Morning crept slowly across the capital. The dawn light spilled over the palace roofs like liquid gold, breaking through clouds that had lingered since the storm. In the heart of the empire, six palaces stood encircling the Imperial Hall — each named after the elemental stars that marked the royal lineage.
The Azure Flame Palace of Crown Prince Kaerus blazed with banners of red and gold, filled with the scent of burning incense and steel. The Moonveil Palace of Princess Mariana shimmered in silver and blue silks, delicate and serene. The Golden Bloom Palace of Princess Lauora gleamed with elegance — fragrant gardens and marble ponds whispering luxury.
And then, far to the east, where the sun rose last, stood the Ice Blue Palace.
There was no perfume in its halls. Only the faint smell of cold metal and fading frost. The servants there moved quietly, not because they wished to, but because the walls carried whispers far too easily.
Azura Celeste stood before her mirror — tall for her age, though still slight in frame. Her raven-black hair, combed neatly by her maid, glimmered like a dark lake under weak sunlight. A streak of crimson gleamed in her eyes, reflecting back a face that was neither child nor adult.
Her reflection was calm, but her thoughts were not.
So… it wasn't a dream. I really stood before him yesterday.
She reached for the clasp of her collar, fixing the white linen uniform she had been given — the formal attire of imperial training sessions. A simple outfit, but one that carried the weight of her position.
Six years old, and already she was being tested like a soldier.
Her gaze shifted to the window. The palace outside was alive for once. Servants who had once spoken little now moved briskly, eyes brighter, hands lighter. They greeted her as she passed — not out of warmth, but survival.
"Your Highness," they murmured. "May you shine today."
"Please, do not disappoint His Majesty."
"Our future depends on your success."
Their smiles were tight, rehearsed, trembling at the edges.
Azura walked in silence, each step echoing faintly through the cold corridor.
Strange, she thought. When I was younger, I used to wish for sunlight here. Now that I've seen it… I miss the quiet.
As she reached the courtyard, her sword instructor — old Sir Halden — waited with his usual half-bow. He was thin as a blade himself, with gray hair tied behind his neck and scars tracing both his hands. Once a knight, now a teacher exiled to the palace's forgotten edge.
"Princess," he said, his tone curt. "You are to join the imperial youth for a combined session. Orders from above."
She didn't respond immediately. Her gaze drifted to the sword rack beside him.
"Do you think I'm ready?" she asked softly.
Halden hesitated. It was a simple question, but her tone was too calm for a child.
"You were trained as a soldier," he said finally. "Not a child. So, yes. You're ready."
Azura gave a faint smile — small, polite, almost mocking herself. "Then I'll make sure their swords remember me."
Halden's lips twitched — the closest he ever came to amusement. "Be careful, my lady. Some memories cut both ways."
She turned to leave, her small boots crunching against the frost-covered stone.
---
Beyond the Ice Blue Palace, the imperial training ground stretched wide under the pale morning sun. Soldiers had cleared the snow that had fallen the night before, though patches still glimmered like shards of glass.
Already there were others — young royals in pristine uniforms, each with the crest of their palace embroidered in gold or silver thread. Their laughter echoed lightly through the courtyard.
Azura stopped at the edge, her crimson eyes scanning them one by one.
Prince Samir Celeste, eleven, the Fourth Prince — bronze-haired and bright-eyed, already swinging a practice blade as if the ground belonged to him. His uniform was slightly undone, his sleeves rolled up like a commoner's, and the grin on his face was as reckless as his stance.
Princess Lauora Celeste, sixteen, the Second Princess — golden-haired, sharp-eyed, her beauty refined like a blade hidden in silk. She stood with arms folded, her gaze flicking toward Azura with visible irritation.
"Ah, so the frost child does walk among us," she said under her breath, not softly enough to be missed.
Azura met her gaze briefly, unbothered. "The frost doesn't walk, Your Highness. It waits."
Samir burst into laughter. Lauora scowled.
The instructor, Sir Rohen, coughed to silence them. "Enough chatter. The Emperor ordered all present royal heirs under sixteen to attend. The Crown Prince and Third Princess are occupied, so you three will train together."
He paused, his gaze lingering on Azura a moment longer. "You will be graded for composure, form, and teamwork."
"Teamwork?" Lauora asked sweetly. "With her?"
Azura said nothing — but her eyes curved slightly, a smile without warmth.
"I promise not to slow you down," she said quietly. "If anything, I'll try not to freeze the air too much."
Samir snorted again, muffling laughter behind his sleeve.
"Position!" Rohen barked. "Now!"
As they spread out, the air in the yard shifted — playful banter giving way to focused silence. The wind tugged at Azura's hair, brushing it across her cheek. She raised her wooden sword and felt the familiar rhythm pulse through her fingers.
Her mind quieted. The world narrowed.
And just like that — the frost within her melted into motion.
---
The clang of wooden blades echoed across the practice field, cutting through the mild winter air.
Prince Samir Celeste swung again — wide, fast, and utterly reckless. Sweat darkened his tunic as he lunged forward, teeth gritted in fierce determination.
Across from him, Azura stepped aside with the quiet grace of someone who had already seen the outcome. Her wooden blade barely moved — a simple parry, clean and precise.
The strike missed by a hair's breadth.
"Too slow," Samir barked, retreating a step and swinging again.
"Too predictable," Azura replied calmly.
Her blade met his mid-swing — thock! — redirecting his force with almost effortless rhythm.
She wasn't stronger. She simply didn't waste motion.
From the sidelines, Lauora Celeste yawned delicately under a silk parasol, watching her younger brother flail. "You'd think someone who trains daily would hit at least once."
Samir's voice cracked in outrage. "Stay out of it, Lauora!"
"Hard to ignore when you're shouting like a market vendor," she teased, flicking invisible dust off her sleeve.
Azura didn't laugh. Her eyes followed Samir's movements — not in mockery, but with quiet study, as if memorizing every angle of his form.
He came again, faster this time. She blocked. Twisted. A soft tap to his wrist ended the bout.
Samir hissed in pain, stumbling back. "You—!"
Azura lowered her blade. "You left your center open," she said, tone steady and almost… kind.
He blinked, caught off guard. For a second, her calm felt worse than any insult.
"You sound like Master Rohen," he muttered.
"Then perhaps you should listen," she replied simply.
The instructor — Master Rohen himself — coughed loudly. He was a tall man with sharp brows and the tired patience of someone who had survived too many royal tempers. "She's right, Your Highness. Prince Samir, your form's full of pride and no thought. Princess Azura, good work. Again."
Samir groaned. "Why again? I already—"
"Until you stop flailing like a wild duck," Rohen said dryly.
Lauora snorted. "Fitting comparison."
"Silence, Your Highness," Rohen added immediately. "You're next."
Her face twitched, but she smiled sweetly. "Of course."
---
A few attendants whispered at the edge of the training ground. News traveled fast in the palace — faster than wind between marble corridors.
"They say she's from the Ice Blue Palace, right?"
"The forgotten one, yes. Poor servants there, always worried their fates hang on her behavior."
"And yet look at her — fighting like that…"
"Do you think His Majesty knows?"
Azura ignored the murmurs. Her focus stayed on her footing, her breath even. Years of relentless drills had carved this discipline into her bones. The servants who trained her had never treated her as a child; their punishments were lessons, their silence expectation.
Perfection wasn't pride — it was survival.
---
When Lauora's turn came, she stepped onto the field with graceful confidence. Her white tunic shimmered faintly in the sun, and her hair — the same chestnut shade as the Empress — was pinned in intricate loops.
"Try not to fall, sister," she said pleasantly.
Azura tilted her head. "Then I'll try not to make you."
Samir laughed too loudly. Rohen glared him quiet.
They faced each other, blades drawn.
Lauora struck first — quick, clean, elegant — the kind of form tutors praised endlessly. But her movements were rehearsed, too careful, while Azura's responses flowed naturally.
Wood clashed against wood, short sharp sounds bouncing through the courtyard.
Then Azura pivoted, letting Lauora's strike pass her shoulder. Her wooden sword touched Lauora's wrist — firm, deliberate, and final.
The parasol slipped from an attendant's grasp.
Rohen exhaled through his nose. "Point. Princess Azura."
Lauora blinked, momentarily frozen. "Already?"
"You paused mid-swing," he said. "A hesitation in battle is an invitation to lose."
Azura lowered her blade and offered a small nod of respect — shallow, not submissive.
"I wasn't done," Lauora muttered under her breath.
"I noticed," Azura said softly, eyes unblinking.
The air grew awkwardly quiet for a moment until Samir, unable to hold his laughter, blurted, "You slipped again!"
Lauora turned on him with a glare that could melt marble. "At least I don't shout every time I breathe."
Their bickering filled the courtyard, breaking the tension. Even Rohen hid a small smile as he called an end to the session.
---
As the siblings dispersed, attendants hurried forward to collect fallen practice weapons and chatter filled the open air again.
"I heard the Empress's eldest was summoned to oversee the upcoming trial."
"Crown Prince Kaerus? He's always away at the military front."
"And Concubine Sika's son—Prince Samir—just lost to the frost child again."
"Keep your voice down! The walls here listen more than people do."
One of the maids glanced toward Azura as she walked past — small, quiet, but moving with that same measured composure.
She doesn't look like a child at all, the maid thought uneasily. More like someone waiting for something she already knows will come.
---
Far at the edge of the grounds, Rohen watched her leave. "Strange girl," he murmured. "Fights like she's remembering, not learning."
Beside him, a younger assistant whispered, "Do you think she'll really attend the subjugation trial, Master?"
Rohen's gaze followed Azura's retreating figure, her pale hair glinting faintly in the sunlight.
"She will," he said quietly. "Whether she wants to or not."
---
Azura paused at the entrance of the eastern walkway, looking back once toward the field. The sunlight gleamed off the marble statues — dragons, swordsmen, and heroes carved in gold.
Each one seemed to mock her in silence.
She turned away, heading down the long corridor that would lead her back to the Ice Blue Palace.
The sound of her footsteps faded into the calm hum of the palace grounds, the faint laughter of siblings still echoing behind her — bright, human, fleeting.
A sound she could never quite join.
---
Rumors in the Dentica Empire always spread faster than orders.
By midday, every corner of the imperial corridors hummed with gossip about the morning's training session.
"She blocked every strike from the Fourth Prince!"
"No, no — they said she toyed with him."
"Impossible. She's six."
"So? They say she trains like a soldier. Those from the Ice Blue Palace don't raise gentle ladies."
The maids giggled behind silken fans, excitement gleaming in their eyes. A few knights lingered near the courtyard, pretending not to listen, while every attendant had their own version to tell.
"Concubine Sika will be furious," one whispered near the fountain, polishing silver trays.
"And the Empress?"
"She won't say a word. She never does — but she always remembers."
Above them, sunlight spilled through stained-glass windows, painting the marble floor in shades of crimson and gold. The laughter and chatter blended into the hum of palace life — bright, brittle, and dangerous.
At the west balcony, a group of young nobles discussed the same tale with a different flavor.
"An illegitimate child humiliates a prince? Dreadful etiquette."
"Or perhaps refreshing," another replied, twirling his ring idly. "The empire's bloodline needed a jolt."
"She'll pay for it soon enough," muttered a third. "No one touches the Emperor's acknowledged son and walks away free."
Their voices faded as a sharp wind brushed the corridor.
---
Meanwhile, in the servants' quarters of the Ice Blue Palace, joy mixed with unease.
"She did it!" a kitchen boy cheered, holding a loaf of warm bread high like a trophy.
"The princess stood against a prince!"
An older maid hushed him. "Mind your tongue! Victory or not, if she offends His Majesty, we all suffer."
They fell silent at once. Everyone there knew the truth — their comfort, their rations, even the firewood in their stoves depended entirely on her. The forgotten princess's reputation decided whether they would eat or starve.
So when the golden gates of the courtyard opened and Azura returned, they hurried forward in perfect unison — a well-rehearsed play of smiles and bows.
"Your Highness! The palace shines brighter at your return."
"We heard of your triumph — surely His Majesty will recognize your talent soon."
Their voices overlapped like waves, pleasant but hollow.
Azura's gaze swept over them. She saw the trembling hands behind their folded arms, the flicker of calculation in every grin.
They weren't cruel. Just desperate.
"Rise," she said softly.
The chorus obeyed instantly.
Inside, the Ice Blue Palace was quiet — always quiet. Its beauty was subtle, stripped of excess, the silver walls carrying a faint chill that lingered no matter the season. She walked through the corridor, the polished tiles reflecting her small figure.
Her mind drifted back to the training ground — to Samir's wild swings, Lauora's forced smile, the brief ripple of laughter that wasn't aimed at her, but never included her either.
It all felt distant, like watching life through glass.
She reached her room. The maids followed, chattering nervously about tomorrow's lessons, about new uniforms and polished blades.
Azura half-listened.
Their words were filled with forced optimism:
"His Majesty must have noticed your grace."
"The other princes will respect you now."
"Everything will change."
Change.
Azura smiled faintly at that word. It hung in her thoughts like a small, strange light — unfamiliar, but warm.
When the room emptied, she sat by the window. The sky outside burned orange, the sun sinking behind the citadel roofs.
For the first time that day, silence returned — the kind that belonged only to her.
She looked down at her hands — small, calloused, unchildlike. The faint bruises along her fingers pulsed gently with warmth.
They call this victory, she thought. But victories here are merely pauses before punishment.
Her gaze lingered on the fading horizon. Somewhere beyond that light, the Emperor's palace glimmered like a faraway sun.
"I will not bow," she whispered. "Not until he remembers my name."
Outside, the wind stirred the curtains — soft, cold, and oddly comforting.
And in the distance, the laughter from the other palaces continued — bright, carefree, and very far away