The carriage finally rolled to a halt before the palace, its gleaming facade rising like a beacon of wonder. Gleaming stone caught the sunlight, and intricate carvings traced across its surface like constellations frozen in time. The palace looked as if it had stepped out from the pages of a fairy tale — majestic, magical, and unreal.
Fanaza had never seen anything so grand. Her chest tightened. Would she fit into this world, or be sent home in disgrace? She stepped down from the carriage, her eyes sweeping the quiet courtyard. No welcoming committee, no royal reception. Only silence so heavy it pressed on her ears.
Yet beneath the splendor, Fanaza felt the suffocating weight of unseen eyes, each measuring her with the precision of a jeweler examining a rare stone.
From the balcony above the main hall, three palace ladies watched her arrival.
"Is that her?" one whispered.
The other smirked. "The bride-to-be. Poor thing doesn't know what she's walking into."
"How can they choose her to marry the crown prince? She is ugly."
A mocking laughter echoed off the palace walls.
Fanaza ignored the whispers, though she felt them coil like smoke around her, suffocating with no means of escape. Nervous, she dug her nails deeper into her palms. Sally, who instantly understood what she was doing, caught her hands and held them firmly, assuring her that she would be by her side always.
"My lady, be calm. Remember, everyone's opinion we keep under our feet," Sally whispered, tightening her grip as Fanaza forced a smile.
Fanaza was startled when something small crashed into her, sending her stumbling a step back. She looked down to see a little boy lying on the ground, clutching his knee in pain.
"Are you okay, sweetie?" she asked, leaning down.
The boy's face twisted, and loud sobs spilled from him.
"I'm so sorry; you were the one who bumped into me," she tried to defend herself, glancing at Sally, who only shook her head in quiet amusement.
Fanaza scooped the boy into her arms. "Don't cry," she soothed, brushing dust from his tunic.
A maid came running, her face pale. "Prince Felix!" She halted, then bent low in a bow to Fanaza.
The maid reached to take the boy, but he clung stubbornly to Fanaza's arm, as if drawn to her warmth. His round eyes didn't stray from her face.
"Guess I'll see you around." Fanaza smiled, gently tugged his cheeks, and placed him down. Straightening herself, she strode toward the palace doors, her guards trailing behind with a parade of gifts and luggage.
She walked in, her spine straight and head held high, until she reached the double doors of the royal courtroom. There, the herald declared her name with formal dignity, and the great doors swung open.
At the far end, Queen Lisa and King Loban sat on their thrones. The air became heavy and thick with tension. Neither of them smiled; their faces were as still as stone.
"Good day, King Loban. Good day, Queen Lisa," Fanaza said, bowing low. Behind her, Sally and the guards bent their heads in unison.
"I am Fanaza, from the Dragonseed Clan of the North Region." Her voice carried with practiced grace. "It is an honor to stand before the King and Queen of the great Macabre. I have brought gifts." She clapped her hands, and guards stepped forward, their arms full of ornate boxes and chests.
"You are the one to marry my son," Queen Lisa said, staring at Fanaza, a head-to-toe assessment. "Prettier in person… I suppose the painters failed to do your beauty justice. Tell me, can you handle my son and bear him strong, healthy heirs?"
Fanaza's pulse skipped, but she met the Queen's gaze. "Yes, my Queen. My body is healthy, and I will produce healthy sons for His Highness."
The Queen laughed — a sharp, cutting sound. "I see." Her voice dripped with sarcasm.
Through the entire conversation, the King remained silent. His eyes revealed nothing, an emotionless figure who stood still like a statue. Fanaza wondered if he was mute… or simply disliked her already. If both King and Queen were this cold, what horrors awaited her with the Crown Prince?
"You'll undergo tests and training to prove you are fit to be a Crown Princess. One of them…" the Queen's lips curved in a sly smile, "…is learning how to properly satisfy the Crown Prince."
Satisfyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?!
Fanaza's cheeks burned red as she stared at the Queen in disbelief, words tangling in her throat.
"I'll leave you to enjoy the palace. Make yourself at home," the Queen added and walked out with the King.
Fanaza watched them leave, her stomach twisted immediately. "This is really bad," she muttered to Sally.
Sally only gave her a huge thumbs-up.
******
The day went by quickly, and before she knew it, a new dawn had come.
The sun streamed through Fanaza's room, revealing her sprawled across the plush velvet bed; her sleep was a mess. Her hair, a wild mane of blonde locks, scattered across the pillow, with a few stray strands stuck to her forehead. A soft, gentle snore escaped her lips, and her chest rose and fell with each peaceful breath.
But the serenity was short-lived when Sally crept into the room, a mischievous glint in her eye.
"My lady, you have to wake up," she whispered, her voice barely audible over Fanaza's snore.
Sally gently shook Fanaza's shoulder, but she didn't budge. Fanaza was deep asleep. Sally shook her again; this time it wasn't gentle, and she still didn't budge. The maid had no choice but to trick her.
Sally sighed and smirked. "My hand is in my nose, and it's about to enter your mouth."
Fanaza's eyes flew open. She sat upright so quickly that the bedframe creaked.
"Don't you dare!" she gasped, her soft voice echoing through the room.
The room filled with their laughter until Fanaza finally swung her legs over the bed with a pout, and shortly after, the door burst open. A group of maids swept in, their arms full of gowns in silks and satins, hair ornaments that caught the light, and trays of cosmetics. They moved in perfect sync, bowing low to Fanaza.
"We're assigned to the upcoming Crown Princess," they said in unison.
Fanaza threw a baffled look at Sally, who only lifted her brows. "I guess it's official now."
The maids quickly got to work, transforming Fanaza into a vision of royal loveliness. They dressed her in a stunning gown of silk and lace, with intricate embroidery that shimmered in the morning light.
Her hair was styled in an elaborate updo, with delicate tendrils framing her face. A subtle application of makeup enhanced her natural beauty, with a soft blush on her cheeks and a hint of sparkle on her eyelids.
"You look stunning, my lady," Sally said, her voice filled with pride.
Fanaza gazed at her reflection, hardly recognizing the elegant, poised woman staring back at her. She felt a surge of excitement mixed with nerves. She was one step closer to becoming the crown princess. She was the epitome of beauty, and every man would look twice at her. Her beauty was out of this world.
"My lady, training starts now." One of the older maids said. Fanaza stood and stepped outside elegantly.
She was fully prepared and ready for her training.
******
Outside, the sun beat down on the lush green field, casting a warm glow over the princes as they played a game of soccer. Little Prince Felix, his blonde hair mussed back, face flushed with excitement, chased after the ball with his brothers.
The game intensified. Prince Sage kicked the ball too far, sending it soaring over the field. The prince seemed frustrated with Sage's loss of control; by the look on his face, that was not the first time.
"Sage, go get the ball," Prince Kael ordered, but Lyon was already sprinting after it.
Lyon stepped outside the field and spotted an old servant walking toward him, trays of food and drinks balanced in his hands. In his haste, Lyon failed to notice how close the servant was until they collided. The trays flew, a stream of purple liquid splashing across the prince's white shirt and breeches, while leftover food and oil spilled over his golden boots.
His face fell as he stared at the stain, eyes widening in disgust.
The servant, horrified, dropped to his knees and apologized.
"I am so sorry, my liege. I am so sorry, I am so so…."
A strong, loud slap landed on the old man's face.
As Fanaza headed out for her morning training, she came upon the horrific scene and quickly made her way toward them.
"You ignorant fool!" Prince Lyon said, raising his hand to strike the man again. But he froze as a small hand caught his own, holding him in place.
"Enough!" Fanaza's voice cut through the air like a blade. She stepped forward, eyes locked on his.
"Who the hell are you?" Lyon barked, rage burning in his tone. He made to swing at her, but Kael's hand gripped his wrist.
"Only an animal would hit a woman," Kael said softly, his voice low but commanding.
He was a quiet, calm prince who did not speak much, but when he did, his voice commanded authority and captured everyone's attention. He was popular among the maids and court ladies.
Fanaza turned to the servant. "Please, get up," she said, extending her hand and pulling him to his feet.
"Are you not ashamed, treating an elderly man like this? Apologize."
Gasps rippled through the guards and maids passing by. A stranger and a woman was demanding a prince's apology.
"I am the prince, son of Stormizard. How dare I do such a taboo?" Lyon said.
"Either you are a prince or the king himself — you will still apologize." Her tone left no room for argument.
Fanaza never tolerated inequality or bad treatment of maids or workers around her. She loved them all. Even though their rank might be different, they were all still equal.
"I won't repeat myself. Apologize, you insolent brat."
The courtyard suddenly became quiet, Lyon's glare sharpening. "Who are you?"
"I am the future Crown Princess," she said with an unwavering gaze.
Lyon burst into mocking laughter.
"Just know you'll be sharing him with thousands of women. Guess you'll only be good for children, a breeder," Lyon sneered.
Fanaza's spine went rigid. "What did you call me?"
"A breeder," he repeated, leaning close enough for his words to burn in her ear.
Her vision tunneled. She lunged at him like a wild animal without thinking. The two clashed, fists flying. Fanaza's skirts tore as she kicked Lyon, but he retaliated with a punch to her jaw. She stumbled back, eyes watering, but refused to back down. The courtyard erupted into chaos.
"Enough!" Queen Lisa's voice cut through the chaos as she stormed into the courtyard.
"My Queen," Fanaza said, breathless, adjusting her torn dress. Her hair was in disarray, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
"What type of animal are you, fighting a prince?" the Queen snapped.
Fanaza's chest rose and fell sharply. "He was disrespectful."
"You haven't spent two days in the palace and you're already causing trouble," the Queen hissed. "You are a fool, sweetheart. I won't blame you, but your parents, who clearly failed in raising you."
Fanaza bit her tongue hard — she despised anyone speaking ill of her family.
"I'm sorry, my Queen," she said, bowing.
"Dismiss everyone." the Queen ordered.
Fanaza straightened. "My Queen, the prince has to apologize for what he did to this man."
The Queen's eyes narrowed to slits. "You are quite an animal," she said coldly.
"Your father awaits your presence at the dining hall." She turned towards her son and walked away with the princes in tow.
The servant bowed to Fanaza. "Thank you, my lady."
"I'll send my maids to see to you in case you're hurt," she replied.
"That won't be necessary, my lady; I am fine," the old man said, forcing a smile.
"Sally, speak to Rose to attend to him after I leave for training."
"Yes, my lady."
Prince Sage stepped forward with a warm gaze. "We don't usually treat guests this way. I apologize."
"You do not have to apologize," Fanaza said with a faint smile.
"Forgive my manners, I'm Prince Sage," he replied. "Brother is lucky; he was given a handsome wife."
"It's beautiful, dear," she corrected softly.
"If you need someone to talk to or want to know more about the Crown Prince — you can always reach out to me. I'll see you around, sister-in-law."
Fanaza watched him leave. Sage seemed sane… unlike the others.
Sally leaned in. "I heard one of the maids say his IQ is so low all his teachers quit, so he's literally uneducated."
"At least he knows what respect is. That's rare," Fanaza said, forcing a smile.
******
Fanaza ran until she reached the training room, her heart pounding. She was late. Lady Victoria, her personal court tutor, stood beside the mirror, adjusting her posture with precise, watchful movements. Her eyes glancing briefly toward Fanaza as she entered.
"You are late, future princess."
"My apologies. Let's begin the training," Fanaza said, running her hands through her hair.
"Remember, a queen's demeanor is key," Lady Victoria said, circling her like a hawk. "Shoulders back, chin up, a gentle smile."
Fanaza practiced the smile—awkward at first.
"How's this?"
"Better," Victoria said, "but not quite regal enough. Try again."
The session stretched on. Fanaza fumbled all the curtsies, stiffened through etiquette drills. Just as she sagged with frustration, Lady Victoria softened.
"You're doing well, Fanaza. Remember, you will be the future queen. It takes time to become a queen."
Fanaza smiled. It didn't reach her eyes.
******
The royals were prepared to eat their breakfast. A long table glittered with fine silverware, crystal glasses. The King and Queen sat. Before them, a feast fit for kings steamed — roasted venison, beef, lamb. Savory pies breathed herbs and spice. Pastries showed off intricate designs. Fresh golden-brown bread perfumed the air with the soft clinks of silverware.
The princes were also seated, but a chair remained empty — the place to the King's right, reserved for Prince Percival.
As hands lifted to eat, a cold voice halted them.
"Where is Percival?" The King's words rolled through the hall.
"He is probably tired from his duties, his mission," the Queen said quickly, defending her son.
It was true: the prince had gone on a mission. He was to arrive before nightfall; he was not back. The Queen knew her son, perhaps too well. She knew he might be after women in skirts or gowns.
Her court lady hurried close, whispered a few words to her. The Queen nodded and waved her away.
"He's on his way, my King," she assured.
Sage dug into his food, waiting for no one.
*****
A majestic black stallion, its coat gleaming in the fading light, walked into the courtyard, its rider commanding attention. Prince Percival, his dark hair windswept, sat tall in the saddle, his piercing gaze scanning the surrounding.
Maids curtsied, skirts fluttering, as they stepped aside to let the prince pass. Guards were at alert, hands resting on the hilts of their swords. The sound of jingling armor and the creaking of leather accompanied Prince Percival as he dismounted, movements well-practiced and confident.
With a final glance at the people around him, Prince Percival strode toward the palace entrance, boots echoing off the stone walls. The maids and guards parted, allowing him to pass.
He reached the dining hall without removing his war armor; his aura felt like winter commanding everyone's attention in the hall.
"Why do you still have your war armor on?" the King asked, his voice too cold.
"My King, he just arrived from a deadly mission. You should ask about his well-being," the Queen said, heart breaking at the chill in the King's tone.
"He seems fine to me," the King replied.
"Fine?" Percival scoffed. He lifted his helmet. A fresh cut carved down his face, blood dripping from his cheekbones.
"Percival!" the Queen cried, taking a step toward him.
The other princes looked worried.
"Since you only care about the armor and the mission," Percival spat, glaring at the King.
The King was worried but hid it well.
"Call the physician!" the Queen shouted.
"Do you even care about me or any of the princes sitting before you?" Percival asked, voice booming like thunder.
The King stared, then turned away.
"Call the doctor," he said, and walked out.
A groan escaped Percival. He caught his mother's hands hovering near his wound, squeezed once, then left the hall.
Percival stormed into his chamber with Stefan, one of his guard of honor. He threw his armor on the floor piece by piece. Rage surged throughout the room, objects on the table toppled under his sweeping arm.
"Sire, you need to calm down!"
Percival didn't respond.
"Sire, please be calm!"
"Calm down?" Percival's face reddened; fury sharpened his features to something almost demonic.
"CALM DOWN?" Stefan said, gaze hard as steel, eyes locked on Percival.
The two had been best friends since childhood. Even though their ranks differed, they trusted and respected each other. Stefan was the only one who could confront the dark side of Percival.
Percival laughed, wild and humorless.
"Calm down! Of course I will. Isn't that what you want?"
"Get it together. I will call the maids to attend to your wound, Sire."
Stefan stepped out. He met the royal physician at
the door, bowed, then ushered him in with the waiting maids.
Immediately, the maids entered with the physician, but Percival pushed them aside aggressively and walked out, leaving them all alone.
******
Fanaza's muscles ached, arms still heavy from the grueling drills with Lady Victoria. Every step toward her chambers was a battle. Exhaustion pressed behind her eyes. Who knew training would be this hard? Her jaw still ached from the fight, swollen and painfully sore.
A sudden rush of footsteps made her pause. Maids fled down the hallway in a panic, skirts flowing, whispering,
"The Crown Prince is coming."
She barely managed another step when one maid, head bowed in her haste, slammed into her shoulder. The blow knocked her off balance. Her ankle twisted sharply, with a sickening snap, the heel of her boot tearing loose, skittering across the marble.
From inside her boot, something small and cold slipped free — the necklace she had hidden there since that night in the forest. The one that belonged to the man who saved her life the other night.
It tumbled down the stairs, the silver pendant spinning before clattering onto the marble landing far below. But she didn't notice; she was too busy falling.
Suddenly, a strong hand caught her mid-fall, fingers locking around her arm with bruising force. She gasped, clutching the banister with her free hand, and looked up into eyes like cold, unpolished steel.
"It would be a shame if you cracked that empty head of yours," Percival said, voice low and edged with mockery.
"I didn't ask for your help," she snapped, heat rushing to her cheeks.
"Then get out of my way." He shoved her aside, the movement sharp enough to make her stumble again.
Before turning away completely, his gaze lingered on her — slow, deliberate, sharp, calculating, like a hunter weighing his prey. His lips curved in something that was not quite a smile.
"I will have you for tonight."