What a perfect day.

  Natalie walked along the parapet of Castle Whitewalls overlooking the sea. She walked with Ser Ireos, her most recent suitor.

  The sky was clear and blue, and the winds were unseasonably warm. Her dress, made of the finest silk imported from the Republic of Argan for the occasion, sparkled in the sunlight. Its pattern resembled a starry night; black with pearls and sapphires sewn into it. The dress matched the Argan style, loose and flowing, yet still managed to hide the large birthmark on her left arm with a long sleeve more reminiscent of dresses she was used to.

  Their attendants kept their distance from the couple, but she felt their eyes in the back of her head.

  I can never just go on a walk. It must be a parade for Purity’s sake.

  Waves crashed against the cliffs far below the castle walls, and the sea glittered in the light of the sun. Despite their surroundings, her eyes remained fixed on the knight.

  Ser Ireos Gennadios was twenty-one and the next Lord of Brookmill, a wealthy town south of Auramar. He kept his curled blonde hair cut close to his head and had shaved his comely face every day he stayed at Castle Whitewalls. Today, Ser Ireos wore a white tunic that wrapped around his body but left his bronze arms exposed. He smelled of sandalwood and wore leather sandals on his feet, revealing his gold painted

  “I see you are proud of your family’s foreign heritage.” Natalie said smiling.

  “Yes, I am. As are all my kin. That is not to say we abhor Talaksian culture. We quite like the feudal system, compared to the Republic.”

  “For what reason?”

  “I was very young when we left, but my father tells me the Republic is flawed. He said too many senators rule the city and work only to be reelected, leaving a trail of broken promises longer than the lines of homeless seeking bread from the shelters.”

  “Talksia has its share of troubles too,” she said.

  “Yes, but when something needs done, the king or one of his lords does it. There is little bickering or deliberating to form a consensus. Absolute power is simple.”

  “What if the king or the lord were corrupt?”

  “Better the realm is steered by the greed of one man than the greed of a hundred.” Ser Ireos said chuckling.

  He is sweet, in a na?ve sort of way. Certainly not the kind of suitor father usually seeks for my hand. He must be getting desperate with the Year of Change approaching… No matter, he is dreamy and seems a good man. I hope he does well in the tests.

  Natalie laughed lightly and admired Ser Ireos. On his head he wore a silver wreath that resembled an olive laurel with green emeralds. Argans traditionally reserved the headdress for men that distinguished themselves in the Great Games, but her grandfather had adopted the tradition for Talkasian tournaments too.

  “What feat earned you that prize?” She asked nodding at his laurel while they walked down the stairs and toward the Marble Garden.

  Ireos looked at her and smiled. “I won this in the tourney celebrating the marriage of High Lord Trent to my sister Hanna two years past. I outperformed every man in the contest of strength and bested nearly each of my opponents in the wrestling matches. Alas, Ser Verills of Messira won, but I am happy with the silver. It means I still have room to improve.”

  “If I was the judge, you would have received the gold for that contest, no matter how skilled Ser Verills may have been.” Natalie declared.

  “I would not want something I did not earn. For a man must earn all things worth having in life. It is as true in contest as it is in matters of love.”

  Natalie smiled approvingly as they arrived at her favorite part of the castle, the Marble Garden. A profound place full of history, and Natalie’s ideal venue for the first test.

  The statuary outdated Castle Whitewalls itself, dating back to the beginning of the Golden Age after her ancestor, Nathanial Summersong I, unified humanity in Talaksia. The original statues depicted his actions and the significant events of his life, though many were likely myth. Later additions included statues for the gods, for Nathanial I’s successors, and other artistic pieces all made by master Dvergur stonesmiths.

  “Incredible.” Ser Ireos said. “I have heard stories of this place, but they did not do it justice.”

  “Stories never do. Come, I want to show you my favorite pieces.” Natalie said, pulling him along.

  She led him to the oldest pieces in the whole garden, the Lover’s Loss. A group of ten statues in sets of two that told the tale of Nathanial I’s mythical discovery of Ederlis, the fabled home of the Ederlef, and the love he found there. Natalie took him to a bench set in the middle of the circle the statues formed. Their attendants halted at an appropriate distance.

  The sets of statues formed an incomplete circle, as if the story had not yet finished.

  “These first two, Nathanial and the Ederlef woman, show her saving him from his shipwreck.” Natalie explained. “The next set, the one’s of them kissing, is their marriage. The artist carved this scene from a single piece of marble according to our Sage.”

  “The skill of the Dvergur know no limit.” Ser Ireos said nodding.

  “The third set shows the woman with child, watching as Nathanial smithed Celestial’s Scorn. Then, we come to the first statue of Nathanial II, held by his father after his mother passed, but the artist did something magnificent. He crafted the elven women one last time in glass, translucent and ethereal with wings that wrap around Nathanial and the son he carrie in his arms.”

  “How did she die?” Ser Ireos asked. “I am not as versed in your legends as I am those of Argan.”

  “The stories do not say. Only that she journeyed with Nathanial back to the Isle of Whistles, and from there to Talaksia where he started his conquests. The narrative loses sight of her, as it often does with women around important men.”

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  “A tragedy.”

  “Indeed, but the story did not end there. The final set is Nathanial and the child walking away, the babe in one hand and his sword in the other. Quite magnificent, do you agree?”

  “Certainly, even if it defies logic. The Ederlef are myth.” Ser Ireos noted.

  “Perhaps, but I like this story better than my ancestral matriarch being a simple fisherwoman.”

  Ser Ireos’ cool demeanor broke and he said, “I meant no insult, Princess.”

  “And I took none,” she said honestly. “Why would someone be ashamed of simple ancestors? Every family started somewhere, after all. Now, I have a question for you.”

  “Ask it.” Ser Ireos said, calmer now.

  “What was the last set meant to be?” she asked. With it, began Ser Ireos’ first test.

  Twelve suitors sat with her before, and twelve suitors unwittingly underwent the test. Each time she asked them the same question after explaining the work set around them.

  Ireos contemplated the question for a long moment.

  I wonder what his reply shall be. I have heard twelve replies so far, each as different as the men that gave them. Only Ser James had seemed to take it seriously, saying it was meant to be Nathanial with another woman, the one he eventually took as his queen. As much a realist and a man of action as his father, James did not meddle with fantasy. Perhaps Ser Ireos is cut from the same cloth.

  Natalie found herself reliving memories of James Anseon’s stay at Whitewalls when he visited his father at court. Their walks. Their talks. His proposal, and her father’s outright rejection despite James’ high standing as the son of the High Lord of Derrva. Her anger started to swell as memories of the screaming matches with her father resurfaced.

  Distracted by her musings, Natalie didn’t hear Ireos when he spoke, realizing too late he was looking at her for a reply.

  Embarrassed at her own daydreaming she turned back to him and said, “I’m sorry, could you say that again? I was lost in thought.”

  “Certainly, your Grace,” he replied, “I said, ‘I believe the last scene was meant to be the king and his son fighting together to win this beautiful land of your people.’”

  Not so imaginative, but it is real. Perhaps the gods heard my hopes.

  “Perhaps you are right.” She allowed. “Let’s move on, there are many other works to see.”

  As they stood, she noticed he had trouble standing. His left leg trembled as he noticeably shifted more weight to his right.

  Is he hiding an injury? Father will not tolerate such deception.

  Her father’s voice echoed in her mind, “A princess will accept nothing but the best.”

  The attendants noticed their movement and followed along. The group consisted of Natalie’s retinue. She had Ser Percival, one of the ten knights of the Summerguard, Hope Alice, and Kennli, one of her three handmaids. One of Ser Ireos’ guards accompanied them as well. More a formality than a necessity.

  Ser Percival, a man of thirty years and the Fourth Knight of the Summerguard, had flowing blond hair that he wasted in a braid more often than not. He always smiled, whether on night guard or in the middle of a tourney. As was custom for their order, he wore a full set of plate armor when on duty. Plain of any decoration or personal device, Summerguard armor was utilitarian. The steel sword slung at his hip was plain like his armor. He carried his helmet as they walked, revealing his scarred face. His amber eyes never strayed from her, ever vigilant for danger.

  Hope Alice, a woman nearing her fiftieth year, wore the traditional garb of a Hope, yellow robes with crimson stars on the sleeves. The robes, intricate in make but tight in cut, made clear every roll of fat on her form. Her short, thinning hair still showed hints of her once rich brown amidst the grey. Though always jovial, she rarely smiled. Natalie assumed she was embarrassed by her yellow-stained teeth.

  Kennli, the daughter of Lord Kennver Opar of Oxhill, was a short girl a year younger than Natalie, and her closest friend. Her honey blond hair sat high on her head in a bun, with a few loose strands hanging aside her ears. The girl was almost always at her side, attending to her and keeping Natalie company.

  Natalie and Ser Ireos perused the garden as they walked back towards the guest houses near the main gate, but Natalie noticed something odd, a new statue and pulled Ser Ireos toward it.

  That wasn’t there last week. Did mother commission this piece?

  The statue faced away from her but depicted a sparsely clothed boy with the most lifelike hair she had ever seen standing with hands on his hips.

  Funny, it almost looks like…

  Before she could react, the statue turned about and let out a bestial roar. Natalie startled and fell into Ser Ireos, sending them both to the ground, dirtying her new dress. The statue let out a cry of laughter as the attendants rushed to their aid.

  “Nathan you dimwitted donkey twat! Look what you did!” she screamed before she could choose her words more carefully.

  “Your Grace! That is not proper language for a princess!” Hope Alice scolded as she helped her up.

  Nathan, her youngest brother, ran away as fast as he could with John Anseon, James’ cousin and Nathan’s best friend, close on his heels. Natalie considered pursuing them, but Hope Alice held her in place.

  “Those little brats need a beating!” Natalie yelled.

  “Princess, I would direct your attention to your suitor.” Hope Alice whispered in her close-mouthed way.

  She turned and looked on in horror as Ser Ireos struggled to rise from the ground. He grabbed a nearby bench to raise himself up as his guard helped prop him up.

  “You’re injured,” exclaimed Natalie, “Hope Alice please help him!”

  “I will fetch the Sage. Best you find your way back to your quarters, Ser.” Hope Alice suggested.

  “A wise suggestion,” Ser Ireos said in obvious pain, “please excuse me your Grace.”

  Ser Ireos’ man helped him back to the guesthouse as Hope Alice made for the Sage’s tower. Meanwhile, Natalie could hardly control herself. She shook in anger, but then she heard laughing. She set out to find the source with Ser Percival and Kennli following closely behind her.

  “Your Grace perhaps we should retire to the castle as well.” The knight suggested, but she ignored him.

  Little Nate will not escape punishment. Not this time.

  She exited the garden and saw John run around the stables. She walked with as much poise until she found Nathan, John, and her sister, Nicholletta, standing near one of the big piles of marble dust the servants used to scrub the walls. Nicholleta laughed as heartily as the two boys. Her white, powder-covered hands clutched her stomach, and she seemed hardly able to breathe for all her laughing. Ser Edwin, the Second Knight of the Summerguard, stood nearby, a look of embarrassment across his face.

  Of course, Nathan wouldn’t have thought of something so clever.

  “Your Grace.” Ser Edwin said, as he bowed to Natalie.

  The knight’s courtesy startled John, but her siblings were hardly dismayed.

  “I suppose you believe you are funny, don’t you? Well, you may have just destroyed my chances with Ser Ireos! Do you think father will let a man that toppled over on top of me out of fright take my hand in marriage?” She screamed so loud that a pair of passing stableboys stopped until her glare found them and sent them scampering.

  Nicholletta stopped laughing by that point. She brushed her hands off on her clothes and calmed her breathing long enough to manage a weak smile. “Come now Nattie, that one isn’t for you. He’s too foreign, him and all his family. Do you not remember? Argans eat frogs, and all sorts of weird things! I did you a favor. You can’t eat fish, let alone a slimy frog.”

  “Don’t make this about me. We were having a wonderful day together. Ser Ireos really likes me, and I like him. You immature, uncaring, troublesome, garish, immature-“

  “You said immature twice.” Nathan interrupted.

  Natalie stopped yelling and began to cry. Soft at first, but soon her tears flowed like a waterfall off a mountain. “Ser Ireos will want nothing to do with me because of you,” she said between sobs.

  “Natalie, all is well.” Kennli said, taking Natalie’s hand in hers. “Ser Ireos will not judge you for their actions.”

  “I’m sorry, Natalie.” Nicholletta said looking sincerely concerned.

  Nathan and John chose that moment to disappear and ran off toward the Inner Gate. Kennli and Nicholletta continued to soothe her.

  Natalie eventually calmed and said, “I want to go to my chambers now.”

  “As you wish, your Grace.” Ser Percival said, offering her his hand.

  She took it and he helped her up. She took a few deep breaths, and with a face that said, ‘I did not just cry over my siblings being mean to me,’ started for the Child’s Keep.