The sun had fully risen by the time she stepped out of her chamber.
Renna fussed around her, adjusting the folds of her deep sapphire gown embroidered with golden threads. A silver crest shaped like a blooming lily – the symbol of the royal line – clasped her cloak. Her hair had been braided with practical grace, and a pink ribbon was now woven gently behind her ear.
She looked calm and composed. Every inch the sovereign her people needed her to be.
The corridors of the palace were quieter than usual. Outside, a carriage awaited by the courtyard gates. The horses, draped in black and gold barding, shifted restlessly as the guards moved into formation.
One of them stood near the carriage steps. It was a young man in a polished breastplate and a sword at his hip. His posture was perfect, but his gaze lingered just a second too long when the Princess stepped into view.
Renna noticed.
The man was Sir Ian, captain of the 5th Royal Cavalry Division. He dropped to one knee.
"Your Highness," he said in a low voice.
It was a vow.
He stood again, striking his chest in salute, but not before his gloved hand briefly hovered near the hilt of his blade – a silent gesture, as if to say command me, and I will burn the world for you.
He moved to the side as the door opened. And just as the Princess stepped into the carriage, he murmured, just enough for her to hear:
"I'll be stationed at the gates. If anything or anyone so much as looks at you wrong, it won't live to blink again."
His gaze didn't waver. It was, just absolute.
She said nothing. Didn't have to.
As the carriage door closed behind them, Renna arched a brow.
"You do realize he's going to volunteer for every mission east of the palace now, don't you?"
The Princess gave her a side glance. "He's a good soldier."
"He looks at you like you're the only moon left in the night sky."
"I don't have the luxury for that kind of moon," she said simply.
The carriage passed through the southern portcullis, banners flapping overhead. Outside the palace walls, the city was already stirring. Merchants arranged their carts, servants rushed through alleys with baskets, and whispers followed the royal carriage like a ripple through water.
But she didn't look outside. Her fingers curled slightly in her lap.
As the carriage rolled to a halt, the guards dismounted quickly. Ian moved first, opening the door and offering his hand to the Princess.
"You look exactly like the moon, Your Highness – luminous, serene… and far too radiant for this world." he said softly.
She gave a faint smile, but didn't reply.
Renna stepped down behind her and quickly leaned in before the Princess could head in.
"Stay safe," she whispered. "And be careful."
The Princess nodded, and for a moment, neither of them moved. Then the great iron door creaked open before her. The guards stepped aside.
And she walked in alone.
It was an old building in the palace's east wing, near the Tower of Vigil. Few windows. No ornate glass. The walls were dark-stoned, covered in faded tapestries of maps and battle diagrams. Only a single long table dominated the room, shaped like an eye, with twelve high-backed chairs encircling it.
Her steps were slow and deliberate. The echo of her boots swallowed the entire chamber.
Her eyes swept the room.
General Vanith – the war hound of the West – lounged with one leg draped over the armrest and his black-gloved fingers drumming against his scabbard. The polished steel of his armor shimmered unnaturally – too pristine for someone who claimed to be on the northern front just yesterday.
Beside him sat Lady Althea Velmire, her emerald cloak trailing to the floor, lips pursed as she scribbled notes onto a small parchment with one gloved hand. Her other ungloved hand bore a wooden ring veined with black.
To their right was Lord Hadrek of the Eastern Plains who sat bolt upright. His gaze never once lifted from the table's center. Of all of them, he was the only one who hadn't spoken since the incident.
General Rurik of the southern coast sipped from a silver cup; his eyes hooded with boredom. His emblem – a lion with one wing torn – glimmered on his chest plate.
Then there was Lady Nara of the Sky Reach, her eyes ringed with sleeplessness, and her thin fingers constantly twitching as though tuning a harp no one else could her.
The Princess' eyes landed finally on the three at the end – Generals Kassim, Vorren and Daal.
All of them rose together when she entered, bowing in sync.
"Formality. Nothing more," she thought to herself.
She did not bow back.
"Be seated," she said quietly.
As the chamber settled down, General Vanith offered a slight bow.
"Your Highness, I am affirmative I had asked Renna to suggest you take the morning to rest. The Council could have convened without you."
The Princess met his eyes with a firm tone.
"And endanger what remains of this kingdom so easily? I appreciate your concern, General Vanith… but royal blood still runs through me. So it is both my duty and burden to stand with this nation, until the very end."
A flicker of approval crossed Vanith's weathered face. He gave a small nod.
"Hm. You're learning quickly, it seems. Your Highness, the crown sits well on your shoulders."
The Princess' gaze swept the entire room.
"Where are the other four?" she asked. "This was a summon for all twelve."
A brief pause followed. Then it was Althea who replied. "General Vale is tending to unrest near the northern grain routes – bandits, supposedly."
"Daal mentioned General Ismere had fallen ill," reported Rurik.
"General Cecil," Hadrek added, "had apparently gone to oversee troop drills in Merrowfield. Personally."
"And Eleron?" the Princess pressed.
"Silent," Nara murmured. "No word from her fortress in days. Likely because of poor messengers."
The Princess said nothing at first. The answers were… plausible. Each, on its own, reasonable.
Still, she let the moment pass.
A low cough finally broke the silence. General Kassim leaned forward in his seat.
"Then let us begin," he said in a cool voice. "There is much the crown must be told… and little time left to pretend otherwise."
From the shadows above, a crow cawed once.
The council had begun.