they?" Althea demanded, turning to the man.
"Mercenaries," he said grimly. "Hired by someone who doesn't want you to hear what I have to say."
"And why would they care about me?" she asked, her voice rising.
The man glanced at her, his expression hard. "Because you're more important than you realize."
Before she could press him further, the mercenary lunged again. This time, the man was ready, drawing a short blade and deflecting the strike with ease. Althea stumbled back, clutching her dagger tightly, but Vael leapt forward again, his roar echoing through the garden.
The fight was brief but brutal. When it was over, the mercenary lay unconscious at their feet, and Althea's hands were trembling.
The man sheathed his blade, turning to her. "You need to tell your father what happened here."
"And say what?" she demanded. "That I was attacked by a stranger who broke into the palace and claimed to have answers? He won't believe me."
The man hesitated, then reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, intricately carved medallion. He handed it to her without a word.
"What's this?" she asked, frowning.
"Proof," he said simply. "Show him this, and he'll know I'm telling the truth."
Althea studied the medallion, its surface etched with a strange, swirling pattern. She looked up, but the man was already retreating toward the wall.
"Wait!" she called. "What's your name?"
He paused, glancing back at her with a faint smile. "You can call me Kaelion."
Before she could respond, he disappeared over the wall, leaving her standing in the garden with Vael at her side.