One week. It had taken only one week for the Queen's decree to turn the entire Dragonfly World on its head. The news, carried by the fastest dragons and the most desperate whispers, had spread like a plague of hope.
Now, that plague had arrived at their doorstep.
From the royal balcony, King Darius and Queen Isolde looked down upon the castle's main courtyard. But it was no longer a courtyard. It was a sea of humanity. A hundred young women, a hundred hopeful faces, all crammed together, their nervous chatter a low, constant hum that vibrated through the stone floors of the castle.
The Queen clasped her hands together, her eyes wide with a mixture of horror and triumph. "Darius… look at them all!"
The King just stared, his mouth slightly agape. "Isolde… there are a hundred of them."
"A testament to our glorious reputation!" the Queen declared, though her voice wavered slightly.
"A testament to the promise of a lifetime salary and a warm bed," the King grumbled in reply. "We expected a handful of local girls, not… an invasion. How are we supposed to find five maids in this… this mob?"
Down below, in the heart of the chaos, the five fateful candidates were already sizing up their competition.
Rina Cloverfield, her short brown hair already messy from the jostling crowd, wasn't intimidated. She was energized. "Wow!" she chirped to no one in particular. "So many people! I wonder if Grandma knows how many people came." She bounced on the balls of her feet, her bright eyes scanning the castle towers with pure, unadulterated awe.
A few feet away, Talia Fernwell stood with her arms crossed, her long red hair a stark, fiery contrast to the muted colors around her. She wasn't looking at the castle; she was glowering at it. Her jaw was tight, her mind racing. One hundred competitors. This makes things more difficult. I need to stand out, but not too much. I need to be… forgettable. Perfect.
In a quieter corner of the courtyard, Lyra, with her long, dark brown hair and unnervingly pale skin, stood perfectly still. She was a statue of calm in a sea of anxiety. She paid no mind to the other girls. Her gaze was fixed on the royal balcony, her lips parted slightly, as if she could feel the prince's presence even from afar. He is up there, she thought, a serene smile gracing her lips. I am finally close to him again.
Leaning against an ancient stone wall was Eira Moonveil, her silver braid glinting in the sun. To an outsider, she looked bored. In reality, she was analyzing. Her keen eyes swept across the crowd, cataloging every detail. Subject analysis: 78% display signs of acute nervousness. 15% exhibit aggressive confidence. 5%… outliers. An inefficient selection process, but a fascinating social experiment.
And at the very edge of the crowd, almost in the shadows of the castle walls, stood Seraphine Noctalis. Her hood was pulled low, her long black hair obscuring her face. The sun was a mild annoyance, the press of bodies a greater one. She felt like a wolf among sheep, a predator forced to hide in a flock. Just keep your head down, she told herself. No one looks twice at a maid. It is the perfect camouflage.
Suddenly, a trumpet blast silenced the crowd. A herald stepped forward, unrolling a scroll.
"Her Royal Majesty, Queen Isolde, and His Royal Majesty, King Darius, will now begin the selection process!" he boomed.
A wave of murmurs and gasps went through the girls. The King leaned over to his wife, his voice a frantic whisper. "Process? Isolde, what process? We can't interview a hundred girls! We'd be here until next year!"
The Queen's eyes gleamed with a new, desperate, and utterly brilliant idea. She turned to her husband, a triumphant smile spreading across her face.
"Then we won't interview them," she said, her voice filled with a terrifying glee. "We will test them."
She turned to a nervous-looking guard standing by the balcony door. "Guard! Go to the Prince's chambers at once. Fetch him here. He needs to see this for himself. He needs to help us choose which of these... hopefuls... is worthy of his presence."
The guard swallowed hard, his eyes darting between the Queen's manic grin and the chaotic courtyard below. He shifted his weight, his armor clanking softly.
"Your Majesty… about the Prince…"
"Yes, yes, spit it out, man!" the Queen snapped, her patience already wearing thin. "Is he still brooding by the window? Tell him his mother commands his presence!"
The guard flinched. "That's the problem, Your Majesty… the Prince…"
He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence under the Queen's piercing gaze.
The Queen's hands flew to her hips. "He what?! What is it now? Did he set his textbooks on fire again? Just tell me where he is!"
The guard took a deep breath and blurted it out. "He's gone, Your Majesty. His chambers are empty. The servants said he left an hour ago… with a book."
A moment of stunned silence.
Then, the Queen's face turned a shade of red that rivaled Talia's hair.
"WHAT?! HE RAN AWAY?!"
Her shriek was so high-pitched that several dragons in the nearby rookery took flight in alarm, their confused cries echoing across the valley. A hundred girls in the courtyard gasped and looked up at the balcony, pointing at the dramatic scene unfolding above them.
King Darius didn't even look surprised. He just let out a long, weary sigh, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He buried his face in his hands.
"Why is it always like this…" he groaned, his voice muffled by his palms. "Why is it always like this…"
Meanwhile, far from the royal drama, in the warm, smelly, and wonderfully noisy castle rookery, Prince Aiden Dravenheart found his peace.
He was hidden behind a giant, sleeping Mountain Dragon, its deep, rumbling snores a perfect cover. Leaning against the creature's scaly hide, he was engrossed in a book, completely oblivious to the chaos he had just caused.
A familiar, gravelly voice rumbled from above him. "So, you have a hundred potential mates. A good number. Statistically speaking, at least five of them should find you tolerable."
Aiden didn't look up from his book. "They're not potential mates, Nimbus. They're a mob. Sent by my mother to cure me of my 'unhappiness' by forcing me to interact with 'common folk'."
The dragon, Nimbus, shifted his weight on the perch above, his massive head peering down at the prince. "And you chose to hide in a place that smells of dragon dung and old sheep. A fascinating strategy. Is this part of your human 'courtship ritual'?"
"It's called 'avoidance'," Aiden replied dryly, turning a page. "And it's working perfectly so far."
Nimbus let out a low, rumbling chuckle that made the Mountain Dragon snore in its sleep. "Oh, this will be a grand spectacle to watch from up here. Five girls, one prince, a castle full of secrets." His ancient eyes gleamed with mischief.
"This will end beautifully… or explosively. I'm putting my money on explosively. It's more fun to watch."
King Darius's muffled groan was cut short by the Queen's furious voice, sharp enough to slice through stone.
"Find him! Now!" she commanded, her voice trembling with rage. She pointed a trembling finger at the terrified guard. "Search every room, every corridor, every stable! I want my son brought before me before the sun sets!"
The guard scrambled away, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste.
King Darius finally lifted his head from his hands, placing a placating hand on his wife's shoulder. "Now, now, Isolde, my love. Patience. You know how he gets. He'll turn up when he's hungry. He always does."
The Queen's head snapped around to face him, her eyes blazing with a fire that could melt steel.
"WHAT?!"
The King physically recoiled, his hands flying up as if to shield himself from her verbal assault. "I—uh, I merely meant—"
"You think I will be patient?!" she hissed, her voice dropping to a dangerously low whisper. "While our only son gallivants off to who-knows-where, leaving us to deal with this… this carnival?!"
She took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing the rage back down. Her eyes, still burning, swept over the hundred confused faces staring up from the courtyard. She was a Queen. She had a performance to give.
With a dramatic flick of her wrist, she smoothed her gown and stepped forward, her expression melting into one of serene, regal benevolence. Her voice, when she spoke, boomed with practiced authority, carrying across the entire courtyard.
"My dear young women! Forgive this brief interruption!"
A hush fell over the crowd.
"The selection process is a matter of great importance, and it requires careful consideration. Therefore, we shall resume on the morrow. For now, your journey has been long, and we insist you rest."
She gave them a magnanimous smile. "The Crown will provide lodging for all of you this night, free of charge, in the Grand Guesthouse. Please, make yourselves comfortable. We will begin the first test at sunrise."
A wave of relieved murmurs and grateful cheers spread through the girls. The crisis was averted, the crowd pacified, and most importantly, none of them would leave.
Queen Isolde turned back to her husband, her smile vanishing instantly, replaced by a cold, hard mask of determination.
"Now," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "Where is my son?"