Despite the rapid downturn that her future appeared to be taking, Crown Princess Adale was anticipating a very good day. She and her waiting ladies, Lethea and Daphene, awoke early that morning, dressed quickly, and headed for the kennels in preparation for the day’s hunt.
Unfortunately, their journey was intercepted by two of Adale’s father’s guards, who informed her that she had a meeting with His Majesty. Over the eighteen years of her life, Adale had bribed countless squires, serving maids, and manservants to claim that they had been unable to find her when her parents summoned. But the guards, soldiers from the temple of Reygmadra, were not so affable. Adale was forced to promise Lethea and Daphene that she would catch up to them later.
Her parents’ rooms were behind a massive set of heavy doors carved with symbols of Iolar and gilded in gold. As the guards pulled the doors open for her, Adale was struck by the usual wave of noise. The parlor was filled with various members of the nobility and their servants, all waiting for her parents to emerge from their rooms so the day could officially begin.
Adale missed the days when the nobles were a rainbow of colors, each trying to outshine one another with their attire. But for the past three months, they had only dressed in shades of silver, and the only gemstones worn were pearls or jet.
Adale slipped past them without making eye contact, for she knew a conversation with any senior member of her parents’ court would only end in someone trying to make her feel guilty about her assorted failings. She went into her parents’ private rooms and shut the doors behind herself to seal off the noise.
Her mother and father were waiting for her, sitting side by side at a table with a stack of papers between them. She stood frozen in the doorway, a little unnerved, and tried to brace herself for whatever lecture was in store.
“Adalheidis,” said her father. He was the only one who called her by her birth name. “Come, sit. We need to discuss your future.”
Adale went over to the table and sat in the lone remaining chair, moving slowly in an admittedly pathetic attempt to delay the conversation.
“Princess Esofi has agreed to marry you, even after your behavior yesterday,” said Saski. “But there is much you must learn if you are to be the queen of Ieflaria. There is so much lost time that we must make up for.”
Adale knew what her mother meant. As a child, she had driven her tutors to despair even as Albion excelled at every task they set before him. The young princess’s focus was poor, her self-control nonexistent, her energy boundless. Even when she tried to behave more like Albion for her parents’ sake, it was always a miserable and short-lived enterprise. By the time she came of age, it seemed her parents had given up on her entirely. All their attention was on Albion, their heir and their hope.
“I can’t do it,” said Adale.
“It is not a question of whether you can or cannot,” said Dietrich. “You must. You are the heir to the throne now. Tens of thousands of lives will be on your shoulders. Every single person within our borders will look to you to keep them safe from dragons, pirates, and the Xytan legion.”
“Very well, you’ve convinced me,” said Adale, hysterical laughter covering her terror. “I have always wanted to move to Ko’li, and now I finally have a reason! I will pack my things tonight.”
“Adale, this is serious!” cried Saski. “You are not so old that you cannot learn to rule, and your father and I do not intend to retire for many years yet. We would not have made you our heir if we believed you were incapable of rising to your station.”
“You’re wrong!” Adale pleaded. “Pick someone else. Pick anyone else. The twins—”
“Adale, this is how wars start!” shouted Dietrich, rising to his feet so quickly that his chair fell back against the floor. “We have a contract with Rhodia! It is your responsibility to honor it in your brother’s place!”
“The twins can honor it!” Adale implored. “They are of the Verheicht family as much as I am. And they can behave—”
“Adale, you are a woman of eighteen, not a child who has yet to master self-control,” said Saski, lowering her voice as though she sought to compensate for Dietrich’s yelling. “There is nothing Brandt and Svana can do that you are not equally capable of.”
That was not even close to the truth, but Adale knew that arguing would only prompt more shouting. Dietrich righted his chair and spoke again.
“You have lived in this castle your entire life,” said Dietrich. “You have never been hungry. You have never been cold. When you were ill, healers were sent directly to your bedside. You have never lifted a smith’s hammer, never milked a goat, never tilled a field. You have never labored until your hands bled. You have never known the fear that your home might be nothing but cinders in a week’s time. It has been pleasant, hasn’t it?”
“Yes, but…” began Adale.
“Did you think you owed Ieflaria nothing in return for your idyllic, prolonged childhood?”
“That’s not fair,” protested Adale. “I never asked for it. I never asked for any of it!”
“The girl who scrubs your floors did not ask for her life, either,” said Dietrich.
“The girl who scrubs my floors cannot be forced to marry a stranger!”
“And that is my point entirely,” said Dietrich. “The lives of our ordinary citizens are not nearly as comfortable as ours. But in return, their responsibilities are not so heavy. Small mistakes are easily forgiven. Even large mistakes seldom result in the deaths of thousands. And when they return to their homes after a day’s work, they are freed from their responsibilities until the sun rises once more. I am the king of Ieflaria every moment of my life, waking and sleeping. No decision that I make is insignificant. The smallest lapse in judgment could cause untold damage to our nation, and even to our continent. Our people understand this, and that is why they allow us to live as we do. It is not entitlement, Adale. It is an exchange. You have enjoyed all the benefits of our station and none of the burdens. You are correct when you say it is unfair, but you fail to realize that it has been unfair entirely in your favor.”
Saski pushed the papers aside and looked at her daughter. “Our subjects trust us, Adale. We are able to live like this because they believe we will sacrifice anything for their well-being, even our own freedom. And they trust us to treat them fairly, as equals. Your cousins may know how to appear honorable to their fellow nobles, but you know they have nothing but contempt for the common citizens of Ieflaria. Do you think they could rule with compassion?”
Adale could not hide her shock. She had never heard anyone speak of her cousins in such a way. She had never heard anyone imply they were imperfect.
“You did not think we had noticed?” asked Saski, accurately interpreting the expression on Adale’s face. “The twins are not as sly as they believe themselves to be. Know this: your cousins will only be permitted to marry Princess Esofi as a last resort. We have spent decades cultivating the goodwill of our people. We are reluctant to allow those two to throw it away.”
Adale could hardly speak. She felt as though she had just been run over by a carriage. There was a very good chance she would be sick if she did not escape the room immediately. She turned her thoughts to the poor maid who would be assigned to clean it up in order to keep her stomach under control. “I-I need to think. I didn’t know. I…I need to think.”
“I think that would be wise,” agreed her mother.
Adale fled.
ADALE’S HORSE WAS a tall, dark bay stallion named Warcry. He was a stubborn creature, but he loved the hunts as much as his rider. By the time she arrived at the stables, he was already saddled and ready to go.