Princess Lysara Ravenshade stood atop the castle's western tower, the cool morning breeze whipping her dark curls across her face. From this height, she could see beyond the walls of the royal palace—the sprawling city below, the training yards filled with armored knights, and in the far distance, the thick, untamed forest where she longed to run free. But the golden cage of her birthright held her fast.
Her fingers gripped the cold stone of the parapet as she watched the knights below. She had trained in secret, mastering the sword under the cover of moonlight, but she would never be allowed to fight as they did. It was not the place of a princess to wield a blade—only to be wielded as a tool of marriage and politics. The thought burned her like hot iron.
A voice called from behind her. "Lysara! Do you always have to be somewhere you shouldn't?"
She turned to find her sister, Princess Evelyne, standing in the doorway, arms crossed, a mix of amusement and exasperation on her face. Evelyne was everything their father wanted in a daughter—graceful, intelligent, obedient. She was also the only person in the castle Lysara truly trusted.
"I needed some air," Lysara said, offering a wry smile. "Father's council meetings are suffocating."
Evelyne sighed. "You know how he is. He expects us to be seen, not heard." She stepped closer, lowering her voice. "You shouldn't make him angry, Lysara. He already favors the others more than he does us."
A shadow crossed Lysara's face. "He never truly favored us to begin with. He only tolerates you because you're useful to him."
Evelyne flinched but did not deny it. Everyone knew she was being groomed for a political marriage, her future dictated by alliances and power plays. Unlike Lysara, she had accepted her fate.
A shrill cry from below caught Lysara's attention. She glanced down to see their younger brother, Prince Alric, running through the gardens, his nursemaid struggling to keep up. At only six years old, he was the golden boy of the kingdom, the one their father had chosen to live at the cost of their mother's life.
Evelyne followed her gaze and softened. "He looks happy today."
Lysara nodded but said nothing. She adored Alric, doted on him even, but the truth of their mother's death lay heavy on her heart. Neither he nor Evelyne knew the truth—that the king had chosen to save his son over his wife. And Lysara carried that burden alone.
Before Evelyne could say more, a second figure approached. Prince Dain.
Their half-brother strode onto the tower with his usual air of smug entitlement, his dark eyes filled with something dangerously close to amusement. "Sneaking off again, Lysara?" he mused. "You know, one of these days Father is going to get tired of your little rebellions."
Lysara straightened, meeting his gaze with unflinching defiance. "Then let him."
Dain smirked. "Perhaps he will. Or perhaps he'll simply find a better use for you." His tone dripped with unspoken threats. "Marriage, for instance."
Evelyne placed a hand on Lysara's arm, a silent warning not to take the bait. But Lysara's blood was already boiling.
"I'd rather wield a sword than be traded like a prize horse," she snapped.
Dain chuckled. "And yet, you will be. It's only a matter of time."
With that, he turned and left, his boots echoing against the stone as he descended the tower steps.
Evelyne exhaled slowly. "You shouldn't provoke him."
Lysara clenched her fists. "He provokes me first."
Silence stretched between them before Evelyne spoke again, her voice softer this time. "I worry for you, Lysara. You've always been different."
Lysara looked back out over the kingdom, her heart pounding. Different. Yes, she was. More than Evelyne even realized. Because beneath her skin, beneath her fury and fire, magic simmered, waiting for the day it could no longer be contained.
And when that day came, the kingdom would never be the same.