Ariella awoke with a startle, soft pillows tumbling onto her head. Rubbing her eyes, she glanced at her brother, Prince Darion Elric, who was admiring himself in her ornate mirror that stretched to the floor. He was playfully posing, her sparkling white tiara perched atop his ash brown hair.

  “What’s the matter?” Ariella asked hoarsely, still groggy.

  Darion smirked, placing the tiara down with exaggerated care. “Not planning to lie around all day, are we? We’ve got places to be.”

  She threw off her fine woollen blankets, her furs falling away as she climbed out of bed.

  “Let me guess—another suitor I have to meet?” she said, her voice laced with annoyance.

  Darion chuckled, taking a bite from a ripe red apple he had snatched from a fruit bowl on the table. “Father wouldn’t send me for that. He’d have your maids or Shaya help you get ready.”

  Ariella’s eyes narrowed. “Last I checked, it’s training day, isn’t it?”

  Darion tossed her an apple, his grin widening. “Exactly.”

  Ariella caught the apple mid-air and ran to her wardrobe, eager to get dressed. Training in nightwear would not do.

  “I’ll be outside,” Darion called, closing the sturdy wooden door behind him.

  Ariella was the Princess of Tyrancia, renowned for her beauty, with auburn hair and sparkling emerald eyes like her late mother Queen Daria, eyes that her brothers Darion and Aerimus were never gifted. Suitors from across the lands of Loria vied for her hand: High King Titus of the Kingdom of Ardor, the noble Elven Prince Elias of Lothlor, and Prince Kalas of the Kingdom of Cassia, all of whom she had turned away. It had sparked rumours among commoners and nobility alike, with many questionings why her father, King Alistair Elric, did not force her into a political marriage. The rejection of High King Titus, in particular, had been public, and his wrath had been swift—he had severed relations with Tyrancia ever since.

  Darion knocked on her door just as she was finishing her preparations. “Where’s your cloak?” he asked, leaning against the stone wall outside her chambers.

  Darion frowned. “You know we can’t be seen, Ariella.”

  He handed her a tattered, worn cloak that smelled faintly of stables and horses. “Put this on. We’re not about to stroll through the streets as royalty.”

  Together, they made their way through the castle halls and down to the drawbridge, where two royal guards stood vigilant, clad in polished steel plate armour and sapphire-caped cloaks. Each bore a heavy halberd.

  “Cedric, I’ve got a visit for the blacksmith in Smugglers Alley,” Darion announced. “Harian and Jaxton have my sword. Ariella was not with me.”

  Cedric raised an eyebrow but nodded. “Smugglers Alley? Dingy and dangerous for a royal prince and princess. But I can’t disobey my prince.”

  Darion clapped him on the shoulder. “Gratitude, Ced.”

  The two Elric siblings set off for Smugglers Alley, the lowborn district of Tyrana, the capital of Tyrancia. The air was thick with the stench of cattle droppings, the dirt streets cluttered with refuse. Pickpockets and thieves skulked in the shadows.

  Hidden beneath their cloaks, Darion knocked on the door of Harian’s Smithy. The door creaked open, revealing a tall, muscular man with piercing blue eyes and long blonde hair, streaked with coal dust.

  “Prince Darion, Princess Ariella — your highnesses, come inside,” Jaxton greeted them with a smile. His gaze lingered briefly on Ariella.

  “Fine morning, Jaxton,” Ariella replied, though she felt the heat of a blush creeping up her neck. It must be the forge’s warmth, she thought, though her heart raced a little faster.

  Darion chuckled, noticing the exchange. “We’re here for our swords, Jaxton. You two can catch up later,” he added with a playful smirk as he set a heavy leather pouch on the counter. The sound of the gold coins inside thudded heavily.

  “One hundred gold gryphons should suffice, yes?” Darion asked, eyes glinting.

  Jaxton stared at Ariella, his gaze distant, before snapping out of his daze. He didn’t acknowledge the money at first, the weight of the gold coins enough to make him the wealthiest man in Smugglers Alley.

  “I didn’t do it for the money,” Jaxton said, eyes still flickering toward Ariella. She gave him a small nod, her expression soft.

  “I’ll settle for fifty,” Jaxton continued, “It’s not every day you make weaponry for royalty, especially here.”

  Darion gave a knowing smile. “You are a good man, Jaxton. But an even better swordsmith. Now, where’s the sword?”

  Jaxton reached beneath the counter and pulled out an ornate steel sword—slim, curved, and beautifully crafted. Its hilt was adorned with a gryphon pommel, the eyes set with delicate sapphires. The gryphon was the Elric family’s royal sigil with the five remaining Elrics owning one.

  “I wouldn’t have been able to craft this without your brother supplying the finest steel and sapphires,” Jaxton said, passing the sword to Ariella.

  She marveled at the blade, her fingers brushing the cool steel. “This is no toy. You know it’s forbidden for women, especially princesses, to bear arms. Keep it safe. Keep it hidden,” Jaxton warned gently.

  Darion nodded gravely. “He’s right, Ella. This is our secret—no one can know. Not father, not Aerimus.”

  Ariella’s lips curled into a determined smile. “One day, I’ll change that. I’ll become a warrior princess like Queen Athelien of Ilthalas... but in Tyrancia.”

  “Maybe when I’m king, we can make that happen,” Darion said, his voice hopeful.

  Jaxton handed them both wooden practice swords. “Your practice swords. It’s terrible weather outside, but mastering the sword waits for no one.”

  “Gratitude, Jaxton. You’ve done us a great service,” Darion said. “I’ll leave you both for a moment.”

  As Darion stepped out, the door clicked shut, leaving Ariella and Jaxton alone in the smithy.

  Jaxton approached her and adjusted the sword's sheath on her waist, his rough hands brushing against her soft skin. Gently, he pulled her hood up before pressing a soft kiss to her lips. His lips lingered there for a moment, and when he pulled away, a warm smile graced his face.

  “I long for you, Ella,” Jaxton murmured, his voice tender.

  Ariella’s heart skipped a beat. “Kick his arse today,” he teased with a playful grin.

  Ariella chuckled softly. “If only he weren’t second only to Cedric Ashford in swordplay, but I’ll give it my best.”

  “Be well, Jaxton of Smugglers Alley,” Ariella said as he opened the door for her.

  “And you, Princess Ariella of Tyrancia,” Jaxton replied, his eyes lingering on her with a mix of admiration and longing. Ariella left the smithy with a wide smile, her fingers gently brushing her lip as she thought. Today, she would make him proud, she decided. He had crafted her a fine sword, and the least she could do in return was to win at least one round against Darion in their combat drills.

  “He’s a good man. I’m happy for you. Though, Father would never approve.” Darion observed, his gaze softening as he watched her expression.

  “Good thing you’re not Father,” Ariella replied with a wry smile.

  “And with that, I’m not the High King of Tyrancia,” he quipped, walking toward the western gates of the city.

  “You will be,” Ariella said, her voice full of quiet hope.

  “Better yet, maybe you’ll be queen—if the gods are kind, and if Father listens to me,” Darion added, his tone more serious.

  Ariella stopped in her tracks, her brow furrowing with confusion. “What do you mean, Dari?” she asked, her voice laced with curiosity.

  Darion turned to face her, his eyes filled with sincerity.

  “I told him to name you his heir, instead of me. For you to serve as Queen of Tyrancia when the time comes.”

  Ariella stood frozen, speechless. Her heart raced, but her mind struggled to find the right words. Even as Darion spoke the words she had always longed to hear, she could hardly believe them.

  “Our people adore you, Ariella. They love you,” Darion continued. “You’d be a queen of the people, beloved by all.”

  Ariella hesitated, uncertainty creeping into her expression. “

  What about Aerimus?” she asked quietly. Their brother, second in line to the throne, is still a prince.

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  Darion’s face darkened with disdain. “I can think of nothing worse. A drunk, licentious fool should never be king.” His voice was firm, without hesitation.

  Ariella glanced around quickly, noticing the bustling activity of Smugglers Alley. Shady figures conducted business in the filth-stained streets, commoners lined up for scraps of soup with barely a sliver of meat. It was a far cry from the lavish courts and opulent halls she was used to.

  Her eyes fell on an elderly woman sitting in an alley with a young boy, their faces drawn with hunger. Ariella’s heart softened, and despite Darion’s quiet protests, she approached them.

  “Are you all right?” Ariella asked gently, her eyes filled with sympathy as she looked at the pair.

  The elderly woman looked up, her weathered face breaking into a smile despite her obvious fatigue.

  “Ello’, dear lady. We’re fine... just hungry, is all. The line’s too long, and no one cares for an old duck and her young lad round here.” Her voice cracked, the strain of hunger evident in every word. The boy’s eyes, wide and hopeful, flickered toward Ariella.

  Ariella’s hand instinctively reached for the small coin purse hidden beneath her cloak. She pulled it out and handed it to the woman. “Take this. It will help. Be well,” she said, her smile warm and sincere.

  The woman’s eyes widened as she looked at the heavy purse. She took a step back, staring at Ariella in shock.

  “You’re the Princess, aren’t you?” she asked, her voice full of awe.

  “I’ve seen you before, dressed all proper and pretty, at ceremonies and such...” The woman’s eyes filled with wonder.

  “Gods bless you, sweet lady. You shine on us today,” she said, bowing deeply in gratitude.

  The young boy, with a shy smile, hugged Ariella’s leg, his eyes filled with a hope that had likely been absent for some time. Ariella smiled as she looked down at him, her hand resting lightly on his head.

  Darion’s voice, low and urgent, cut through the moment. “We must go, Ariella,” he said, his gaze darting around warily. He then nodded respectfully to the elderly woman and her boy.

  Ariella gave one last, heartfelt smile to the woman before she reluctantly turned to leave. “Be well,” she murmured.

  Darion gently placed a hand on her shoulder as they moved away, his voice softer now. “You did a good thing, but we can’t stay here long, it is dangerous.”

  Ariella didn’t respond immediately, her heart still heavy with the faces of those she’d just met. She had given them hope, even if only for a moment. And for the first time, she felt the weight of her potential future as Queen of Tyrancia more than ever before.

  Darion and Ariella slipped out of the city unnoticed. No one mistook them for royals—what royals would be walking the outskirts of the city in tattered clothes, without guards? Well, these two would.

  They began their journey toward Stonegate, a small woodland village about five leagues from Tyrana. Stonegate was ruled by Lady Nathalia Grey, until her brother Llane came of age. Both parents had perished in a fishing accident—or so the rumours went. Darion remembered the village well. It was a modest place, with thatched wooden walls and simple palisades. The population, as he recalled, was only around three hundred.

  As they neared Stonegate, the village walls visible in the distance, they veered off the path and into the woods. Snow covered the ground, knee-deep in places, making their trek slow and exhausting. Eventually, they came to a clearing where the snow was a little less packed, though still slippery and deep enough to make swordplay difficult. Surrounded by trees, it was a secluded spot, far from the prying eyes and gossip of the village—far from the kind of people who would trample others just to survive.

  “You ready, Ari?” Darion tossed his satchel to the ground, drawing his sparring wooden sword with practiced ease, assuming a defensive stance, one that spoke of years of training.

  Ariella hesitated, then nervously drew her own wooden sword and mirrored his stance, though less sure. Darion shifted his position, testing different angles as he prepared.

  “I swore I’d get at least one point against you today,” she joked, giving a mock bow.

  “To yourself, or to your blacksmith?” Darion teased, bowing in return.

  And so, their sparring began. The sharp clash of wooden swords echoed through the air, each strike sounding like the rhythm of an axe on wood. Darion was fast — too fast for Ariella to predict his moves. He parried her swift strikes with practiced ease, countering her attacks with ripostes that seemed effortless. He could have landed a blow at any moment, but he didn’t. He’s holding back, Ariella thought.

  The snow made it hard for her to keep her footing, and her stance faltered more than once. Sensing her struggle, Darion paused.

  “Focus on your balance, Ariella. Keep your hips and legs firm, or you won’t get the right leverage.”

  The fight continued, with Darion landing blow after blow. Ariella could barely make a strike. By the end, Darion had “caught” her thirteen times, with no points on her side — though he had gone easy on her. Frustrated, she threw her sparring sword to the ground, her legs shaking with exhaustion. Sweat beaded on her forehead, despite the cold, and she sat heavily on a nearby log, her head in her hands.

  Was she upset with herself for not landing even a single hit, or was it the promise she had made — like Darion had joked — that pushed her to try so hard?

  Darion approached and sat beside her on the log, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

  "It’s not easy, Ariella. I’ve been trained by the master-at-arms since before I could walk. You never had that luxury," he said, his voice soft yet reassuring.

  Ariella glanced at him, understanding his words but still feeling down.

  "You’re only nineteen," he continued. "You’ve got plenty of time to catch up. And besides, aren’t you the undisputed snowball champion?" Darion teased, before hurling a snowball right at her face. The cold sting of the snowball met her cheek before she could even react. Without missing a beat, her favourite childhood game had begun, and Darion had declared war.

  Ariella dashed behind a thick snow-laden tree, using its ample cover to hide her slender frame. She quickly gathered snowballs, preparing her next move. Darion returned fire with precision, but she was faster. One snowball hit his shoulder, another struck his chest, and the third landed squarely at the back of his head after she managed to circle around him. Ariella’s grin spread wide, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

  But Darion wasn’t finished. He caught her off guard with a snowball right to her face. "You’re lucky that’s just a snowball!" he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with playful challenge.

  "You’d be long gone if it wasn’t, Dari!" Ariella laughed, her voice light and teasing. Darion raised his hands in mock surrender, conceding defeat.

  After the playful skirmish, they both collapsed onto the log, breathless and laughing. Ariella leaned her head gently on Darion’s shoulder, her voice soft with gratitude. "Thank you, Darion."

  "Anytime," he replied with a warm, sincere smile.

  As they rose and steadied themselves, both drew their wooden swords and assumed their sparring stances. Distant rustling and grotesque heaving grew louder, unnerving in its approach. Darion froze, his hazel eyes darting toward the source, panic flashing through him. “Ariella, behind me. Now!” he commanded, his voice sharp and firm. Darion throw away his wooden sparring sword as a sharp ring echoed through the air as he unsheathed his exquisite steel sword from beneath his cloak, where it had been hidden near the log.

  Ariella, her hand shaking ever so slightly, drew her newly forged sword in tandem and stepped behind him without question. She could feel the change in Darion. For the first time, his usual joking demeanour was absent. He was serious, protective—and nearly trembling. She saw the quiver in his hands, which made her own tremble in return. Her legs felt like they could give out at any moment, the weight of the situation pressed on her chest, but she forced herself to steady her breath.

  “Should we call Ebonwing?” she whispered nervously, glancing at Darion’s satchel where the gryphon whistle was secured. One sharp blow, and Ebonwing, his gryphon, would come to their aid. Gryphons could hear such calls from up to twenty leagues away. Ebonwing, the second largest of the Elric family’s gryphons, with her jet-black feathers and cold sapphire eyes, was a formidable sight. Ariella’s own griffin, Artemis, was still a chick—no larger than a dog.

  “We don’t know what it is yet,” Darion replied, his gaze scanning their surroundings with unwavering vigilance. “She’s still in the Gryphon Pen.”

  The ground trembled with heavy, laboured steps, and a massive, gaunt figure lumbered into view, huffing and growling with hunger. Darion’s heart clenched, instinctive fear seizing him. The creature was enormous—larger than a stallion, its hulking frame towering at least ten feet when it reared up on its hind legs. Its body was emaciated, its ribs protruding beneath its fur as if it had struggled for food in the harsh winter. Slobber dripped from its jagged maw, and bloodstained teeth glinted in the dimming light. It had eaten something, but it hadn't been enough. Darion could feel it—he and Ariella were its next meal.

  “It’s a Dire Bear,” he said, his voice oddly steady despite the panic tightening in his chest. “It’s starving, and it will charge any second. When it does, you run for the whistle and hide.”

  “But what—” Ariella began, but Darion silenced her with a sharp gesture.

  “I’m still the heir. You listen to me,” he commanded, his tone harsher than he intended, but it was crucial that she obey.

  “Exactly why I should help!” Ariella retorted, her voice fiery with determination.

  The Dire Bear’s footsteps were thunderous as it closed in, its massive paw prints leaving deep impressions in the snow.

  “Go!” Darion shouted, desperation in his voice. Without hesitation, Ariella sprinted, the whistle tight in her grip. She blew with all the strength she could muster, the sharp call cutting through the chill of the evening air.

  Darion darted to the side, narrowly avoiding the bear’s lethal swipe. This wasn’t a duelist's fight—this was something primal. The bear’s claws were as deadly as they were massive, and Darion quickly realized blocking them would be fatal. Instead, he weaved and dodged, using his smaller frame to outmanoeuvre the beast. He slid behind the bear and struck, the blade tearing a deep gash across its face. His confidence surged with the hit.

  But the creature was relentless. It swiped again, furious, and caught Darion with a brutal blow. He was sent crashing to the ground, the wind knocked from his lungs.

  Ariella screamed. Her heart pounded as she rushed forward, sword drawn, but the bear was already on top of Darion. Its jaws snapped just inches from his face. In a desperate act of defiance, Ariella slashed at the bear’s back leg, drawing a roar of pain from the beast. It swung around, eyes blazing with fury.

  Frozen in terror, Ariella couldn’t move fast enough. But before the bear could strike, Darion shoved her to the ground with all his strength, throwing himself in front of her. His back took the full force of the Dire Bear’s claw, a deep gash tearing through his flesh. His scream echoed across the clearing, the snow beneath them stained red.

  Darion stayed down, shielding her from any further blows, even as his blood soaked the snow.

  Ariella fought against him, her hands shaking as she desperately tried to move him, but he held her firm, despite the agony. His body was weak, his breath shallow, but he refused to let go.

  The bear raised its claw for the final strike, but just as it descended, a deafening screech split the air. The beast froze, its attention drawn skyward.

  A massive, black shape streaked through the trees. Ebonwing—Darion’s gryphon—was here. Her wings cut through the cold air as she soared down with terrifying speed. With a swift strike, she grabbed the Dire Bear in her talons, lifting it effortlessly before slamming it against a tree with a sickening crack. The beast let out one final roar before collapsing to the ground, motionless.

  Ebonwing spread her wings wide, her blue eyes blazed with fury as she positioned herself between the bear and the siblings. The Dire Bear twitched, still alive, but the gryphon wasted no time. With one swift lunge, Ebonwing’s talons raked across the creature’s chest, and her beak tore into its throat, ending its struggle.

  Ariella, heart racing, rushed to her brother’s side. She tore at her clothes, desperate to fashion a makeshift bandage. She pressed the cloth to his bleeding back, begging him to stay awake. “Darion, please… you have to stay with me. I’ll take care of you,” she whispered, her voice cracking with panic.

  Darion groaned, barely conscious, but Ariella didn’t stop. She used her cloak and sword as a stretcher, dragging him through the snow with a determination that only desperation could bring. His weight was unbearable, but she didn’t falter. Each pull was a silent prayer for his survival.

  Behind her, Ebonwing let out one final screech, her wings slicing through the air as she finished off the Dire Bear. The beast was no more.

  Ariella didn’t look back. She kept moving, pulling with every ounce of strength she had, her brother’s life is paramount.