The candles flickered out, making the chamber darker, but Sierra's mind remained wide awake. Sleep had always been her anchor, yet tonight it felt like a distant shore drifting away in the waves.
Tomorrow, the gates would open, and she would ride out to end centuries of bloodshed, sacrificing herself for the safety of those she would leave behind.
She lay motionless in the dark. Her thoughts drifted like smoke. She wondered if the air would taste different where she was going, and if she would still recognize herself when the duty was done.
She turned on her side, watching moonlight crawl across the stone floor. Finally, she stopped fighting the what-ifs and let the exhaustion wash over her, slipping into a heavy, merciful sleep.
She slept as though the world beyond her chamber had forgotten her existence, her breathing slow and even, her dark lashes resting softly against her cheeks.
Her long hair fanned out across the pillow like molten copper cooling on white linen. Deep russet waves cascaded in rich, heavy ribbons, contrasting sharply against the bed as she slept.
"Your Highness… Your Highness, wake up? Do you know what today is?"
The door creaked open, and the smell of lavender drifted through the room. Sierra groaned, burying her face deeper into her pillows. The silk felt cool against her skin, a luxury she knew she was about to lose.
"I need to sleep a little more," She mumbled, sniffing her sheets. They smelled like home—like sun-dried linen and vanilla.
The curtains were drawn back in one decisive sweep. Golden sunlight flooded the chamber.
"It is already dawn, my princess," her handmaid, Maria, said serenely. "You must bathe and get ready. The carriage is already being packed. The journey waits for no one."
Sierra squinted at the sudden brightness, blinking like a displeased cat. She pushed herself upright, her long, copper waves falling loose around her shoulders, and sighed with theatrical suffering. "You are merciless, Maria."
"It is my duty," her handmaid replied calmly.
A train of servants trailed the handmaid, bearing basins of steaming water, folded cloths, oils, and fresh garments. Their footsteps are quiet, practiced, and efficient. The room was filled with the faint scent of jasmine and warmed water.
Sierra slipped from the bed. The cool marble floor beneath her bare feet woke her more effectively than any scolding. She walked toward the tall window and rested her hand against the glass.
Outside, the morning sun broke through the horizon, pouring a cascade of golden light across the orange orchard fields, filtering through deep green foliage, illuminating the heavy, ripe fruit.
The sky was a clear, unblemished azure. Warm rays kissed her skin, filling her with a gentle heat that contrasted perfectly with the cool, refreshing breeze.
The world is awake in the quiet way of early morning. Below, servants moved along the paths tending their duties, gardeners trimmed the orchard hedges in neat lines, and beyond them, the trees stretched in endless rows heavy with pale blossoms while birds darted through the branches, filling the early morning air with song.
It looked peaceful, entirely untouched by the centuries of war that took a toll on her people.
Only she knew she would miss this, her heart ache, but she had to do it for the greater good, for the peace her people so ever wanted.
To end the massacre, she would step into a place filled with enemies. Demons who despised her kind. Witches who trusted no one. Heirs raised not as children, but as weapons to kill and conquer. She is nothing but a lamb walking into a den of predators.
Ah, what has gotten into me? Sierra lifted her chin, blinking away the tears before they could fall. I prepared for this long before today.
A subtle knock broke the silence. Before she could answer, the chamber doors opened, and her parents entered together, their presence filling the room with a warmth no sunlight could rival.
"Rise and shine, Princess," her father said. His rich, booming voice carried its familiar authority, instantly grounding her stray thoughts.
Sierra turned at once, and all composure slipped from her expression as she hurried across the room.
"Father. Mother."
She threw her arms around them both. For a moment, they simply held her. She drew back slowly and guided them to the cushioned bench near the bed.
She realized then, with a flicker of surprise, that they seemed more afraid than she already felt. Taking each of their hands in hers and studied their faces as if memorizing them.
"I will be well," she said gently, her brows lifting. "You two look far more worried than I am. Should I be concerned?"
They exchanged a glance, and though they smiled, the expression trembled at the edges.
"We worry," her mother admitted softly, her gaze lowering, "because it is we who placed you upon this path."
"Mother, I am the princess of this kingdom. It is my duty to lead our people toward peace. They have endured too many wars. Too many funerals. Too many empty chairs at tables." She swallowed softly. "It is time for it to end. Once and for all… if fate allows it."
Her father's hand rose to rest upon her shoulder, heavy and warm. "You have matured so much," he said, voice thick with emotion. "Yesterday you were this small." He held his hand low, indicating a toddler's height.
Sierra smiled faintly. "Yesterday?"
"Yes," he said firmly.
She laughed under her breath. "Father, I am eighteen."
Her parents shared another look, identical smiles curving their lips.
"You will always be our baby," they said together.
Before she could reply, a discreet knock sounded, and the head maid stepped inside with a respectful bow, greeting both the king and queen, and then turned to Sierra. "It is time for your bath, Your Highness."
The king and queen rose, smoothing their regal garments as their formal composure settled over them like armor once more. "We will wait in the dining hall," her father said.
Sierra nodded, and after they left, the maid guided her toward the bathing chamber where steam curled through the air and petals floated upon the surface of the wide marble basin. They washed and dressed her with ceremonial care, fastening her travelling gown, braiding her hair.
Fully dressed and prepared for the day ahead, Sierra left her chambers and began the familiar journey toward the royal dining hall, where her parents were undoubtedly waiting for her. The palace had never seemed so quiet.
As she walked through the vast corridors, her gaze drifted to details she had long taken for granted—the soaring arches carved with ancient runes, the stained-glass windows bathing the stone floors in colored light, and the portraits of ancestors watching her pass.
For years, these sights had simply been part of her daily life; now, they felt precious.
A strange heaviness settled within her chest.
To reach the dining hall, the corridor bypassed the royal gardens. Looking through the open colonnade, memories rose unbidden. She remembered racing across those lawns, her laughter echoing while bewildered servants chased after her. She had climbed trees she was expressly forbidden to touch, returning with grass stains on dresses that cost a small fortune.
She could almost hear her mother's voice echoing under the flowering trees: "Sierra, slow down before you break something!"
A bittersweet smile touched her lips. She had been a mischievous, fearless child. Now, standing in the morning light, she realized that leaving wasn't just about stepping into a dangerous future. It was about saying goodbye to the girl she used to be.
Meanwhile, in the royal dining hall, King Alaric stared at the empty chair at the head of the table. His fingers tightened around his silver cup until his knuckles turned white.
"My queen," he said quietly, breaking the heavy silence. "Do you think our daughter seems... too distant?"
Across from him, Queen Elianna lifted her head. For a brief second, the stoic ruler vanished, leaving only a grieving mother. "You worry too much," she replied, her voice strained as she tried to smile. "You have spoiled her since the day she was born. Of course, you are terrified."
The king let out a weak, hollow laugh.
"And you haven't?" he challenged softly. "You carried her for nine months, My Queen. You love her just as fiercely as I do."
The words struck deeper than he intended.
Queen Elianna's eyes burned. She blinked rapidly, fighting the tears, but images flooded her mind anyway—tiny hands clutching her finger, a little girl running into her arms after a nightmare. Now, that same little girl was standing at the edge of a destiny neither of them could protect her from.
A single tear slipped down her cheek.
Without a word, King Alaric rose from his seat, crossing the room to wrap his arms tightly around his wife.
They held each other in the quiet room, sharing the same guilt, the same fear, and the same desperate, silent prayer: that the daughter they were sending into a den of monsters would somehow find her way back home.