The Punishment Tower was one of the five towers that dominated Ballandon, yet it was one that few ever wished to go up. Once an ordinary tower to keep watch of enemies, its purpose had since changed, now the last chance for severely disobedient palace employees to get their acts together before being fired and sent to prison. Few had to worry about it during King Dyso's reign and Myrril Zastan's regency, though.

  Yet Princess Jeralia found herself being pulled up its steps, Myrril's mana rope keeping her from escaping her fate as Merek and the other guards supporting her. At the top of the steps was a door, boasting a keyhole in which the wizard shoved a key into, allowing the door to groan open. Inside, it looked hardly any different from how Jeralia remembered it. It was a room so small the average man could extend both his arms all the way out to the sides and have his fingers touch opposite walls. Its four furnishings were simple: a cot, a little desk with an accompanying chair, and a latrine that was conspicuously close to the other meager amenities the room had to offer.

  "You've disappointed myself and your father greatly, Young Jeralia," Myrril said, nudging her into the windowless room, lit only by a candle on the desk. "You're incredibly lucky that you didn't burst out like that in front of Minister Attar."

  "I can't believe you're doing this to me," Jeralia said, devastated. "I just don't want to be married a man like Pallius! I want to work with you, Uncle Myrril. I'm the Princess of the Kingdom of Osharis. I want to represent our nation, I truly do! Why can't I?"

  "Because..." Myrril said, before taking a pause to choose his words carefully. "This is what the bigger picture calls for. You may not understand it now, but three nights in this Tower ought to do it."

  The guards walked Jeralia over to the cot, where Myrril finally undid the mana rope which dissipated into thin air, leaving the burning candle as the only source of light in the room. She weakly dropped onto the bed.

  "You'll have a bowl of water sent to you each night as well as a set of fresh clothing," Myrril said. "And the same day you'll be allowed to leave is the same day we expect Pallius and his delegation to arrive at Grisvald. Remember that."

  Jeralia said nothing as she gazed at the floor. Myrril took this as her understanding what he needed to have done, then he returned to the door.

  "Oh, and by the way," Myrril said as he and the second guard had almost left the room. "I... still do love you, just as much as I did when you were a girl. I just have to show it differently now."

  Jeralia listened to two sets of boot-clad feet descending the stone steps, but upon realizing that the third pair of feet had not left the entrance to the door, and having not heard the door close and lock, she picked her head up, finding Merek standing in the open doorway.

  "I'm so sorry, Milady," Merek said, his face set in an expression of genuine empathy. "You don't deserve to be pushed around like that. I saw you trying to stand up for yourself, and it's truly commendable. That's a quality of a true future queen. If you think no one saw it... I did."

  Jeralia nodded slowly, acknowledging his words.

  "Thank you, Merek. You always see me for the things I do, not for what I am. Your kindness... it gives me strength."

  "I wish there was more I could do, truthfully." Merek said.

  "You've done more than enough. You can go now."

  Merek offered a weak smile, then bid farewell before he pulled the door close. The locks jiggled, leaving Jeralia alone.

  Minutes later, the Princess' captor calmly made his way back to Dyso's chambers. The old king turned his head, acknowledging his friend's return.

  "How is she?" the king asked, the worry for his child written in his eyes.

  "Not great," Myrril reported, this part of his testimony the truth. "You know how incredibly difficult it was for us to come to that decision. But it's her life that is being impacted here."

  Dyso nodded, and for a long minute, he was silent. Myrril could sense the pain in his friend's heart, and he put a comforting hand on his shoulder, ready to listen to the old man with an open mind.

  "The curse... I thought it so deep that even the idea of something normal such as marriage was something she had accepted would never come. But she wants it, just like any other young lady her age. She wants a good man to take her hand, to take her as his bride. Oh, how terrible it is, that her dream has become smeared. I swear... if only I give myself up, and not make her do this..."

  "She knows there's no choice, Dyso," Myrril reminded his friend. "But luckily, we taught her that the sanctity of the kingdom comes before any desire she has. That is the duty of all royal family members of the Kingdom of Osharis."

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  Dyso nodded slowly, remembering that everything happening was by design.

  "Yes, yes we did. We would've done that regardless, cursed or not."

  Myrril grinned upon seeing a sliver of his friend's.

  "I wouldn't expect her to leave her chambers for a couple of nights," he said. "She's overwhelmed, as expected. But I know she'll be back on her feet by the time Pallius rolls in."

  "That, I expect too. She just needs some time and space." Dyso said. Myrril nodded, then left the king to his own devices.

  As Myrril crossed a myriad of halls back to his study, Dyso's realization of Jeralia's curse repeated over and over in his head. The words spawned thoughts in the regent's head--angry ones. Lying to his friend guilted him, but hearing the king's words in his mind made him furious.

  She may be cursed, which is fine to me. But she is not a thaumaturgy user, and neither are you, Dyso. The Throne of Osharis cannot be left in hands such as yours', and I will make sure of that.

  --

  Jeralia held the bowl of water in her hands that Myrril had promised her. Her veil sat atop the desk, folded neatly. The light of the candle reached the water's surface easily given the limited space of the Tower's room.

  On the surface of water, Jeralia gazed at her reflection. The reflection she hid from all but three people--Dyso, Myrril, and Merek. It was the physically obvious symptom of her broader curse. In the reflection, she saw not the face of a young woman, but that of a beast, made up of a mixture of creatures found within Osharis and beyond. The head of a green iguana made up most it, rough green scales and all. Lining the sides of her head were long, external gills that were otherwise found only in axolotls. Her nose matched that of a star-nosed mole's, bright pink in color and soft compared to the skin that surrounded it. This was the appearance she hid below the veil or helm, one that she knew with certainty that she could not display to anyone besides her chosen three.

  Thinking back to the horrid revelation regarding her future, she only had one thought that would persist in her head throughout the lonely nights and days she was kept in the Punishment Tower.

  "Is this misfortune a result of my curse?"

  Tears fell down her reptilian cheeks, plopping into the bowl of water as she thought and overthought the idea. Her appearance, abilities, and lifestyle were all either a result of the curse she was born with or a result of coping with it. Was this fate that befell her another part of it?

  "Why?" she'd ask herself at many points during her captivity. "Why must I look like this? Why must I act like this? Why... was I put in this world?"

  --

  10 years earlier

  It was a cool fall evening, and Jeralia had just finished her lessons under Myrril's tutelage. From her study, she would cross various halls to wherever her father had expected her to be, whether it be watching him administer his duty's to the Kingdom, observe him speaking to officials and commoners with their concerns, or simply spending one-on-one father-daughter time, perhaps playing a game of cards. But this evening was not like the rest.

  Jeralia had an idea, one that lingered in her mind for months, maybe years. She had waited for the perfect moment to enact it, and it came in the form of the palace guard captain coming down with a hangover. He would not report to work that day, and the men under his supervision were more lax than normal. That meant she was able to weave through the halls, out into the courtyard, and slip through the gatehouse relatively easily.

  Her previous guided excursions into Grisvald helped her prepare for this monumental act, and she soon found herself in one of the capital's numerous neighbourhoods. It was filled with merchants packing up for the day, as well as last-minute shoppers. Jeralia was neither. Her only desire was to see the world without having to look through the fabric of her veil, even if just once. This was not a result of rebellion, but rather, simple curiosity. As the crowds condensed with people rushing to go home, Jeralia got her chance. She pulled the veil off and walked amongst the people--her people. As she strolled through the street, she could hear them speaking with one another, about how their days went, what they expected to do once they got home. She could see smiles on some faces, exhausted looks on others. But she could see them clearly, and that was what special to her.

  The cozy moment was interrupted when something bumped into her stomach. She glanced below, seeing a little girl kneeling against the stone street before her.

  "My goodness," she cried, hurrying to check on her, bending over to get a look. "I'm so sorry. Are you alright?"

  The princess was so immersed in the sights and sounds around her, she forgot that her veil was slung over her shoulder and not over her head. The piercing screams of the girl alerted the adults nearby, and they finally took notice of Jeralia--to be more accurate, the inhuman thing they perceived her to be.

  "Monster!" many cried as the little girl was escorted away.

  "I rebuke!" one man said. "In the name of the Crimson Divinity, I rebuke this creature!"

  "Freak!"

  "Vile beast!"

  "Send the guards! A beast has breached the capital!"

  No matter what words were shouted her way, it all meant the same. Jeralia was a smart girl, but naive. She should have realized there was a good reason her head was covered in almost all settings for as long as she could remember.

  This had been a terrible idea. Food waste and scraps began to be thrown her way.

  Why is this happening to me? she wondered as she shielded herself from the onslaught, tears streaming down her cheeks. My curse... that's it. My damn, good-for-nothing curse.

  However, fate decided to be merciful to her, and guards stopped the stoning before the projectiles could seriously hurt her and promptly returned her to Ballandon. She was not injured physically--it was difficult for an ordinary human to do--but her soul had taken a severe beating. This was not an event she would forget, and it was for a reason.

  Myrril quickly had that neighbourhood quarantined under the guise of a potential plague. He painstakingly used thaumaturgy to erase the memory of that day from the minds of everyone who saw Jeralia, but left the princess alone in that regard. This was a deep, painful lesson.

  However, this day did have one silver lining. The guard captain who did not report to work was quickly replaced by a promising young soldier named Merek Hew. Jeralia took a liking to him, and the two became close, in the way a brother and sister were close. Regardless, her life was changed from that day on. She never intended to show her head to anyone again, except for her father, uncle, and new elder brother.