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The morning sun barely reached through the high windows of the grand hall. Golden light filtered through the panes, casting long, austere shadows across the stone walls. Silence reigned, broken only by the sound of slow, steady footsteps echoing across the cold floor. The heavy doors creaked open, and Jane entered.
Her white overcoat swayed lightly behind her, contrasting with the black clothes that clung to her form. Her dark skin absorbed the faint light, and her red eyes, tinged with pink, caught every detail of the room. Her short, intensely red hair seemed to glow under the sun's timid rays. At her waist, a long sword swung gently with each step, the white sheath standing out against her dark attire.
Ahead, the king awaited her. Seated on his throne, surrounded by stern-faced advisors, he looked like a figure carved from marble—unshakable. His gaze held no affection, only expectation. Jane already knew what was coming.
"The garrison reports," she said flatly, holding out a scroll of parchment.
The king took the documents without breaking eye contact.
"And the progress? Are the soldiers improving as expected?"
"Some units are showing progress, especially in the east. But the north..." she hesitated, knowing her father despised weakness. "It's lagging. Without proper instructors, they'll be nothing but dead weight."
The king frowned briefly before gesturing to one of the advisors, who took note. "I'll arrange reinforcements for the north," he replied without surprise.
The king took a deep breath before continuing. "Now, about the other matter..."
The air seemed to freeze. Jane remained still, but she felt the weight of it in every muscle of her body. She already knew who he was referring to.
"He's still within the kingdom," said the king, his voice laced with a near-cruel firmness. "It's been months, and you still haven't brought him back."
Jane opened her mouth to respond, but the king continued before she could speak.
"You are a capable commander. A formidable warrior. But your strength has never been in question. What's in question is your loyalty to the crown. Your brother must return, and you have yet to make that happen."
The silence in the hall was oppressive. The advisors watched without a word, but Jane could feel the pressure in their cold, calculating gazes. This wasn't just an order. It was an ultimatum.
"He cannot keep running from his responsibilities," the king continued. "And you cannot keep returning empty-handed. This isn't just a mission. It's a royal command."
She lowered her eyes for a moment, feeling anger boil beneath her skin. Not just because of her brother, but because of the fate forced upon her. No matter how hard she fought, she would never be seen for herself, only as the shadow of the runaway prince.
At last, she lifted her gaze and responded with a steady voice, though something deeper resonated beneath it.
"I won't return until he does."
The king relaxed slightly, approving her answer. "Good. Do whatever is necessary."
Jane turned and left the hall. Her steps were just as firm as before, but inside her, tension surged like a current on the verge of breaking its banks. Her chest burned, her mind raced.
She had promised to fulfill the order. But deep down, she couldn't ignore the nagging doubt growing within her.
What if, deep down, she didn't want him to come back?
If her brother returned, her duty would be fulfilled. But she knew it would mean something more. It would mean losing her own freedom.
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